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bakatenshii · 4 years

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Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could.

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/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it.

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding.

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted.

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you.

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun.

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal.

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy.

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you.

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour.

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care.

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time.

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite.

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy.

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart.

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use.

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time.

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean.

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart.

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream.

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction.

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself.

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted.

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become.

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective.

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up.

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight.

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close.

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue.

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it.

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh.

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint.

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently.

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go.

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high.

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em.

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you.

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.”

“Want a taste?”

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care.

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air.

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners.

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more.

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate.

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him.

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways.

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole.

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name.

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God?

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed.

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed.

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in.

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?”

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out—

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection.

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together.

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him.

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose.

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl.

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies.

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first?

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red.

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm.

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char.

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you.

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there.

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore, can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it?

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart.

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth?

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?”

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really.

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda.

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best.

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him.

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy.

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

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ekaterinatepes · 3 years

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Nothing but the Best

Author Notes: hello again my loves! Thank you for all your likes, reviews and specially your comments! I love it when you make questions and in general let me know what you think about the chapter. Thank you once more for all your support!

XII.

They say time heals all wounds, but there are some wounds that run so deep they refuse to stop bleeding.

https://youtu.be/s1tAYmMjLdY

youtube

A cold September afternoon welcomed the dying rays of the sun, the incandescent amber tones of the twilight illuminated the streets of Tokyo, ever so vibrant; full of life, people, delicious food, kaleidoscopic colors, laughter, children running…. Couples holding hands.

A tall man with a blindfold walked down a heavily transited sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a small bag of pastries hanging off the side. Slowly, he made his way further away from the more concentric streets towards a park, he found a bench near a fountain and took a seat placing his bag right next to him.

The world remained the same and yet everything seemed to have changed, the days were now long and boring, conversations with people didn’t manage to hold his attention for long; missions were repetitive. Everything seemed… dull, opaque, flavorless, empty…

Everything, except perhaps his students who were the only sliver of hope he had left. Those kids would make it far in life, they were going to change the world and he was going to be there to help them along the way. A sad smile pulls at his peachy lips. You would have liked that. After all, the kids also enjoyed your company back in the day when you were still his. It was as if you had become their adoptive mother of sorts at some point. Your nurturing nature guided you to care for others.

A year ago when Yuuji was placed under his care and tutelage at Jujutsu High it had been hard for the boy. At the time the kid had just lost his only living relative and to top it off he also consumed the most powerful curse ever known to man kind.

He had so much responsibility on his shoulders Satoru couldn’t help but make the connection with himself when he was a kid his age. That’s how Satoru decided to take him home for dinner one night; he couldn’t have been more pleased with his decision. Of course, you adored Yuuji. His sweet snd enthusiastic personality, his polite manners and naiveté made him just endearing in your eyes.

Even Megumi, who barely spoke with his more taciturn approach asked about you. Satoru didn’t know how to answer. The dark haired boy would also come and visit your home to help you prepare some foreign delicacies you loved to cook. Sighing once more he ran his hands through his white hair.

***-Flashback-***

“So where’s Y/N-san? I haven’t seen her in a long time?” Asked Megumi right after Satoru returned from New York. It caught him by surprise

“She… she doesn’t live in Japan anymore” was all he said before changing the subject. Megumi looked at him with eyes wide open but decided not to pry.

Yeah… that probably was weird. Someone asks you about your spouse and you say they moved out of the country. It was pretty obvious what that meant.

***~End Flash Back~***

Sighing he opened the small paper bag containing his mochi, he loved his desert but lately he didn’t even have the will to indulge in sweets anymore. Satoru consumed insane amounts of sugar to stimulate his brain. The problem was that during the past year all that stimulation manifested in the form of vivid memories of you. Your voice, your smell, your presence. It was as if his brain chose to take him down the path to misery, as if to rub on his face what he could never have.

As of last week you were officially not Y/N Gojo anymore. He finally signed those blasted papers giving you your freedom and his capitulation.

It had been one of the worst days of his life.

After signing the divorce Satoru went straight to the liquor store where he found that exotic apricot liquor he liked in New York and bought a bottle. Once he made it back home he proceeded to get drunk out of his mind. The next morning he woke up by the pool, laying down on a tanning chair, wearing only a pair of boxers and hugging your wedding picture.

His head was killing him, at some point he had emptied his insides in the pool. A disgusted grimace reminded him he had to hire some help to take care of the house that was an absolute disaster, faithfully reflecting the state of its owner.

That morning, nursing a hangover he swore off alcohol for the rest of his life.

But hey! On the positive side he didn’t remember at all that night! Which means he ‘probably’ didn’t think about you (yeah right! As if he was ever not thinking about you) and how much he hated the fact you were not his Y/N Gojo anymore. You were not his wife anymore…

The memory made him want to cry like a baby. He lost the person he loved the most in his life because he had been one flaming idiot.

Despite all his efforts he could not forget you. Wherever he went, whatever he did… there you were, tormenting his waking and sleeping hours like his own personal curse.

He tried to get over you. He tried to be the asshole you knew him to be. He slept with so many women he couldn’t even count. But at the end of the night, in the throes of passion it was your face that he saw, your body that he craved, your flavor that he yearned and your name the one he called out when he climaxed.

He was absolutely fucked.

Revisiting memories of the last night he saw you he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been at the time. It took him so long to realize he had always been in love with you but Satoru, being well… himself, he didn’t want to see or admit that he had been head over heels, madly in love with you. He was a cynical bastard and that had cost him dearly. He chose to lie to himself thinking that THE Gojo Satoru was above all human weaknesses… including love. What an ignorant fucker he had been.

He wondered how you were doing and if you ever thought about him.

A frown made his handsome face look stern. Well… you were not alone anymore. Suguru also had stayed back in New York with you. After Satoru returned to Japan, Ijichi told him Geto Suguru wouldn’t be working out of Japan anymore. He had requested a transfer to the Americas.

Of course he did…

It had been one of the reasons Satoru fucked so many women. In his delusional mind he was ‘getting even’ with you for sleeping with Suguru. Not that he knew for a fact you were sleeping with him or not but… I mean….

Come on! It’s mother fucking Geto Suguru we are talking about here! 6’2 of pure sculpted muscles, tattoos and bad boy looks but with a Prince Charming complex. Yeah… Satoru was green with jealousy because he knew his former best friend was a better man for you than he ever was.

Looking down at his mochi bag he realized the small item had paid the price of his anger as he uncurled his death grip from the bag. Sighing he tossed the ruined pastry in the trash can to his left.

“Miss you….” He whispered to the wind.

———–

“I’m home!” You announced walking into your apartment. Setting you bag down as well as a couple of grocery bags “did you start dinner already?” You ask pleasantly surprised although you already knew the answer to that question since all the apartment smelled fantastic. Suguru walked out of the kitchen with a big smile wearing an apron that read ‘Kiss the Cheff’ nods “yes! I figured I would give you a hand tonight!” He answered as you walked to him to wrap your arms around his waist and give him a chaste kiss on his cheek “thank you Sugu. How was your mission?” You asked deciding to set up the table while Suguru finished dinner. “Not too bad actually, it was a special grade but nothing I couldn’t deal with” you returned a bright smile “I’m glad”

Your friendship with Suguru had slowly evolved into something else. You both spent all of your free time together. Your connection was deeper than mere sexual attraction. Suguru truly understood you, cared for you, shared your dreams and hopes. He was the type of poetic soul who would stay awake with you well into the night just to talk about the stars, the book you read that week that you loved, the new music you liked. It was wholesome.

On the more carnal side you desired Suguru and he desired you but you hadn’t taken what was going on between you two further than a few passionate make-out sessions and some cuddling.

After you last saw Satoru everything became worse before it got better. Suguru had been your rock, he had been there for the sleepless nights you spent crying. Without a word he held you in his strong arms and allowed you to let go. He knew you were deeply wounded, your emotions in disarray and your mental stability in peril. But Suguru never asked anything from you, he gave you the strength to go on. To take care of yourself, to keep going with your career. To have… hope.

It seemed like a dream to think that your life had changed so much in the span of a year. You weren’t able to recognise yourself anymore. Pain and duress molded you into someone new, better, more resilient, harder to hurt.

At this point, the only person you fully trusted was Suguru, he was always honest with you, no matter what happened or how much something hurt, he always remained true to himself and to you.

It was impossible not to love someone like him. He was the whole package.

Suguru was handsome, that was indisputable. But Geto was more than a pretty face. He was kind, truly kind! He did things out of the goodness of his heart, not because he expected anything in return. He was honest, Suguru Geto would never lie to you and THAT is what you loved the most about him.

He was patient.

He wanted you to be his but at the same time Suguru wanted you to heal, to have the chance to trust and love again, not as a means to forget about Satoru but because you wanted to choose a new path for yourself.

After diner you helped with the dishes and then settled on the couch. Suguru joined with a smile and two glasses of wine. He handed you one and sipped on the other one “what would you like to watch tonight Kitten?” He asked sitting next to you while picking a movie from the titles available on the screen of the tv.

“Anything you like! It’s your turn to pick” you said with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder making Suguru smile. These tender displays of affection always made him feel so warm. Passing an arm around your shoulders he kissed your forehead.

You look up into his hazel eyes you blush. Suguru didn’t lose a second before he closed the space between your lips. The kiss was soft but meaningful, you didn’t hesitate to return it; wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to then climb on his lap straddling his hips.

The handsome sorcerer leans back, relaxing and running his hands slowly up and down your naked thighs covered only by the small fabric of your shorts, he strokes them softly leaving a path of warmth in the wake of his touch. Suguru deepened the kiss. His tongue delved in your mouth, slowly inviting yours to join the delicious dance. After a few minutes you pulled back, you are breathless. Your heart beats fast and the adrenaline was making you dizzy in anticipation.

Suguru looks at you, leaning his forehead against yours “I missed you” he ads before engulfing you in another passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to reply. This time his lips are more demanding, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, requesting entrance. His tongue still tastes like the wine and you recognize his addictive flavor. Suddenly you find yourself laying on your back on the white couch, Suguru is on top of you and your legs are wrapped around his waist. Things are getting much more heated than you anticipated. Your hands roam the expanse of his back over hard muscles and warm skin covered only by the thin layer of his t-shirt. You know if you keep going this way you won’t be able to stop.

https://youtu.be/yBatuRGZAmA

youtube

A part of you doesn’t want this to end, you want to go all the way with Suguru. But… as much as you hate it, there is a tiny part of you that feels ambivalent about it. You wonder why is that you can’t just… do it!? You want Suguru! God! You desire him more than you can express with words, the growing wetness between your legs is evidence that you indeed were very much sexually attracted to him and yet your mind kept torturing you.

It was… complicated.

Your marriage with Satoru have been over longer than that piece of paper you got last week said. But erasing your feelings wasn’t something you could ever hope to do.

As much as you wanted to give yourself to Suguru it felt wrong that you were holding a part of yourself back. You wanted to give him everything, he deserved EVERYTHING of you. It wouldn’t be fair to just have sex with him when he deserved to be made love to.

You love Suguru, everyday that goes by your feelings for him grow and intensify, it was hard to even understand why would you hesitate and yet you did.

Your passionate kiss slowly becomes more tender until you are just sharing small pecks. Suguru pulls back with a little comforting smile; he felt the change in your body language, he knew what was going through your mind. You explained it to him before and he didn’t want to push you. He knew you needed to go at your own pace and he respected that.

“I’m… so-“ you starts apologetically but Suguru stops you with a little kiss “don’t… don’t apologize, I know baby…” he said reassuringly. Sealing his tender words with a kiss. When you separate again he asks “Alright little kitten, tell me… what’s it gonna be? ‘Dorian Grey’ or ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’?” Pulling you in his strong arms he cuddled with you on the couch, returning to the choices for movie you had.

You were so thankful for this man in your life “let’s go with ‘Only Lovers left Alive’”

With a last kiss he started the movie and pulled a blanket over you both.

He could wait, he would wait till the end of time. For you.

———-> Chapter 13/Part 1

Tags:

@sleepyamaya

@cloudsinthecosmos

@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

@jscarlet06

@fiona782

@thatsharklovingwoman

@heichoustheoryofcleanliness

@syynnaaah

@shaylove418

@coldvillainess

@vampgguk

@sukuna1stwife

@tampon-earrings

@actualdeemon

#gojo angst #gojo x you #jjk #geto x y/n #gojo saturo x reader #jjk suguru #jjkgojo #Youtube

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letarasstuff · 4 years

Text

Reid and Chopsticks

Summary: Spencer is known to be unable to eat with chopsticks. But what about his daughter, who the team has yet to meet?

Warnings: Mentions of death of a loved one

Word count: 1.3k

✨Masterlist✨

________________________________________________________

“Yo Reid, we wanna get some Chinese tomorrow. Are you in?” asks Morgan the young doctor. It’s Friday evening after a rather long and draining case. So Hotch gave the team a free weekend. The decision to get together as a team with everyone’s family and significant other was made a few minutes ago.

“Uh, yes I think I am.” Spencer seems in a bit of a rush as he grabs his satchel and go back. He wishes everyone a good night and off he is. Morgan shrugs to himself. Maybe a new episode of Dr Who airs and he wants to see it right away for once.

There is something different, that catches not only his but also the rest of the team’s suspicion: Reid running late.

“Hey Morgan, can you tell the others that I come half an hour later, please?” Surprised he agrees and hangs up. After that Derek is met with several puzzled faces.

“What is it, hot stuff?” breaks Penelope the silence while sipping on some sort of cocktail.

He situates himself back into his seat next to Garcia and Rossi and explains: “Reid told me he is late.” This wakes worry in everyone. The last time something like this happened was when their beloved youngster was using. Anxiety settles around the table, except for the young ones. Henry and Jack are talking happily without a single problem on their minds.

Exactly half an hour later Spencer enters the restaurant. The little bell above the door alerts the team. But the picture that lies ahead of them is nothing they ever expected.

“Hey guys. Sorry I’m late, but (Y/N)’s grandma brought her home with a bit of a delay due to traffic” explains Reid and gestures to the young girl next to him. She can’t be older than six years.

Emily is the first one to break the silence. “And you don’t think there are more things that need an explanation?”

The girl looks uncomfortable at everyone before trying to hide behind the doctor’s legs. Under different circumstances the women on the team would have made a sound of adoration. The situation is just too bizarre to mind anything other than Spencer Reid, the man with the Reid-Effect, has a comforting hand on her shoulder and looks of love for her.

“Uh, yes. This is (Y/N), my daughter. Sweetheart, these are the people I told you about. You know who is who, right?” He asks and crouches down to her height. A shy nod and a quick look to the ‘people’ he referred to are the answers.

“Do you want to sit next to Henry and Jack? They are about your age.” “No. I want to sit with you, Daddy” she nearly whispered.

Before the doctor is able to do it himself, Penelope pulls up two chairs next to her and waves them over. With a nod Spencer thanks her and seats both of them onto them.

“So (Y/N), how old are you?” JJ asks, while watching her son from the corner of her eyes. The girl shifts uncomfortably and looks up at her father.

He clears his throat before answering: “(Y/N) is five years old since last month. We had a nice little party, didn’t we?” She nods while concentrating on the little sloth plushie in her hands. Derek notices it and let's be real: He is desperate to connect with his best friend’s daughter.

“Are sloths your favorite animals? Because they definitely are mine.” Again she nods, but this time (Y/N) looks up to the muscle man and has an expression of excitement on her face.

Finally a waitress comes by and takes everyone’s order.

“And what is it for you, sweetie?” she asks in a real friendly manner.

Reid answers for his daughter and orders noodles with spring rolls. After a little tug on his shirt sleeve he adds a small milkshake with a smile. Seemingly satisfied (Y/N) leans a bit back in her chair, toying with her stuffed animal.

“Hey (Y/N), do you wanna color these menus in like the boys do?” Penelope proposes and motions to the papers another waiter brought to the table earlier. She nods and lets the blonde move her chair. Together they work on the menus.

“Reid, since when do you have a daughter, man? Don’t get me wrong, parenthood really suits you. But when did this happen?” Morgan whispers after making sure the girl is too distracted to pay attention to the conversation. After all Garcia babbles on about her favorite animals of all times. One can only imagine the length of this list.

The doctor blushes at the compliment and explains the story.

“(Y/N) happened a-a while ago, like you can imagine. Her mother and I stayed good friends and I helped and visited them as often as possible. Six months ago her mother was diagnosed with brain cancer. Inoperable. (Y/N) was set to watch her slowly getting weaker and weaker. She died 68 days ago. Since 93 days (Y/N) lives with me, though her grandmother took a hotel room for the time being to help both of us adjusting to our new lives. Next week she leaves to go back to San Francisco. That’s why I thought it’s a good opportunity to have you all meet each other.”

The whole team is shocked by this. Again, fate wasn’t kind to their fellow colleague. But he makes the best out of this situation and this quality is something that everyone around the table admires.

“I’m sorry to hear this, Spence. But whenever you need help, don’t be afraid to ask for it. Will and I will be happy to babysit (Y/N), when you need us to. I’m sure she and Henry will be good friends once she warms up” JJ offers, Will nodding along in agreement.

With that the whole team and their significant others also volunteer to help.

Thankful Spencer smiles and his shoulders relax, like a big weight is taken off of them. His answer, which would more likely be a rambling about some statistics because it’s his way to show his emotions, is cut short due to the waitress bringing everyone’s dish.

After a few minutes of happy eating and praising the food, Spencer feels a tug on his sleeve. He looks down to his daughter, a loving look immediately takes place in his eyes.

“What is it, Sweetheart?” But (Y/N) only gestures him to come closer. Unbeknown to them the team gets quieter.

“I don’t know how to eat with two sticks.” This confession melts every heart.

“It’s not a problem, because I also don’t know how to eat with them”, Spencer tries to make her feel better. Also it’s the truth.

Luckily Emily is willing to save the situation and prepares two sets of chopsticks with hair ties. (Y/N)’s face lights up at her help and she takes the sticks gratefully. Still she struggles to get at least one noodle between them.

As endearing this may look, Hotch wants to put the little girl out of her misery and gets up to get a fork. He also grabs one for Spencer, so (Y/N) doesn’t feel lonely being the only one to use it. And it’s the only way the doctor is able to eat his food while it’s still warm.

A small “thank you” is muttered by her, her eyes sparkling at the usually tough agent. But just a glance at this coax a smile on Hotch’s face.

And this is the story how (Y/N) Reid wrapped the whole BAU team around her small fingers without even saying a word to them.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #i also am unable to eat with chopsticks #fanfiction

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

Text

PAIRING, BAGELS, REPEAT

— I’VE SEEN FIRE, I’VE SEEN RAIN ; PART 2 / ?

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 1909

SUMMARY: Being laid off isn’t very fun but Bruce tends to find himself even more entangled in your life, including his alter ego—Batman.

A/N: I’m loving this series and if you are, feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading my crappy stuff aka my daydreams <3

WARNINGS: Guns! Death threats! Crying! A mental breakdown!

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

James Taylor’s Fire and Rain plays like a funeral hymn on the record player, echoing through your studio apartment. You’re sitting on the ground, back against the ratty couch with a pizza box on your lap. You take a bite of a BBQ Chicken pizza slice, furiously wiping your tears away as you replayed the events from six hours ago. From being called to the principal's office to only be told that you’re one of the non-tenured teachers to be laid off due to cutbacks. Gotham High was...a tough school. The students were mean to you because well, you're young and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Plus, you taught English Literature and frankly, your students didn’t exactly enjoy the subject as much as you wanted them to. Nevertheless, you’re devastated. Teaching was a dream of yours, and it’s being taken away from you. You cried all the way back home, tried to call your mother but it kept going to voicemail. You must have called someone else, but you don’t remember and couldn’t care less to check your phone—the whole day went by like a blur.

Then, there’s a sound. An insistent buzz, it’s the doorbell. You furrow your brows, not recalling ordering anything else other than the large pizza from Domino’s. Yet, it doesn’t cease, and you’re forced to bring yourself to stand on your feet, instinctively flattening your tousled hair to make yourself seem somewhat presentable. Like, you’re doing fine and you have everything completely under control. Maybe, you did call your mother, and she’s at the door. You’re hoping she is although she’s going to kill you for the mess.

Another buzz and you’re toddling across the wooden flooring and towards the doorway. It’s starting to become infuriating by the second, like a house fly don’t won’t stop bugging you. Considering the mood you’re in, it doesn’t take much to tick you off. Swinging the door open, you expected to see the radiant face of your mother but to your surprise, it’s not.

It’s Bruce.

Shit.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks.

You nearly choke at the sight of him in a slightly crumpled oxford blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair as much of a mess as yours and tired eyes staring down at you with concern. You note how Bruce is very charming, no matter how disarrayed he is. Meanwhile, you’re realizing the current state must be a little startling. Your eyes are probably bloodshot, hair still in a tangled mess and glaring tomato stains everywhere on your GCU t-shirt. This is such a low point for you.

“Bruce,” you say, voice raising an octave with wide eyes as you stare at him like he’s grown another head, “What are you doing here?” His frown is immediate, seemingly confused by your question. “You called me.” He gestures to his phone within his grasp. “It sounded bad even though I couldn’t make out what you were saying half of the time,” He chuckles and holds up a familiar looking paper bag “So, I got you bagels. Three of them. Thought you could use some of these.”

It takes a second or two for you to finally process what he just told you before your emotionally wrecked brain decides to do the most irrational thing ever—You just start sobbing. You’re crying so hard that it terrifies Bruce. He blinks, thoughts racing. The sight of you in complete misery strikes him like a punch to his gut and for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do. Not immediately. Yet, through glassy eyes, you manage to notice the way his face dropped and morphed into pure horror. Justification is key, you don’t want to weird him out and think you’re crazy. You wave your hand in the air dismissively, rubbing your eyes as you spoke between strangled sobs. “I’m sorry, it’s been a tough day and that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me all week.”

Oh.

Your words are a tug to the heartstrings, and it sends his head reeling but relief was all that overwhelmed him. Bruce would never wish to see you hurt, especially when it’s caused by him. Actions of affection were primarily reserved for those closest to him, but he never experienced the urge to be intimate and care so much for a person ever since his parents died. Yet, out of everyone, you’re the one that brings out the most in him. Moving closer to you, he reaches and pulls you in a hesitant embrace. You stiffened at the mere touch of his arms around you, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Sure, you had a fair share of intimate moments with the man but this, this was different. You couldn’t shake the thought of how something so warm felt so right, smelt right. Despite the fact you had been trying to suppress your feelings for Bruce, and this was doing the exact opposite of that, you can’t help but feel this was what you needed at the moment. So, you let your body sag, muscles becoming loose and you let yourself truly cry for the first time.

You end up inviting him in later, when your tears are dry. You eat two of the bagels, sharing the last one with him. You called a peace offering, a gift of appreciation, for the whole emotional massacre you unexpectedly shoved at him. He simply laughs, eyes crinkling with fondness. He thinks you’re beautiful, especially when your hair is wild, laughing like you don’t have a care in the world. It’s what keeps him grounded, to know you’re raw and very real. The next thing you know, you end up shuffling cards of UNO until the wee hours of the morning—exchanging knowing smiles and Bruce trying to pick a Wild Draw card from the deck to get you to lose. But, he lets you win anyway.

He slept on your couch that night, still in his dress shirt. You must've peeked a glance at his sleeping form, squeezed onto the couch that’s clearly too small for him. Cute. You snap a picture before heading to bed. For blackmail purposes, of course.

You end up working a night shift at a burger joint called Big Belly Burger somewhere in midtown. Your first week comes and goes, and you’re starting to hate how your uniform itches and how the restaurant can get really filthy by the end of the day. Yet, it’s the kids from Cameron Kane High that come after school that keeps you going because it makes you miss being a teacher even though they tend to leave a mess after a meal.

Thursday comes and you’re exhausted. Even so, you’re thankful it’s a slow night. You’ve done all your cleaning duties earlier on and Lucie, the manager went out to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner. Hence, it’s just you, slumped against the counter, devouring a Triple Belly Burger.

You’re half way through the burger when you hear the door swing open. Expecting to see Lucie, you turned around to see two men brandishing handguns your way. “Everything from the register, now!” The taller masked man shouted, gun gesturing to the cash register. Your eyes are wide, and you can feel your chest heaving. There was no way you’ll be able to fight them. Not two of them with guns pointed at you.

The burger drops from your hand and so does your heart. With trembling hands, you slide the drawer of the cash register open and begin pulling out dollar notes. From the corner of your eye, you spot your phone on the counter, close enough for you to make an emergency call. Your eyes scan the two men wearily and with every ounce of courage you had left, you managed to unlock your phone, pulled up the messaging app and texted the first name on the list: Bruce Wayne.

help, was all you managed to say.

To say your luck ran out was an understatement; you were never lucky anyway. One of the robbers must have caught on to what you were doing and just as the call goes through, he snatches your phone away, throws it onto the ground and shoots it.

So close, yet so far.

You don't know if the message got through.

The muzzle is now inches away from your forehead, and you hear the cock of the gun. “Don’t you dare pull somethin’ funny like or I’ll blow your brains out. Give us the money, now.” It was in that moment, your tears give way and your life flashes before your eyes. You pray for a miracle, a savior.

Then, you see him.

A looming figure appears by the doorway and your breath hitches. It’s Batman, looking like a Goddamn angel. The robbers seem to realize this too, guns quickly directed towards the vigilante. He launches batarangs to the pair of men and immediately disarms them. In a flash, he knocks them out, unconscious bodies dropping to the ground like dead flies.

You stare at him in awe although he’s very frightening and intimidating but Batman...just saved you. Now, this is a story you’re going to be telling everybody until the day you die. He approaches you with caution, and you instinctively take a step back. Then, he calls you by your name like it’s second nature. You stare at him with blank amazement, brows raised.

“You know my name?” Your voice dwindled; It’s so soft and timid you hardly hear yourself. Despite the mask, the vigilante looks like his brain just short-circuited for a moment. He clears his throat.

“...Bruce has mentioned you.”

You ignore how his synthetic voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand and the familiarity that struck for a split second when he said your name because you’re too wrapped up with the fact that Bruce has discussed about you to his other ‘best friend’ as one might call it. Brooding over this lump of a thought, the corner of your mouth twitches. “He did?” you say with a hint of affection. It’s hard to read the man under the mask, whoever he was but you’re certain he looked taken aback by your response. Maybe, it was the way you delivered it—the longing in the very core of the expression. You may have outed your feelings for Bruce to...Batman.

This doesn’t get any stranger than that.

“Yes,” he replies curtly, and you hear the police sirens afar. “Are you hurt?” Like the true caretaker of Gotham, he wants to be sure you haven’t been injured. You shake your head, lips pressed together. The whaling of the police sirens grow louder, lights of red and blue flashing before your eyes. He appears like a shadow against the glaring lights from the police cruisers and before you can blink, he flees with a muttered ‘Goodnight’ and disappears before the police come flooding in and does Lucie. The poor woman looked at with frantic eyes as soon as she glimpsed the two men on the ground, groaning in pain.

The glint of the batarang on the floor captures your attention, you smile at this.

You may or may not have taken it back to your apartment that currently sits proudly on the bookshelf in your living room.

You’re so telling Bruce.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman x you #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #justice league

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2tired2study · 3 years

Text

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

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obeiii-mee · 4 years

Text

So, I finally finished part 2 for the original ask. I’ve had a bit of trouble with writing the twins because I think this would affect them particularly bad. I hope you enjoy all this angst, cuz I sure as hell didn’t im fucking sobbing alright?

Pt. 1

Enjoy!

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The Brothers Reacting to MC sacrificing themselves to bring Lilith back, Part 2:

Satan:

-Satan felt like the stupidest demon in DevilDom. He was supposed to be the intellectual, the logical one, the one with more than a few spare brain cells to work with. And yet he never twigged there was anything going on with you. The signs were all there. You had asked him for very specific book recommendations for the past few weeks, about the Celestial Realm and the full power of souls. He even let you borrow some from his own collection without giving it a second thought!

-In hindsight, your goal was very obvious but at the time, he hadn’t even stopped for a second to consider it. It just didn’t seem like something you would be capable of doing. But you did. Of course you did. You were the most driven human he had even met. You managed to live for a full year with seven of the most dangerous demons in hell and make pacts with them no less, so anything is fair game when it comes to you.

-Lucifer and Lilith found him in the library, like usual, reading what seemed to be a very graphic book on different wars that took place in the human realm over the centuries. What can I say, the man wanted to know more human history for your sake. He was one of the few brothers who hadn’t even noticed you were missing and never thought anything was amiss. Sure, he missed your presence but the cynical fourth born isn’t exactly paranoid.

-Now, if it was Lucifer alone that had come to check up on him, Satan would have been very tempted to just ignore him. But obviously he noticed a slightly smaller, less threatening figure next to him and he forced himself to look up from his book. Lowkey hoping it was you because he often complained his brothers got to spend way too much time with you. Satan and Lilith technically never met, face to face. However, I like to think that since Satan was born out of Lucifer’s wrath, he has a small connection with his memories and therefore Lilith. After all, Satan was the only one that never participated in the war or actually fell down as angel.

-He never met her before. Yet he immediately recognised her as she came in. She had every trait you would expect an angel to have. Except she wasn’t an angel anymore of course. She was dead. Or at least supposed to be. Lucifer just stood in the doorway as she approached him. Lilith fidgeted in front of him as she tried to come up with the right words to introduce herself.

-“I’m really happy to actually-“

-She didn’t get to finish because Satan had embraced her almost immediately, almost like he was on auto mode and couldn’t help himself otherwise. She welcome the gesture, glad their first meeting wasn’t as awkward as she had predicted it would be. The eldest brother was watching, slightly in awe because, as far as he knew, the only person he had ever hugged before this was you.

-Of course, the spell had to be broken. Lucifer knew better than to step in and allowed his sister to explain. Satan was going to have a bad reaction nonetheless, but he might become even more aggressive if it was him delivering the news. Lilith never had to deal with this particular brother of hers or any of his fits but somehow, it was like she knew what to do.

- Their sister did her best to explain it to Satan as calmly as possible, as if that would make much of a difference. Satan remained oddly quiet throughout all of it, showing no reaction besides a neutral one. Lucifer found this strange. Yeah, his brother/son was usually the silent type, the sort of demon to think, not speak. But he expected some sort of emotion in there. Anything, really. Anger definitely. Maybe sorrow and misery. But not this.

-Lilith noticed the shaking before even Satan did. His body had just started convulsing on its own as he processed the idea of you laying there, unmoving and cold; dead. He involuntarily clenched his fists and he had to sit down before his legs gave over. Lucifer was still outright confused while Lilith struggled to soothe her brother. He hated feeling like this. All vulnerable and weak, like the skies of hell will fall on him and crush him. He was Satan for fuck’s sake. He was probably considered the most fearful creature in all of existence. He shouldn’t be feeling like this.

-But of course he did. You were always able to do that to him, bringing out that soft side of him he never knew he had. Or at least refused to acknowledge he had. The funny thing was, since you were the one being subjected to that side of his, he didn’t mind. Because you are MC, a literal ball of sunshine. Nothing him and his brothers deserved but you were still willing to spend time with them. The least they could have done was to protect you.

-They couldn’t even do that

-He couldn’t even do that

-Satan is even more retreated now than before, more hostile toward his own brothers and basically everyone else. He will snap at anyone for very minor reasons and lock himself up in the library even more than usual. Anything to get his mind off how much he must have disappointed you. It hurts too much to even hear your name being spoken. God forbid they choose another human to come down there as an exchange student because he will unleash all of his wrath on them on your behalf. How dare some lowly human try to replace you? He’s more prone to fits of anger now too. Long gone is his self control and calmness.

-The one person that understood him was dead. The one person he allowed himself to be close to and genuinely kind to was gone forever. Satan will never get over this. Or the fact that you were smiling so brightly before you died.

Asmo:

-He’s just so sick of it. So so so sick of it. So sick of watching everyone he cares about either die or get taken away from him. If he was a mortal he would have probably gone crazy. Maybe he already reached insanity and just didn’t realise it. After all, everyone has a breaking point, even demons. And once you go beyond that point, your whole world will shatter.

-To him, it seems almost impossible that just that morning he had seen you at breakfast, laughing along with his brothers and overall just being the intriguing, silly human you were. You were right there! Right in front of him, talking to him like it was any other day. And now he has to deal with the unbearable fact that he will never hear your voice again.

-Asmo was out, hanging out at the Fall as usual, when he realised he had missed several, frantic calls from Mammon, who at that point wasn’t aware that you were long dead.

-He brushed him off, initially, thinking his brother was just having another one of his melodramatic moments. So the fifth born went around Majolish, basically buying everything he could get his hands on to ignore the uneasiness creeping up on him. He could feel something bad was happening. He just didn’t know what.

-At this point, he was a bit unsettled which is very unlike him. He is pretty optimistic as a whole so seeing him so startled and on alert was a sort of disturbing sight to see. Lucifer called him after lunch and told him to come home. Normally, Asmo wouldn’t have taken his older brother’s words too seriously but hearing his strained voice on the other side of the phone forced him into action.

-He rushed home, faster then he had ever done before., because let’s be honest, he prefers being outside of the house more often than not. He searched for you everywhere, but you were nowhere to be found. However, he bumped into Lucifer and Lilith in the middle of the upstair’s corridor in his frantic search for you.

-Unlike his brothers, Asmo noticed Lilith immediately, way before he even acknowledged his brother. It was such a shock to him that he thought for sure that he was hallucinating, though things like that never happened to him beforehand. Asmo stopped breathing for what felt like centuries because he didn’t want to raise his expectations, he didn’t to be disappointed if Lilith truly wasn’t there and he was just making her up. He didn’t want to deal with the grief once again.

-However, Lilith remained exactly where she was and flashed him one of her brilliant, warm smiles that he had loved so much back in the Celestial Realm. That he, on more than one occasion, tried to copy because he wanted to have as much in common with Lilith as possible. He wasn’t imagining her and the moment he realised this, he threw himself at her, the worry of his hair being ruined long forgotten and now his only concern was that she would dissipate in thin air.

-Lilith did not yield and embraced her brother, she gave enough hugs today to last her a lifetime but she couldn’t be happier to see her beloved brothers again. It took every ounce of strength on Lilith’a part not to burst into tears from both joy and sorrow.

-Lucifer hated this. He hated having to cut in the happy moment and lay down the bad news. But he had do it. Because no one else would. He was the eldest. He was responsible for everyone. A sadist he may very well be, but it absolutely destroys him to see his brothers suffering from such extreme distress. He told Asmo everything as bluntly as he could, thinking that ripping the bandaid straight off would result in a better outcome.

-It did not.

-Mammon’s reaction to your death was expected, but Asmo’s took both Lilith and Lucifer by surprise. They didn’t expect him to be as emotional as he ended up being and both of them handled it awkwardly because the Avatar of Lust was usually such a confident and admirable creature, it felt weird to see him act in such a way. He fell to his knees in a moment of pure despair and cried enough tears to drown himself in them later. He sobbed for a long time and did not stop immediately, instead going through several stages of weeping, from hiccuping to panting and then back to crying. It was an endless cycle of sadness.

-Lilith half carried half dragged him to his bedroom, while her other brother watched, a bit mesmerised. Asmo usually loved having company and now that his sister was back, he 100% needed it but at the same time, he wished to remain alone for a while. It would be painful but he needed to gather his feelings in one place before he could even put together a conclusion on how he was feeling. So they both left and with the door closed, all the air seemed to suffocate him and drag him into endless despair.

-Asmo received a lot of damage from your death, changing his personality very abruptly. Compared to his brothers, his change in attitude is not so subtle and now he basically hates anything that reminds him of you. He no longer enjoys hanging out or clubbing at the Fall or even go shopping anymore unless it’s necessary because those were things he used to do with you! And now, they seemed so pointless he often wondered what was the point of actually doing it. The only sort of satisfaction he gets is being in your room because if he closes his eyes, just for a moment, he can pretend you’re still there with him, whispering words of comfort to him.

-Yes, he still has one night stands and tries to seduce people left and right but it’s a sort of distraction more than anything else. He doesn’t do it out of need anymore, but out of desperation to get you out of his head. He’s also been sneaking to the Human Realm a lot as of late, as if hoping to randomly bump into you up even though it’s not possible and he knows it. He’s just torturing himself further. Hopeless. Just hopeless.

-You made him feel so much more than just Lust. And now that he had you, even if it was for just a short amount of time, Asmo knew he would never feel that way to anyone ever again. He would never fall in love with anyone ever again.

-He knew the risks of getting attached to a human. He knew how much he would suffer in the end. After all, humans are mortals, they are not destined to live for long. And yet he went and did it anyway because you were too amazing to ignore. You gave him something he never realised he yearned for and you left before he could reciprocate.

The Twins:

-Neither Lilith nor Lucifer was surprised to find the two of them together, relaxing in the attic. It’s common knowledge at this point that the twins have a hard time being separated. And especially more so than before after the whole attic incident, which concluded with them refusing to leave each other’s side. Usually, you were with them too, of course, for good measure. Obviously, they weren’t able to find you anywhere like everyone else. Belphie got tired of searching and just suggested that they go upstairs and that eventually you’ll joking them.

-Lucifer was, understandably, extremely worried at how the twins would react to all of this. Just seeing their adored sister in the same room as them would be more than enough to cause them to malfunction. But if he let them know that you died mere hours ago? And for smuggling Lilith’s soul back into existence no less? It would be chaos. At least with his other brothers, their reactions he could more or less predict. But the twins were slightly different. Especially Belphie. You can never really tell what goes on inside his head.

-Beel noticed his sister before Belphie did. He was so taken aback, he tumbled backwards and off the bed, accidentally dragging his twin with him. It was quite a comical fall actually. Lilith would’ve laughed if it wasn’t for the circumstances. She missed them, of course. Truth is, she missed all of her brothers and their memories back in the Celestial Realm. It always hurt so much to think that she could see them but never really interact with any of them. Except through you since you were heir in a way.

-Beel was a mess, first of all. You can easily imagine the distress he was in at the sight of his little sister. His dead little sister. Dead because of him. It might’ve been centuries since Lilith fell from the heavens and got transformed into a human but he continued to carry that burden with him because how could he not? He should’ve been able to save both Lilith and Belphie even though, logistically speaking, it would’ve been impossible. He saw the despair in her eyes right before she disappeared below the clouds. That image had and will haunt him for the rest of his eternal days.

-He was on his knees before her in a split second, grabbing the hems of her sleeves and sobbing into them as if the whole of DevilDom was about to crash down on all of them. Beel was yelling incoherently, switching between begging for forgiveness and stuttering mid sentence, unable to get the rights words out. The whole mansion was filled with his distraught weeping and he just couldn’t stop.

-His sister knelt down and embraced him, almost awkwardly because of the position they were in, as she began crying as well. Out of exhaustion more than anything. She’s dealt with so many breakdowns in one day that she couldn’t handle holding her emotions in anymore. With the death of her descendant and the sorrow of her brothers, she wished from the bottom of her heart she had just stayed dead because everything would have turned out alright that way.

-Belphie was more cautious. He stood at the back of the room, watching as his sister hugged Beel and sort of held him in a way that would quieten him down. Careful. He casted Lucifer a glance, as if to ask “what the hell is going on?” before once again staring at the ridiculous sight before him. Usually, he wasn’t one to look to his eldest brother for help. There was some dangerous hatred he harboured for him deep in his heart after all. But he was so confused and conflicted, he couldn’t fight the urge to seek guidance from him.

-Lucifer didn’t know how long it had been since he last saw his youngest brother be that openly vulnerable. It felt like an eternity now, to be honest. He was like a rock hard, clamped sea shell since their fall as angels. He walked over to him and placed his hand on Belphie’s shoulder. For the first time in millenniums, his brother didn’t try to swat it away.

-“Lilith is back.”

-That was all he needed. Those three words. As soon as Lucifer finished his sentence, he ran straight into his siblings who were still crying on the floor. He almost bulldozed them over if it wasn’t for Beel’s strength. The youngest landed on top of them, almost starting to cry as well. Beel, seemingly tired himself out so much that he went a bit limp in Lilith’s arms, still gripping onto her for dear life as if she were on the verge of disappearing again.

-“MC is dead.”

-It was a horribly timed moment to drop that bomb in, to be fair. Lucifer tried saying it as casually as he could but he could hear his own voice crack and see his own hands tremble. His mind was focused but his body had betrayed him. The twins were so into the moment, so glad to see their sister after all this time, it was almost like they didn’t hear him. So he repeated the statement, this time in a more composed manner. Belphie immediately reacted. He got off his siblings and straightened his back, glaring at Lucifer in shock from the other side of the room. Beel stayed where he was, but craned his neck to gawk at Lucifer, who was standing solemnly, waiting for the predicted chaos. Lilith closed her eyes and winced.

-Beel was in outright denial which was surprising. He wouldn’t, or rather refused, to accept that you could be dead. I mean, the idea itself was propestrous, right? You’ve almost died once and you managed to outdo death. Or more accurately, your future self did. You could do it again, couldn’t you? Just the image of you laying dead somewhere was enough to send him in panic and another, this time almost silent, meltdown. He seized fistfuls of his hair and pulled, as a method of escaping the pain that came with the thoughts of you and death being correlated in any way. If Lilith’s death wasn’t enough to push him over the edge, this sure as hell was. Could demons go insane? Probably. Beel certainly felt like he was. Even with Lilith there comforting him, he had the impression he couldn’t stand or even look up from the floor.

-Belphie didn’t make a move to aid his brother or help his sister. He stood, teeth gritted and jaw clenched, staring at his oldest brother with an odd gleam in his eyes. For a few moments, he was motionless. Then, he turned on his heel and marched out of the attic, slamming the door behind him so hard that the whole room shook. Lucifer didn’t try to stop him. It would be meaningless anyway. He wouldn’t listen to him. And his sister was still occupied with Beel, who kept mumbling with tears trailing down his cheeks about everything being his fault and not being there when he should have.

-The twins did not even go through the same stages of mourning their brothers did. Beel was dealing with the grief of someone incredibly close to him by eating even more than he normally would, causing his siblings quite a bit of concern. But they couldn’t argue much. He was the epitome of gluttony in the end. Belphie didn’t change much in terms of his daily activities. He slept as much as he could during the day. And at night, he stargazed as he always did. But more bitterly than usual, despising the fact that he wasn’t going to enjoy another starry night with you ever again. He didn’t blame you for dying. He was angry you left and to do something so stupid as bringing Lilith back in return for your lost soul. He was angry you couldn’t be selfish for once and let yourself be happy with them.

-He was angry at Mammon too. He learned he was supposed to be with you earlier that day. He wasn’t. And now the two aren’t speaking. For some reason, he is slightly upset with Lucifer too but that is only because he was the one who delivered the sad news. But most of all, he was very furious with himself. Because he promised that he would never let anything happen to you again after the whole choking incident. He swore on his honour as a demon to protect you and he couldn’t.

-Don’t tell him they’re bringing another exchange student in. He will kill them. He 100% will kill them. He doesn’t want to replace you. And neither does Beel. He would probably eat the new student within a few minutes. But it would take a while until all of that is sorted out. After all, even Diavolo himself is bound to be mourning in his own way. Not like you were meant to know, but you were definitely the favourite child exchange student.

-It wasn’t fair you had to leave. It wasn’t fair that you didn’t even get to say goodbye. It wasn’t fair that the three of you couldn’t spend more time together. Beel won’t be able to ever taste your cooking again and Belphie won’t have anyone to cuddle with in the morning and be generally lazy with. And again, they had even more of a reason to curse their father for ruining the one good thing that’s happened to them since their glory days as angels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-The 7 brothers will continue to grieve your death for the rest of eternity, be assured. Their sister just as much of course. And at some point, the whole of DevilDom had to in a way as the prince himself wasn’t his usual, peppy self. At least Lilith’s presence had a calming effect on them but not one that could compare to the trauma of knowing you were truly gone. They would wait and with time, there will be healing.

-Except time doesn’t heal anyone’s wounds. It just teaches them how to deal with the pain.

——————————————————————-

This took so much longer than planned, Jesus Christ! I guess I was really unhappy with it at some point and gave up, then sort of rewrote it which took a while. And now it’s done! I’m sort of proud on how it turned out. A bit cliche but I feel like it created the right atmosphere. Also, the last quote above is a favourite of mine that I thought would be a good idea to add in.

The twins are joined because I thought it would not only save time but also make more sense since the two are together almost all the time. Hope no one is upset I didn’t do the twins separately, it would’ve taken even longer then!

To add, 1,080 followers???? Wtf, I haven’t even posted anything in a while, thank you so much! You’re all too nice istg.

@doggonudez asked me to tag them in this post, so I hope this actually works lmao.

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #angst #death #🔥 own posts #🌪 angst #📚 Satan supremacy #🪞Asmo supremacy #🍔 Beel supremacy #💫 Belphie supremacy

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damselofblueroses · 3 years

Text

The Name of The Rose

Summary: Your study-buddy Doh Kyungsoo comes with you for a long-awaited trip to Tokyo, Japan. There is a tension between you, however both of you decided to build a friendship instead of a relationship.

Chapter Summary: Kyungsoo takes you to a little noodle shop. Both of you were becoming aware of your own feelings, and during the dinner you were having some interesting conversations.

Content: Unestablished relationship, AU, Hurt/Comfort, Anger, Slight Violence, Emotional Complications and Healing.

Warnings: Well, the story contains NSFW/Smut, please minors do not continue.

Note: This story was inspired by D.O.’s album, Empathy, the album of 2021 in my opinion. It is an ongoing mini project, I planned to write it as a one-shot when I started, however I realized there are a lot to say about Empathy Era and I cannot stop shut my mouth, or prevent myself from writing… So, here we go.

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Chapter 2: The Hunter and the Goddess

You did not know how far Kyungsoo was planning to hold your hand like a treasure. You did not know if he was just enjoying the time then kick you out or he was going to change something between you, as holding hands or asking weird questions did not have a place in your relationship till now. What if he was planning something you never dare to think of? Maybe he’d encourage you to try new things since you were the one who telling that you were bored to death. What kind of new things was the first questions popped up in your mind, you knew Kyungsoo too well, that innocent school kid look was half true, he could put everyone in shame if he wanted to perform his charm and knowledge.

And you, unfortunately, knew that he was quite popular not only for his good-looking or his brain, but also some talents.

But you realized then that if he wanted to give you a demonstration, you would happily accept and let him to use those talents you really tried your best in order to keep yourself from questioning. If the man was Kyungsoo, you could be pathetically submissive and always eager to please him that you would do anything he wanted just to hear him telling you how good you were for him.

You exactly understood the assignment more than you asked for, the whole situation you were willingly putting yourself without an indicator was nothing but stupid, reckless, and risky to your mental and emotional health. There was a real threat ahead of you, if you were going to be over the moon and let yourself to dream the things you certainly could not reach, you would not overcome, and you were going to destroy your friendship with Kyungsoo.

Maybe that’s why you started to shake like stuck inside a blizzard. Kyungsoo sensed it, too. Maybe he thought it was very strange singe you were in the mid of fucking August and the weather was like a preparation room before entering to Hell, however he chose to keep his observation to himself, and he let your hand go.

You could scream.

God, you could scream so bad because of the loss of that bloody precious sensation.

Before you would say something, hell like you could do, he run his hand through your arm and drag you closer to his chest.

“It is about air conditioner.” he said, but in the blink of an eye all you could feel was the warmness, and how good his smell was. “And your little blue dress is literally little.”

His palm contacted your bare skin, the tip of his fingers were close to your neck, his touch was heavy, hot and it had you breathing a little bit faster than usual.

“Of course, my dress is little,” you attempted to save yourself from the misery. “I know it sounds impossible, but I am shorter even than you, Kyungsoo.”

“So funny you are.” the sudden look he gave you made your stomach flipped. “Sometimes I feel like I have to teach you not crossing my limits, I am a man after all.”

“What are you going to do?” you playfully whispered. “Bend me over your knees?”

“You have a point over there.” he was serious. “I would like to do.”

You hoped he did not mean it.

“I just say the truth.” you could not help but push him further. “Since when telling the truth is a sin? Cancel me if you want but sweet Jesus, Soo, you know you are smol.”

“Depends on which point you want to compare me with the other guys.” he claimed. “You never had a proper taste of me, darling girl, I am just a friend to you.”

Well, his comment hurt you, but you bit your tongue and quickly sealed a lid on the boiling heat inside of you. Your fingers rub at your forehead.

Proper taste of Kyungsoo, you thought, there was no beat of hesitation in your mind, you would willingly die for having a proper taste of him.

“Headache?” he asked and reached into his bag most probably he brought painkiller for you. Kyungsoo knew you to the bits, more than anyone else, he could read you like you were an open book to him. But this time, you wanted to keep it to yourself.

“No.” you nod. “How many destinations we have to arrive?”

“2 or 3. I am not sure,” he looked at around. “Most probably two. Are you hungry that much?”

“Yes, I am starving.” it was not a lie, you were really starving but not for food. Coming to Japan with Kyungsoo was a bad idea, you had never been unstable like this before. The invisible barrier between you and him made you mad. You knew that you were not one to unload the feelings onto someone, instead, you rarely bring them up, only when it was extremely unbearable for your heart. When you feel like explode. When you feel like suffocating. When the suffer become a load to carry.

To your dismay, you felt all of them right now.

“On your foot, soldier.” he carefully lowered his arm off your shoulder. “We came.”

“Okey.” you pull yourself to your feet and hurry to leave the bus. Kyungsoo pressed into the button, you step into the fresh air. “Now, to where?”

“This way.” he arched his brow and you two walked into the noodle restaurant in a quite silence. Your head was throbbing, heavier than usual with all those thoughts, hopes, secrets that you were keeping inside of you for a long time. You hardly realize that you reached to the place, but when Kyungsoo opened the door for you, you managed to save yourself from trouble.

The place smelled too good to be true. The smell of fresh noodles, side dishes made you dizzy, the cuteness of place as well itself.

Smol like Kyungsoo, you thought but you did not say this, you just looked for a table to sit. You turned to him, but he already found a place for you and held your fucking hand again. He did not think about his move, it was so obvious, he just did. Your heart was pondering while he headed to the corner of shop, more intimate with dim lights.

“We cannot be comfortable with those lights.” he pointed the roof out. “There are so bright for us. Is this table okey?”

“Yip yip.” you were disctracted by the pleasure of yummy smells. “I can feel the taste on my tongue even from these smells! Let’s sit!”

Kyungsoo chuckled to your enthusiasm, he knew that he’s being tormented by his inappropriate thoughts, but he could not stop thinking about you. Would you smile like this if he tells you how much he adores you for fucking years? Would you smile so gently like you smile when you see a blue rose or your smile was going to be fade like when you learned your grandfather passed away?

Kyungsoo shivered with the memory. It was the last thing he would want to recall, he wished to see you never ever like that. You could not smile for months.

But he could not prevent remembering your skin. So soft and so warm to the touch and your fucking lips, so plump, pink, pouty and always calling him to kiss you.

You looked so pretty today, it was not you were not pretty in general but today Kyungsoo felt like you were his, all his. There was no Baekhyun, no Chanyeol, no Jongdae which means peace to him because when you three came together, the only word could describe was cacophony, no one. He loved them more than any friends, but he secretly preferred having time just for you two. Just you and Kyungsoo. He could watch your excitement for a while, you were like a bird whose trying to decide where to set. He was waiting for the show you were going to put, when the waitress brought the menu, you brightly smiled to her and duck your head into it while unintentionally dancing.

Kyungsoo loved you more than he could tell for this. Being yourself in every situation.

You were bathed in the dim yellow light, and Kyungsoo clearly saw your upper half above the table. Navy blue cotton clung to your chest, tighter than Kyungsoo wished, that square cut-out revealed your pale skin and the blue necklace you wore was elegantly stayed above your collarbone. Kyungsoo could not define but your collarbone definitely doing something to him. He remembered that necklace with a blue, tiny rose, he gave it to you in your 23rd birthday.

He wished he could tell you that you were prettier even than blue roses.

Years passed out so quick, but Kyungsoo could not tell you how much he desired you during all those years.

He watched you, forgetting to blink. His gaze shifting over you, washing you with his admiration from head to toe. You were clueless, he knew that you were not aware of his feelings for you, but he was grateful for being able to absorb the extent of your beauty. Maybe you were not the prettiest girl of the town, for his eyes, you were the chef kiss for sure. He remembered he wanted to punch Chanyeol in the face for his comments when you got your pixie haircut, you were not looking like manly as he nonchalantly said, Kyungsoo never think he could find short hair as attractive but hell, he loved your new style. And your eyes, your goddam eyes, so big, outlined in carbon black liner that made your eyelids covered with a shimmery shadow.

You looked fucking gorgeous, and Kyungsoo was extremely vulnerable to your beauty. You gave him really hard times, literally and figuratively. And to his dismay, he fucking liked his bonds to you like he was an addicted.

“Have you decided on the orders?” Kyungsoo heard the waitress again and turned to her as he woke up from a dream. He realized he forgot to look at menu, before he could open it, you lifted your head and looked at him.

Damn you.

Damn your eyes.

Damn your lips.

“Did you?” you murmured. “I did.”

Kyungsoo could not get your lips out of his head, if he could, he would also decide what he was going to have. Godfuckingdamnit, he just wanted to drag you into his lap and kiss you fervently. Maybe you could understand how he has been feeling since fucking years if he would kiss you. He just wanted to ravage you like a starved man, and he fucking was.

“I want Inaniwa Udon.” you said as you were waiting for his reply. “And sake, if it is possible.”

Why not, he thought. As long as you were with him, he could allow you to drink as much as you wanted. Thinking you drinking without Kyungsoo gave him really heart attack, he knew you were not famous of having high alcohol tolerance.

“I will have Ramen Meat Tsukasa.” he smiled to the waitress. “Do you serve sake?”

“Yes, we do.” the waitress replied. She was very kind, and she was also smiling to your little dance figures. “Do you want two bottles, or one is enough?”

“I think one is enough for now.” Kyungsoo said this as a question to you, you hummed. “Maybe we will have another later.”

“Okey, I will bring your orders as soon as they are ready. Have a nice time.” the waitress made a little bow to both of you and rushed back to the kitchen.

“So, do you like the restaurant?” Kyungsoo asked to you. At his words, your smile widened, and the stars became visible in your eyes. Kyungsoo felt he started to melt inside.

“I love these tiny places.” you whispered sheepishly. “You know how much I love them, Kyungsoo.”

Yeah, Kyungsoo knew your preferences very well. What he did not know was the power your whisper has on him. It gave him electroshocks, he felt like a wriggling worm. He immediately fantasized on more intimate scenarios which you could whisper his name and God, he hated himself for that, but he could not stop. To be honest, even if it meant self-hatred, he did not want stop thinking about you. He loved to think about you far too much although he was perfectly aware of his mind wandering around extremely dangerous territory.

“For a second,” you stood up. “I have to use bathroom, excuse me.”

“Yeah.” that was his best shot since you started to walk because he did not see your back in this dress. His eyes followed you until you disappeared, drunk the sway of your hips. Kyungsoo’s opinion of your dress quickly changed, and he cursed Sehun under his breath, the cotton fabric wrapped your curves and gradually hugged your body till a hand above the knee, it multiplied your summer rose vibe.

He decided to steal that dress and set it on fire, fuck that dress, God, he hated it.

Kyungsoo wondered what was going to happen to him when you decided to go out with a guy. Not today, his mind reminded him but one day you were going to hang out with someone. Someone, but not him.

He squeezed his fingers just as he would strangle an invisible neck of unnamed enemy.

Actually, you went out for some dates in the past, but none of them worked for you. Kyungsoo vividly remembered how horrible those nights were for him till he could hear the story from you. To be honest, you were secretive about those dates, you did not give him details but he learned it did not work for you, it was enough.

Till now.

He did not want to admit it, but he was curious as fuck, why those dates did not work. What happened, why you were so adamant of not going out while you were extremely clever and pretty? Unfortunately, Kyungsoo was aware of not only your impacts on him but also on community. You were quite popular among the guys.

He was dying to learn the reason of your consecutive rejections, maybe it was about your taste of men. Maybe you were liking older guys, maybe you were liking younger ones, maybe you were preferring foreigners. Scenarios, choices, and possibilities were a lot, and Kyungsoo hated the truth to the bits, even though you had no idea how charming you were both physical and emotional, you could make a man falling love with you in the blink of an eye.

He hated it too much. He hated because he strongly believed that if you could think of him as a potential lover even for once, you would do something to make him fall for you.

You never try. You were always far from him, and he was already in enough pain because of the distance between you, even you were just beside of him.

“I am back!” your voice dragged him out of his dark thoughts. For a second, he thought he could beg you to tell him how you saw him as a man.

If you need a lover, let me know.

Kyungsoo wanted to tell this to you more than anything else, but he was a coward inside. He was afraid of losing you forever, he did not want to destroy the anything, if he could have you as a friend, as a study-buddy, he was okey. Not fine, but okey. At least he could be with you as his heart wanted.

“Food is not ready yet.” he choked out loudly enough to make your eyebrows knitted.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah yeah, I am fine.” he nonchalantly answered. What could he say? Would he say he was thinking when you were going to have a boyfriend, how much he was going to be sad? Or could he tell you how much he wanted tear your dress off your body and worship you? “I am hungry.”

“I have a theory about the hunger of men.” you sat on your chair comfortably and pointed a finger to him. He wanted to catch that finger and kiss it. “For example, if you are hungry, you can be really scary. When Baekhyun or Chanyeol is hungry, they are grumpy. Is this something special to you, or is this a feature of men? We can be polite while we are waiting for food.”

“Do not go there.” Kyungsoo said lowly. “How much you know about men? Only me, our squad members, and your family. We can be also polite, and I am not fucking scary.”

“Sweetheart, I know men more than you believe.” you blinked mischievously, enough to startle him. “If a man is hungry, even the face expression transformed.”

“May I ask?” he started, but he could feel his hand beneath the table automatically turned into a fist. “How did you collect the information to support your weak theory?”

“By having dinners with them.” you grinned like a fucking Cheshire cat, and Kyungsoo hated to see also that. “You are not so different from each other, being so full of yourselves.”

You knew you were playing with fire.

You were trying to provoke him with your words. You were aware of Kyungsoo’s dislike of being compared with others.

Unconsciously you decided to make him mad at you in order to see if he had a feeling, even a little spot in his emotional radar, for you. If you could manage to annoy him that much, you knew he would talk. He would give hints at least, but he would do something.

You were more than okey even for a hint, you realized you were up to your hair, you were done with waiting for a sign. You realized your burned yourself out to the bitter end, you were done with waiting for him. You wanted nothing but him, you could say you did not and you would be lying your ass off if you did.

He stared at you as his expression was hard to decipher. He could be wanting to beat the shit out of you or thinking for an answer to shut your mouth for all eternity. Both of the options were possible.

“Your meals are ready.” the waitress came back with the gigantic bowls. “Enjoy, and bon appetite.”

“Thank you very much.” you bowed at her as she placed your meals onto table. As the smell attacked your nose, you rushed to pick your chopsticks. You had a sweet spot for Udon, but it did not mean you were not going to steal from Kyungsoo. You opened the water bottle, took a long sip, and turned to Kyungsoo to ask if he wanted water or not, and you fucking froze.

He was pouring sake for you just like the most important job he has been doing till now.

You were very fond of the level of attention; he was giving to everything he did. You could watch him forever, anything he did turned into art for you. God, if you could see your face right now, you would clearly understand how he affected you, your lips parted and your breathing was becoming heavier, holy shit, because he was pouring fucking sake!

“Can you stop staring at me like a freak?” he asked. You keel over in the chair, nearly shooting water out of your nose. Quickly, you swallowed and covered your mouth and averted your eyes while blushing like a schoolgirl but what made you blush was not being caught by him, you exactly saw that he was blushing while he scolded you. He was fucking blushed, you were %100 percentage of sure, his cheeks were turned into pinkish. “Here you go.”

Your hands were shaking a bit, but you managed to hold the cup.

“Thank you.” and you drunk it. You really needed something to cool you. “May I have the bottle?”

You knew Kyungsoo would make the process slower and to be honest, if he was going to take charge of sake, you would not nothing but staring at him like there was no tomorrow.

Tomorrow… You were feeling nervous about the future. You wanted to keep both of you at this moment. Just you and Kyungsoo. Together.

You shook your head just as you wanted to clean your mind from negative thoughts. The moment you had was the most important one and you did not want to destroy it by thinking about what was going to be happen. Kyungsoo was with you right now, even though you were not sure if you would last for the end of this trip.

He handed the bottle to you, you nested it close to yourself and poured another one. You drunk it too while Kyungsoo raised an eyebrow which you wholly ignored, then processed to eat your Udon. Flavour erupted on your tastebuds, and you started to eat like you did not have a meal in the last week.

“Holy shit.” you cursed when you gave a little break only to pour another one to yourself and Kyungsoo’s empty cup. “This is incredible.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Kyungsoo unwillingly laughed at you. “Please remember to breath, I do not want to be ended in the emergency.”

“You do not have to accompany me if the noodle stuck on my throat.” you drunk your third, allowed the liquid to slide down your throat and a warmth burned in your chest as it stayed there. You poured the fourth one. “My Japanese is better than yours.”

“Due to the speed of your consumption of sake,” he started with a fair point, you had to admit. “I am not sure if you can perform your Japanese skills. Instead, it looks like you will be bubbling in the end of this night, of course if you do not manage to kill yourself. Damn, take it easy.”

“No worries, I am a tough cookie.” you arched your brow, and your eyes fixed your Udon. “I will not be drunk.”

“What makes me worried,” his eyes continued to remain fixed on you. “Your unexpected fondness of sake. Do we have to order the second o-

“Yes.” you interrupted him. “Order.”

You knew that on the contrary what you said to him, you were going to be drunk. Hell, you wanted to be. A smile tugged up on your lips as you took another mouthful bite of your food. You wanted to be a drunk tonight and relax. Kyungsoo did not refuse your wish, he ordered another bottle while you were sending the fifth cup to your stomach.

“Now, tell me.” he jabbed. “How many dates you had till now?”

“Why are you asking this out of everything?” you asked with a sincere curiosity.

“I want to elaborate your theory, but before doing that, I have to collect information on the experimental group.”

“Ah.” you swallowed thickly. Hell, what it would be, damn Kyungsoo and his logic. “Well, I had three dates which you know. I had two more, which you did not know so the count is five.”

“Five.” he blinked. “Five men are not enough to hold a theory such includes everyone on this planet, and you were telling me we all same with a great confidence.”

“They were pretty same.” you turned your head away and poured another sake. You could feel that Kyungsoo was getting more tense after every cup you drunk, but you had zero fucks to give. “I was ended up with disappointment.”

“Why?” he caught you off guard. “You never tell me the whole story. What was wrong?”

They were not you, you thought in the safe silence in your mind but there was no enough amount of sake would make you tell this to him in the world. Maybe you start to feel a little bit dizzy but even if you would be on your knees, you would not confess the real reason.

“I do not know.” Yeah, there was not enough amount of sake would make you to confess, but the amount of sake which settled in the pit of your stomach made you more talkative about your affairs. Maybe it was about the need of showing Kyungsoo that you were a fucking girl, you could attract people also. “They were not made for me, I guess.”

“This is the result.” Kyungsoo furrowed his brows. His icy resolve frozen across his features. “I want to hear the story behind this result.”

Kyungsoo could not believe how he would let you to drink your seventh cup of sake and open the second one but in the deep of his heart, he knew the real reason. He wanted you to talk. God, he needed you to talk his ear off. He could die to learn what type of guy would attract you, and he could try to be that man.

“I am not sure how to explain that but,” you rapidly shook your head again. “It is all fucking disappointments for me. I do not know what they think about me, but when I go out with someone, I always ended up in home, calling Baekhyun or Chanyeol and we talked on why I felt like shit.”

Kyungsoo knew that getting you to talk always meant for extra efforts, he never pushed you. He never dragged you into the conversations you clearly did not have an intention to have.

Till now.

Providing you with company and asking nothing in return was not his best choice today. He was okey with asking nothing in return, he never expect anything in return for his company, but today he wanted to learn about your affairs.

“Could you decide?” he whispered. “I mean, why you felt like shit in your words?”

“Do you prefer more refined vocabulary?” you chuckled, and Kyungsoo understood that you had to be dizzy right now. You had two types of chuckles, and this one definitely a result of alcohol.

He did not prevent you from pouring the eighth one.

“No, speak as you want.” he did not let you go out of his palms. You were in his palms right now, he hooked you in his net, and this was going to be first and last he dragged you to a place you obviously did not want to engage.

However, he needed to learn. Just for once, he crossed all boundaries between you. All rules.

“Putting aside your quite vocabulary,” he pushed you to continue. “What was wrong?”

“Everything.” your eyes flitted up his face. Your gaze fuelled the excitement that already started to make its way in Kyungsoo’s lower stomach, an excitement that has been brewing since years as you have been lingering in front of him for an extremely long time.

“I cannot say that they were bad people, on the contrary, they were lovely.” This was not what Kyungsoo wished to hear, your words made his heart flipped, but not in a pleasurable way. “They were kind, nice, clever and to be honest good-looking. However, I did not feel anything towards them. I tried, Kyungsoo, I tried to do my best, but I am tired of ending up with same result. I did not find them attractive.”

You suddenly remembered the kiss of one of your dates gave you. You were not sure if you could call it as a kiss, Chanyeol and Baekhyun, those dorks, laughed at you their asses off when you told them that guy pressed his lips to yours and you immediately pushed him so strong, enough to made him lost his balance and fell on his butt.

“Were they,” Kyungsoo cleaned his throat.” Good companies? I am trying to understand why it cannot work for you.”

“No, they were.” you ponder, then a laugh fallen from your lips. “They really were, especially the last one. He was a good company even if he was a bit handsy.”

Kyungsoo’s chopsticks stuttered. You said it nonchalantly, you were dizzy as fuck, he could see that, but you said it to him as if it did not mean anything that the unnamed bastard invited his hands over your body, instead he should be on his fucking knees for you. His teeth shattered; he could feel his jaw was clenched with the thoughts he had to refuse for the sake of God.

“Being a little bit handsy does not sound a good company to me.” he said between his teeth. “Is that why you ended up feeling like shit? Did he force himself on you?”

If he did, God mercy on him because Kyungsoo was not going to. You were already drinking your tenth cup; he was sure he could learn that bastard’s name. He knew that right now, he was crossing your boundaries and taking advantage of your current hiatus, he was not better than that bastard, but he was not going to stop.

“No, he touched my inner thigh during the dinner.” you whispered. “Then he kissed me after the ride to my home he gave.”

“And?” Kyungsoo had to take a deep breathe and he poured sake for himself, even though he wanted to focus on you. “Did he ask at first place?”

“He did not.” Kyungsoo felt his heart was tightening in his chest because of anger. He wanted to find that fucking bastard and fuck the shit out of him. He already started seeing you in front of the door of your home, and that moron dragged you into his arms and kissed you without asking. Did they really think, this would be romantic or manly? This was sexual attack. Kyungsoo could not endure to imagine you while that moron run his fucking pawns over your face. Pulling you into a kiss if he could call that a kiss. His blood was boiling as he could not stand someone disappointed you, destroying your ideas and hardly built self-confidence. He hated to see that, he has been watching you since the first day you met, and he was fucking aware of your self-perceptions. He bit back a wave of curses, and he resisted the dire need to ask you this guy’s name and address in order to chop his head.

“He had to ask for your content.” he literally growled, enough to make the customers at near tables turned to look at you. You blinked.

“I pushed him.” you whispered. “And he fell on his butt.”

For a second, Kyungsoo did not understand what you said, but when he understood he could not help but laughed.

“I could kill someone to see that moment.” he mumbled. “I wish I could see.”

“It was not a good memory.” you admitted. “I really hated every moment of that memory. He was a good guy, but at the end, when he kissed me, I wanted to puke my stomach out.”

Kyungsoo lost the little trail of joy.

“He was not a good guy.” He literally growled.

Suddenly, the tension was transforming into something different. Your face was becoming too warm, and your blood pressure was rocketing into sky.

It was neither Udon not sake.

You raised your eyebrows as you looked at Kyungsoo as you wanted to ask what he meant, but you kept your question to yourself.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked. “I knew you are not talkative about these, but you could talk with me at least when you had experienced a shitty guy like that filthy bastard.”

“Well, excuse me for being so clueless,” the filter between your tongue and brain stopped working at that moment, and you lost it. “But that was my first and last kiss, and I was shocked!”

Kyungsoo’s chin was dropped. He stared at you as becoming senseless to any other sound. He took a set of full seconds to actually register your words, then his eyes widen.

You were not aware of the weight of your confession. Your mind was foggy and you already lost yourself in Kyungsoo.

“What?”

This was the best shot of him.

“It was my first kiss.” the heat of your face became unbearable. “And it was unexpected, I did not give him my consent, I was definitely in shock.”

Kyungsoo listened to your words.

“Are you,” he heard his voice. “Are you a virgin?”

“Do not say it like a blasphemy.” you could not help but protested. He looked at you as he was having a heart attack.

He actually was.

He guessed that you were not experienced but a virgin.

Godfuckingdamnit, he did not expect to hear that.

“And that bastard destroyed your first kiss.” he could not prevent himself from punching his thigh. Harshly. He was really out of his mind due to anger, he knew that he could not be with you, but destroying an experience for you was equal crossing his limits. He noted finding that guy when you come back to your homes mentally. He did not know when, how or which way but he was going to find that scumbag and make him pay for his wrong deed.

You looked so vulnerable. How could that moron dare to destroy an important moment of your life?

“Yeah, he did.” you partially smiled, Kyungsoo could not believe you were smiling. Did you lose your shit? He was supposed to ask you why you were smiling like a freak; you lifted your eyes to his. “But talking with you made me happy.”

Kyungsoo hated himself too much.

He made you talked about a horrendous memory in order to learn about your preferences. He even let you drink one and half bottle of sake. He used the old excuse in the book however after learning this incident, he realized once again, you were his priority to take care of, to look after, you had to be happy, healthy, and successful. You had to live your heart as you wished, and Kyungsoo was sure as fuck he was going to do everything in his power for you to blossom.

You were his rose after all.

Every nerve in his body may steered him to you, attracted to you like a magnet, he could refrain his feelings. Even if you were not going to come to him, he was not going to push you never again. Never.

“Next time, tell me before a date.” he snorted. “It seems to me you are bad on choosing a man, that piece of shit did it all wrong.”

Your heart was pounded in your chest.

Did Kyungsoo just point the issue of asking for content or was there anything more he indicated?

If he said something was wrong, it meant he knew the true way of doing it, fixing and giving you a proper memory. He never talk if he did not know the right way.

“How?” you asked to him with your big-doe eyes. Kyungsoo startled for a second, then understood what you asked.

“What do you mean with how?” Kyungsoo stared at you. “He had to ask for consent first, obviously. If it is yes, a man can continue.”

“What if I would say yes?” you could not help. You could not stop. There was a frustrating fire in the pit of your stomach, made you uninterested to anything but Kyungsoo. Maybe you did not know many things but you were aware of only Kyungsoo could do something about it. You did care it anymore, you just wanted Kyungsoo to show you the right way.

“There is a progress.” Kyungsoo cursed himself for telling you this. “It depends on how much you wish to move, but basically there are three bases and before every step you are going to take, you have to ask your partner if she or he is still okey with the progress.”

“I see.” you nod.

Both of you started to think about each other in that progress. What would it be, how you react to each other after waiting since the first day you met. Both of you rejected to think about it, and both of you know that you were going to imagine it when you were going to be alone in the safety of your rooms.

“That’s why that scumbag did it all wrong. If you want someone to touch you, remember asking for consent is the most important rule.” Kyungsoo disgusted by the idea of someone touching you. Even thinking about him giving him headache, he was annoyed by the fact that you were going to choose someone, and you were learning the rules from Kyungsoo.

To choose someone.

He was mad. He was angry. God, he wanted to set something on fire.

“Is there any different rule?” you could not take your eyes off Kyungsoo.

“Many.” he was back to giving short answers.

“I want you to teach me.” you said without thinking.

“Ha?”

Kyungsoo was not sure if he could hear you correctly or not.

“You told me that guy did it all wrong.” You were not going back from here this time. You were fucking not. “I want you to teach me the right way.”

Kyungsoo was sure there was no capacity left his lungs to breathe. He kept looking at you, you waited his response patiently.

Was it you or sake?

You did not know. You did not care.

You just wanted to feel Kyungsoo. Helping you on the issue was only something he could do, by your -twisted by alcohol- logic, you persuaded yourself, if he put you in this situation, he had to help you getting out of it.

“How much you drink?” you heard Kyungsoo, but you were already decided what you were going to do. He was going to say yes. He had to say yes.

“I am not drunk, Soo.” you said. “I am sober as fuck. Teach me.”

Kyungsoo stared at you for a while, then he stood up and reached to your hand.

“Come.” he said. “We are going back to hotel.”

Kyungsoo felt like a hunter, he finally grabbed your hand, while he was paying for food, he did not let you go away from him. Instead, he pressed your body to his, you closed your eyes when your chest perfectly pressed on his toned forearm. You heavily breathed, Kyungsoo led you out of the restaurant. You immediately headed to the way back to the bus station, but he stopped you.

“We are going to take a cab.” Kyungsoo. “Faster.”

You could not help but laugh at his eagerness to be back. Your heart started to sing inside of your chest, for a magnificent moment you could almost make yourself believe that Kyungsoo wanted you as much as you wanted him. You wanted to devour him you did not know what made you bold at this level but you just wanted to drown in him. You knew that he was going to lecture you about what you had to do when you have a date, when you would be back at hotel, but you really hoped for at least he was going to give you a demonstration on kissing someone.

If he would not, you did not know you could overcome with that moment.

Kyungsoo was having an existential crisis. He was not sure if he understood you correctly, but he had to get you back to the hotel, he was sure of it since he really did not know until when he could control himself just like he did not want to rip that fucking dress off you and have you over and over.

At that moment, he saw a cab was coming to your direction and he turned to you.

He saw your eyes, shining by pure desire.

He lost his shit for the first time in seven years of your friendship.

He pulled you between his arms, his face was fucking close to you.

“It is okey, Kyungsoo.” you literally cooed.

He did not waste a minute and caressed your face.

#kyungsoo #exo d.o.#d.o. rose #d.o. solo #d.o. empathy #d.o. exo #doh kyungsoo #do kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo series #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo scenarios #kyungsoo smut #kyungsoo x reader #exo d.o #d.o.

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hellisheuphoria · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1: Recluse.

In which the MC relives the memory of their death every night since it happened, followed by confusion of their feelings towards Belphegor and his brothers- and whether or not they will truly get over their hiraeth.

[I’m on mobile, so I apologise for weird formatting. Also, this chapter itself contains scenes depicting violence and trauma, so read at your own risk <3. I’m sorry for any mistakes, and I’ve also written this on my AO3, my username is ‘impendingcorruption’.]

”To think that I’d be saved by a human...!”

Belphegor snickered, a sort of amusement flowing through him at the thought of being rescued by you, a mere human.

He laughed again, practically drowning in his joy. “It really is ironic!” You shifted slightly, uncomfortable in his sudden happiness, which was rather quite suspicious.

He stopped and turned to you, his attention focused on you solely. Revisiting it now, it may have been the look of a predator looking down upon their prey.

”In any event, MC, all I can do is thank you.” He smiled brighter, “Now I can finally achieve what I set out to do!”

Then he opened his arms wide, signalling you for a hug. That very action diminished any flame of suspicion or doubt you had on him- a decision that you would soon come to regret.

Happily enough, you accepted his hug- feeling absolutely content and prideful at the fact that you had managed to let him out of the attic- whether it was really you or not.

He then sighed, his chin on your shoulder. “Ah... this really brings back memories. This feeling...” His body then went rigid slightly, as though he attempted to keep a sort of coldness to him. “I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve touched a human?”

The air shifted dramatically, your brain slowly gearing into fight or flight mode.

”So, MC...”

His attire changed completely. The air turned cold and frosty, replicating the aura coming off of him as he suddenly let go of you, slightly pushing you back- away from him. You cowered slightly at his dramatic change of personality.

His form shifted, horns protruded out of his head and his clothes resembled those of a cow, with a gold horseshoe on his right side and a cow design sporting his left. A tail violently blew behind him, as though he was ready to attack and agitated.

“...How can I express how I’m feeling right now? What can I do?” He looked at you with a look so cold that you swore you would have just froze over.

Then once again, he changed. He switched personalities. He laughed like a madman, like a sociopath- like someone who relished the look of you in fear, cowering and shaking. But he was, he definitely was. You could see it in his eyes, damn it.

And then, you were pinned to the wall, with one of his hands holding you in place by your throat, your toes barely touching the ground. A black, misty sort of aura became oh so visible around him, making itself violently clear to you.

“You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?” His head shook in a sort of disapproval, but you could tell he enjoyed it. He loved this feeling of empowerment. The air no longer reached your lungs and you feebly attempted to call for help.

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh. Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it.” His eyes because glassy and glazed over, like he wasn’t there anymore.

His claws dug deeply into your throat that you swore you could feel blood in your damn lungs. He gripped harder, only to throw you into the ground like a piece of trash.

Your head hit first, blood dripped from your forehead and breathing was so hard that you were gasping for it, begging in your mind for somebody to save you from this monster.

Your vision glazed over and tears gushed down your cheeks due to your helplessness and fear. You wanted to call for help, but your throat ached so bad that any attempt to talk felt like molten nails were being scraped down your throat.

You raised your head and feebly attempted to crawl away, but Belphegor clamped his shoe on your back and held you down, then he raised his leg and kicked your back hard enough to the point where he either severely bruised you or fractured your spine.

”If you die, the exchange program will be ruined, and Diavolo’s reputation will be in tatters.”

He didn’t consider you a person with feelings, he only considered you a pawn for him to break and cause havoc against the three realms with.

“I hate humans, you see. I hate them more than anything in the three worlds.”

He propped you up against the wall and kneeled in front of you as you moaned in absolute misery and pain. You swore that he was only a few seconds away from breaking your spine and rendering you unable to move.

He gripped your face tightly, his claws digging into your soft skin and copper dripped down your cheeks, mingling with your tears as you waited for him to put an end to you.

His hand wrapped around your shoulder, then smashed it against the wall as your arm lay limp and paralysed.

With both hands on each side of your face, he continued.

”Hehe, does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I’m sure it must feel very unpleasant.”

He smacked the back of your head on the wall, a horrible feeling of liquid made your hair sticky and a strange shade of red.

“I have to say, seeing a human face twisted in pain like this...” He stared at you, a sadistic smile on his lips.

”...Why, it’s so much fun that I can barely stand it! I... I can’t contain the laughter!”

And with his horrible, amused laugh ringing in your ears, you succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

———————————————————————

You woke up with a start, your chest heaving and your heart felt as though it were in pain. It hurt to breathe and tears gushed out like waterworks. It was surprising you didn’t scream as you woke up.

Sobs barely escaped your lips as your body shook with the intensity of your dream- rather, nightmare. There was barely any light peeking in from your bare window so you assumed it was late into the night, probably midnight.

Tear stains were everywhere on your pillow and your bed was rough and tousled. Your hands shook violently as they touched all the parts you were brutally injured with in your dream.

It still felt as though you were choking, even if you really weren’t. The weight of your emotions made your chest feel heavier than it should have, and you pondered if putting up a facade for your emotions was really possible at this point.

After you came back to life and you found out about your heritage, all did seem right for a while. Belphegor never really did apologise, but back then you let it go for the sake his brothers. They had only just got him back.

But in the back of your mind, you still had a sort of fear of Belphegor brewing in your head. Even if that was a different version of you, you still had those horrible memories.

And a few weeks later, when all had calmed down, the nightmares began. It would all feel so real until you woke up violently and thrashing around, defending yourself from someone that wasn’t there.

Everything had changed, and it hurt. You missed waking up early in the mornings and enjoying breakfast. You missed the happiness and contentment you felt having a life with everyone. With Lucifer too, even though he scared you.

You mourned the loss of your old life, a sort of homesickness becoming ever so stronger in your everyday life.

You hadn’t noticed before, but things were just so much more tiring as of late.

The nightmares had such a toll on you that you just couldn’t wake up on time before. Dark circles positioned themselves under your eyes for what seems like forever. It was bad enough that even Belphegor winced seeing them.

Life felt so much more dreary and not worth it. Breakfast would not stay in your stomach, and you could barely look at Belphegor or even stay in the same room as him.

And yet, nobody noticed or cared. They didn’t care about how you felt from dying at the hands of Belphegor, or how it felt to just watch your other self disappear in Mammon’s arms.

Heck, Beel would probably have no problem with remaining oblivious as long as it meant that he’d have Belphegor back. Everyone seemed like that, too. Lucifer was even getting along with him a bit more than usual.

And you just didn’t have it in your heart to crush that for them. God, no. You loved them way too much.

So you tried to cry as silently as you could, gripping yourself with your head on your knees as you silently cried for the loss of yourself and the misery that became a part of your life from since then. Who were you to ruin that? Certainly not yourself, a mere human. They’d never understand anyway.

Human life spans were only a blip on their radar. They would live for thousands of more years to come, and you would be gone in a matter of decades.

A knock on your door shook you awake from your thoughts.

”Hey, MC? I’m coming in.”

In horror and complete surprise, you lay down on your bed and tried your best to make it look like you were sleeping.

The doorknob turned and a figure came in. Judging by the voice, you recognised him, Belphegor.

Still red eyed, with your nose sniffling and face a mess, you hid as much as you could and pretended to sleep as he came ever so closer to you.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and shook you slightly, “I know you’re not asleep, cut the act.” Your heart lurched as you opened your eyes and could see him standing in front of you.

He was holding his signature pillow, the one with a cow based design on it, and a laptop with a CD.

”MC, if you can’t sleep, do you want to watch a movie with me? I could hear you moving around, even from my room!” He chuckled slightly, a smile on his face. He looked different than how he was from his dream. He looked calmer not, but you were still deathly afraid of him.

Speechless, you shook your head as your body shook from being in such close proximity to him. You didn’t wanna be near him, especially not now.

As cold and as not cold you could be, you replied, ”No, I- I don’t. Please just go, I’m tired.” You could barely push the words out as your voice was raspy and your throat hurt, looking away from him.

His eyes narrowed in observation, “You look like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?” He tried to hold your hand, but then realised just how shaky it was.

”MC, seriously, are you okay?” He tried again, but you snatched your hand away and moved back, as far away from him as you could.

”Just go! Leave me alone!” You sniffled, your eyes darting everywhere but not on him. “I just wanna be alone. I don’t want you here... please.”

He was shocked at your sudden outburst, still standing there in disbelief as he nodded his head and tried to get a better look at you, but all you did was turn away, hiding your face in your hands.

He walked away, still holding his belongings in either hand as he left the room, not speaking a word. He stood outside your door for a second but then walked away. Thank goodness.

But then you realised how awkward it would be when you would have to face him at breakfast tomorrow. And what if he told Beel? Oh no.

You slapped yourself slightly, ashamed of what you had done. You just had to go ahead and ruin it, didn’t you? Now they’ll be asking you if you’re okay, smothering you in affection that you didn’t want.

Scolding yourself, you lay down once more and anxiety built up in your chest as you thought of tomorrow. What if they all start ignoring you because you can’t get along with Belphegor? What if Beel became uncomfortable with you because of Belphegor? What if everyone did?

That would mean that.. that you would have no one. That everyone would leave you behind and you would be forgotten. No friends, no family. And in the devildom, where demons are constantly looking to take your soul, that’s a horrible situation, if you were ever to find yourself in there.

What if you just let them eat you? You wouldn’t be much of a burden or home wrecker as you are now. And they probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. But then again, Lucifer wouldn’t want to have Diavolo’s exchange program ruined. Imagine the atrocity!

The walls felt so much more constricting now, in your room. The air felt hard to breathe and your body refused to listen to you. You were just so... tired from everything.

With a final glance at the time, you closed your eyes. Only a few more hours until you would have school. And that would be all the time you would need to imagine yourself in your original timeline, living a happy life. If only.

The world disappeared, and so did you, clutching onto your dreams as the way out of your own living nightmare.

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #purecamp #taywhora #ellie x lawrence #tayce #a'whora #lawrence chaney #ellie diamond #bimini bon boulash #uk2 #lesbian au #popstar au #something more

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jean-does-not-have-a-horseface · 4 years

Text

Last kiss

This is uhm, I took three days to even brainstorm this as a whole and it was supposed to involve a lot of other things but I decided to leave it here and see if you guys wanted to see more of this

Summary: Zeke confesses to you and all youre forced to have to bid your lover goodbye in hopes of sacrificing yourself for greater good.

Pairing: Levi/Reader, Zeke Yeager/Reader

Maybe you should have died back then, while reclaiming Shiganshina, with all of your other comrades before Zeke ever had a chance to lay his eyes on you. Maybe you should have been shot by Kenny or get eaten by a Titan on a casual expedition, anything would've been more preferable than having to listen to Zeke confessing to you.

"You understand this is something you can't tell to your subordinates right?"

This was pure, painful, agonizing torture. Sitting there with your back turned to him, hidden in the darkness of an alley. You didn't know how to respond and frankly you didn't even want to. It felt like daggers piercing through your thin sensitive skin, through your camel colored leather jacket.

"I don't know what you expect from me Zeke." You speak, just above your breath, back still turned to him and your eyes shut closed as you refused to spare a look on his form or even on his shadow.

In all honesty you don't feel like he expects something from you moretheless. Perhaps he enjoys having you cornered like a rat right then and there and perhaps this is his way of trying to get to Levi's head, to strip him of anything he has left and make him a weak opponent.

Then again if he wanted to get in his head he wouldn't be here, talking to you for all that matters. He's be attacking him.

"Come on! Why do you even associate yourself with that midget of man. I could-"

"Stop!"

"I could take you see the world and maybe-"

"Stop, really" You halt his speech once again, silently, as if you're trying not to wake him up from that idiotic dream world of his in which he thinks you can ever even have a shared future. This time you turn to look at him, wide eyes painted with agony, with hot flowing streaks of tears with watered eyes and clear stained cheeks. "You really think I can forgive a man who massacred my friends? You think you have any right to intervene between me and Levi?"

As he begs you to reconsider your beliefs, to have a chance of heart, you avert your gaze to the stone ground of the alleyway. You can't bear to spend your gaze on him not even if it's driven by rage. Not anymore. Yet you decide not to speak of your personal hatred towards him. You only mutter him a tiny 'I'll think about it' as you begin to stomp away.

It's not like Hange would ever advice you to engage so close with an enemy who slaughtered your comrades to no end that eventful day.

You're surprised when you find out she thinks otherwise to the point you regret ever speaking of it. Withholding important information on the enemy is treason, an act you are not about to commit for you've fought very hard for the people inside the walls to be alive an free. So why is Hange depriving you from living that way.

Steel grey eyes blink into yours with mutted rage as you speak of Zeke's words concerning their mighty owner. Not only was that blond bearded piece of shit the cause of all his comrades death he now had the audacity to claim you his most prized possession. Levi just despises the way Zeke thinks that everything belongs to him, how he's taken everything from him and now is launching on for more.

Levi, although he never speaks of it outloud, can see the look of horror and disgust plastered on your face as Hange encourages you to take a positive action against Zeke's proposal. And even the sound of it manages to pain him in ways he had never thought were possible.

"What if he kills her, Hange. What if this is all a plan and that's why he didn't want her telling us about it."

Hange answers in inaudible muffles, unsure of what to say or believe. He watches as you try to object, to shriek your way out of this horrible mess you're about to be put in and all because you love him. And Hange knows even if she refuses to bring it up at the moment, as if it means nothing to anyone.

"Dedicate your fucking heart, this is your oath!" His breath is cut short as he utters the words, looking directly in your eyes, flooding your insides with guilt and horror for what's to come next.

"No" it's a simple, rebellious reply, that you've only just decided to adopt when addressing him "I'm not doing anything if it means I'm going to lose you."

Levi bites his lower lip and squints his eyes shut; how can he ever even fathom having to endure seeing you in Zeke's arms and why should this be done for the sake of humanity. You weren't an object to be used against Zeke, he could scream of it at the top of his lungs if the circumstance even so slightly needed it.

"All I'm saying is, approach him."

"He won't believe me."

Hange explains that this weakness he's shown may be the end of him for all you've known, but Levi and you refuse to listen as you fix your pained eyes on each other with despair. It occurs to you that this may be the last time, hopefully in a while, that you ever get to encounter him like this and the thought proceeds to munch on your brain like maggots on a rotting corpse. You're lost in the moment, in his eyes, in Hange's earth shattering statements.

Nothing's fair in war and love you know yet it's difficult to even bat an eye in positive response to this plan as your heart is pressuring to know why you have to be the one to take a stand in taking out the enemy from within. But there's no such answer to your question. Humane emotions are unpredictable, unstable and unusual and in any other circumstance, it wouldn't be bad for Zeke to have fallen for anyone. Given your context though, not only was it bad, it was suffocating. You refused to have anything taken from Levi every again, yet here you are, stepping into the corpses of those words as his despairate eyes are pleading with you in silence.

_____

The plan is simple.

"Zeke?" Tears run down your eyes as your soft voice grazes his eardrums in the lowest of pained tones. He takes a look at your form, particularly in that muddy nightgown that adorns it and then your shoveled hair and that deadbeat expression in your watered orbs.

You reach out to him in the middle of the night, crying, wheezing, supposedly after a fight with Levi, anything to get his sympathy. Seeing his biased behavior over you this will be easy as blinking your eyes.

"P-please take me to see the world!" You utter and watch as Zeke's eyes widen with hard hidden happiness. He can only imagine what has went wrong that has made you decide to come to him but he never asks, nor does he ever ask about Levi, a fact that assures you his motives aren't what you had suspected.

And it tears your heart in a million little pieces in a way no titan ever could; the way he lifts a hand up to caress your cheek, they way his eyes glimmer with love, his ever so respectful movements towards you as if not to force you into anything. Those thoughts, those brain eating maggots are rapidly moving to your chest, to your stomach, everywhere in your body in hopes to leave you hollow, to assist you in that situation.

You don't have to give in to anything he wants. You can work your way around him and establish what you want but be prepared for anything. This is our only chance to be exposed to such a tremendous weakness. Our future is in your hands just as much as it's on our army. Don't let us down.

As that giant, disgusting, furry hand lifts you up from your feet your mind travels to your lover's chaste last kiss on your dry lips. The pleasurable happiness kisses like this would give you has now scattered away in greater sacrifice of this very moment. In the blink of an eye your life can be taken away from your mortal, expansible hands, fading into complete frightening darkness but what happens when all you're left with is a hollowed body who gets to experience pain and misery and no other option than to have to endure. Your heart is burning the insides of your chest, crawling up your skin with sharp claws that rip through flesh, but nothing ever happens. It never bursts, it never slows down it's beating either. You're only trapped, once again like a death sentenced rat, between Zeke's hand and your horrifying emotions.

It'll be over in no time, I promise you it's for the greater good.

Hey! I hope you enjoyed this 💕 if you want to see more leave a request in my askbox. Thank you for reading I love you all💞

#aot #snk #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #levi #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #attack on titan #zeke yeager x reader #zeke yeager #zeke aot #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman imagine #levi aot #angst

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Songxiao + Xuexiao (past) - M - read on AO3!

........................

Song Lan doesn’t notice anything wrong at first.

He can’t speak, his tongue gone. There’s no speech to slur, no words to stumble over.

It’s only when he leaves the inn one morning, two months after Xue Yang set him free, two months after Xue Yang, with a mocking smile, had decided it was crueler to let him live than to put him out of his misery and dropped him hundreds of miles away from Yi City—it's only then that he notices.

His left-side vision is dimming.

He reaches up, touches the holes left in his skull by Xue Yang’s nails.

Fine. You’re fine…

But the fingers on his left hand are clumsy as they grasp the heavy stick he carries for protection now that Xue Yang has Fuxue.

Fine…

Fine, despite his inability to focus on anything too complex, despite his difficulty remembering names and faces.

A blessing, that part. Let the memories of his years as Xue Yang’s slave fade…

But even if he has trouble recalling the details, he can still remember the emotions. The guilt, the grief, the helplessness.

The hate.

And he can clearly remember every word he said to Xiao Xingchen on that wretched day six years ago when he had turned on him, blaming him for the slaughter of his temple. They ring in his ears as he tries to sleep, haunting his steps.

“Your fault, all your fault—”

Song Lan knows better now.

Too late. Too late to apologize. Too late to do anything but guard Xingchen's corpse.

It takes him a year to find his way back to Yi City.

He doesn’t have to eat, at least, but before freeing him Xue Yang had maliciously altered him to need sleep, and he has to walk the entire way without a tongue to ask for directions or shelter. There are entire days at a time where he heads in the wrong direction, forgetting where Yi City lies, sleeping on the side of the road. His legs are clumsy, brain damaged by Xue Yang’s nails, but he can move, at least, struggle back to Xiao Xingchen’s side, protect him from Xue Yang's desecrations.

It’s late winter when he arrives at Yi City.

Snow has begun to fall, smothering the city in silence. The streets are empty, haunted by ghosts and memories of the dead, but the snow chokes all sound from any creatures making a home in the ruins.

The sun is setting in a riot of blood and fire when he stumbles into the Coffin House courtyard in a nightmarish echo of that terrible day all those years ago, the day he’d come to Yi City only to see Xiao Xingchen sitting beside that monster, smiling at the animal, laughing—

Xiao Xingchen sits on the steps beside Xue Yang.

Peacefully watching the snow fall.

Smiling.

Laughing.

Alive.

Song Lan ducks behind a coffin. His heart would have frozen, if it still beat.

It can’t be.

Xiao Xingchen is dead—has been for years—Song Lan has watched Xue Yang scream at his corpse, bathe it, dress it, touch it—watched him try ritual after ritual, sacrifice after sacrifice, spell after spell—

Xingchen e appears thinner than he remembers, as if he’d desiccated in death, and his grayish-white skin is mottled with purple. A white eye patch covers one eye, but a dark brown eye is set in his right eye socket.

“How do you feel, daozhang?” Xue Yang asks Xingchen, and every muscle in Song Lan’s body goes rigid at the sound of that hated voice that’s haunted his waking dreams. “Better than yesterday?”

The smile drops from Xingchen's face. He glances down at the ground, the snowy courtyard like a pool of blood in the light of the setting sun. Xue Yang lays a hand on his arm, and a shudder passes through Xingchen.

“It’s alright, daozhang,” Xue Yang says, and he speaks so soothingly that Song Lan wants to lunge at him, beat him to death, but he can’t get his limbs to move. “The more we do it, the better you feel. Take my yang…” And suddenly he’s leaning into Xiao Xingchen, mouth on his mouth, hand between his legs.

And Xiao Xingchen is on his back on the porch, one hand—one hand tangled in his hair—chest rising and falling sharply as Xue Yang—

As Xue Yang—

A moan of terror from Xiao Xingchen, moving beneath Xue Yang as if trying to thrust him off of him, and suddenly Song Lan is beside them, his stick slamming into Xue Yang’s skull.

A crack, and Xue Yang tumbles down the stairs, staring lifelessly up at the red-streaked gray sky.

It’s over now, Song Lan wants to say as he kneels beside Xiao Xingchen. I’m here, you’re safe—

He reaches out a trembling hand, fixing Xingchen’s robe, and Xingchen pulls away from him, eye wide with shock.

“What happened?” Xingchen asks, his voice thin and hoarse, as if it hasn’t been used in a long time. “Chengmei—”

Xue Yang! Song Lan wants to say. Not “Chengmei”—

Xiao Xingchen looks up from Xue Yang’s body, sees Song Lan’s face.

A smothered gasp.

“Zichen?” he whispers. “Zichen—”

He reaches up to touch Song Lan’s face, and Song Lan pulls away instinctively. Xiao Xingchen’s hand drops to the stairs, but his eye continues to drink in Song Lan’s face.

“You came back for me,” he says.

Song Lan nods. He wants to gather Xiao Xingchen in his arms, hold him close, be certain it’s not an illusion borne of the holes in his brain, but while his touch aversion has faded after death dulled his senses, it hasn’t completely dissipated.

But Xiao Xingchen falls forward onto his chest, sobbing tearlessly.

“I killed you—I thought I killed you—”

Song Lan holds him at arm’s length, drinking in the familiar face he never thought he'd see again—not like this. Xingchen’s face is bone-white, with dark bruises around his good eye and gray veins lacing through his ashen skin. A single tear leaves a crimson track on his cheek like the trail of blood Xue Yang’s head has left in the snow.

“Why don’t you say something?” Xiao Xingchen says, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why don’t you speak—”

Song Lan opens his mouth.

Xingchen looks away from the useless stump that had once been Song Lan's tongue.

Song Lan removes his hands from his shoulders.

It’s fine, he mouths. It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault…

Wordlessly, Xiao Xingchen rises and disappears into the house, returning with Fuxue and Song Lan’s horsetail whisk. He hands them to Song Lan and sits beside him, still without speaking.

They sit like that all night, watching the snow cover Xue Yang’s corpse as it lies sprawled at the foot of the stairs. A single candle illuminates the porch, the courtyard a wall of black dotted with whirling gray snowflakes. Xiao Xingchen makes sure not to touch Song Lan, sitting a good handbreadth away from him, but despite his deadened senses Song Lan thinks he can feel Xiao Xingchen’s warmth.

His imagination, he knows. Xingchen’s undead body must be as cold as his is…

But he enjoys the phantom heat anyway. Is warmed by the knowledge that Xingchen is back, Xingchen is alive—as alive as he is, at least—

At dawn Xingchen tears his gaze away from the snowy white mound at the foot of the stairs and rises.

“We should bury him,” he says.

Shaking his head, Song Lan gets to his feet and turns away from the mound.

Xiao Xingchen extends his hand, lets it hover over Song Lan’s forearm. “Please, Zichen. He brought me back. He kept me from…he kept me whole.”

He hurt you, Song Lan wants to say. He deceived you. He killed you, he—he touched you—

But he nods and digs a shallow grave on the side of the road. Heaves Xue Yang into it, covers him with dirt and snow, and stands a respectful distance back while Xiao Xingchen stands over the grave.

Bows his head.

Song Lan closes his eyes. Xingchen's compassion had been one of the things that had drawn him to him, but this was a step too far.

“We need to find A-Qing,” says Xiao Xingchen when he returns to his side.

Song Lan looks up sharply from where he’s been examining the mud splattered on his hem. She’s still alive? he writes in the snow.

“Xue Yang dropped her in Hebei. We were going to go find her together…”

Song Lan’s grip tightens on Fuxue’s hilt, the joy he feels at knowing A-Qing is still alive in some form tainted by how Xiao Xingchen says together.

Song Lan knows Xue Yang. Had spent years as his slave, with only a tongueless A-Qing to show him any kind of compassion.

Xiao Xingchen, it seems, still sees Xue Yang as Chengmei, at least in some way, for him to believe that Xue Yang would ever bring A-Qing back.

She’s probably dead, Song Lan wants to write, but then he remembers how Xue Yang had let A-Qing remain in Yi City despite her obvious hatred of the animal, let her sit for hours on end beside Xiao Xingchen’s coffin, let her fix Song Lan’s hair when Xue Yang would leave him standing for weeks on end in the Coffin House courtyard.

Song Lan’s skin had crawled at her touch, but despite the many things that have faded from his mind, he’s never forgotten her kindnesses to him.

We have to find her, he writes, and Xiao Xingchen nods.

They travel for a month.

Walking, their golden cores gone. Nighthunting as much as possible. Song Lan is clumsy, his vision bad, and Xiao Xingchen is weak, but they’d made a vow to each other, all those years ago. A vow to never let a cry for help go unanswered…

Xingchen sleeps beside him, close enough to touch, if he wishes. Song Lan would like to, he thinks. Would draw Xinghen to his chest, reassure himself that Xingchen is real, is here with him.

But then he remembers Xue Yang on top of Xingchen, Xingchen’s terror—

A memory he wishes he can forget, just as he’s forgotten the names of many of the people from Baixue Temple (I should remember their names, he thinks. I shouldn’t be relieved that forgetting their names and faces dulls the pain of losing them—). But the vision comes to him in dreams, haunting him whenever he thinks back with pleasure to the sound his stick made when it shattered Xue Yang’s skull.

Song Lan’s touch would be chaste, but he can’t do that to Xingchen. He needs to help Xingchen heal, help him forget…

He almost asks Xingchen how Xue Yang brought him back one night, as they lie awake in an inn, unable to sleep through the crash of thunder and dazzling flashes of lightning.

How— he starts to write on the wax table he uses for speech, then quickly erases it.

“What is it?”

Song Lan takes the stylus again. It takes him a moment to remember the proper characters. I was just going to ask how you’ve been feeling. It feels strange to write those words. He knows he and Xiao Xingchen must have discussed things as mundane as this in the past, but the conversations he recalls with any real clarity are ones about ideals, about their future together, the sect they planned on founding.

“I’m fine.”

You’ve been quiet.

In truth, Xingchen, like him, has never been very garrulous. But he can’t very well say, You’ve been distant.

A different kind of distant than he remembers. There had always been something untouchable about Xiao Xingchen, but in the past it had been like a star fallen to earth, slightly out of sync with everything around it but glowing with pure white light.

Song Lan had found small ways to connect with that star. He had done all of the cooking, partially because he couldn’t bear to have anyone touch his food but mostly to find ways to take care of the most human part of Xiao Xingchen, taking pleasure when Xingchen, who had little interest in food, ate something he’d prepared for him. He’d covered him with blankets at night and handled all the little details when they’d traveled together.

But Xingchen is the only one who can speak with innkeepers. No longer eats, no longer gets cold.

No longer needs Song Lan.

“That’s not what you wanted to ask,” says Xingchen. He’s lying very still, lit by the flickering lightning, silky black hair spread around his white face. “Go on.”

It’s nothing.

Instead of pressing him as Song Lan wants, Xiao Xingchen takes him at his word and rolls over, facing the window. His bony purplish hand rests on the blanket, almost floats.

There’s an odd, almost waxy coat to the skin. As if it’s been rubbed with half-absorbed grease that left a dull sheen.

Song Lan wants to take it, examine it closer, but he can’t risk touching Xingchen, not after what Xue Yang had done.

Song Lan closes his eyes and tries not to think about drawing Xingchen close. It’s a warm night, spring come early, filling the room with heat, and Song Lan imagines Xingchen might almost feel warm…

Feel alive.

He notices the odd waxy coat again a week later. It’s a grim and overcast morning, but with more light than the night in the inn. Far hotter than it should be this time of year, the humidity wrapping his limbs in heavy weights.

Song Lan walks a pace or two behind Xiao Xingchen, discreetly eyeing his hands.

A definite sheen, and not just on Xiao Xingchen’s hands. His gaunt, beautiful gray face too, Song Lan notices when he returns to his side.

And—

Flies. Flies buzzing around his head, settling lazily down on his throat, his nose, on the thin rust-colored skin covering his knuckles…

Song Lan’s stomach hardens into a cold hard knot. He squints slightly, trying to sharpen the faded vision in his left eye, and Xiao Xingchen notices. Shoos the flies away and quickly puts his hand behind his back, but it’s too late.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he mumbles in response to Song Lan’s horrified look.

How long have you known?

Xiao Xingchen swallows. Now that Song Lan knows what to look for, he can see the places where Xingchen’s lip has rotted away, where it’s—

Are those—

He looks away, but it’s too late.

Those are maggots in the hollow of Xingchen’s lip.

Xiao Xingchen steps away. “Let’s go, Zichen. There’s a ghost in the next town that—”

Song Lan takes hold of his arm, immediately letting go, but Xiao Xingchen freezes.

How long?

“As soon as you killed Xue Yang,” says Xingchen quietly.

A chill creeps up Song Lan’s spine.

“The cold weather arrested it, but now that it’s warm…”

Song Lan’s fault. All his fault. Just as the slaughter of Baixue Temple had been his fault, just as the loss of Xingchen’s eyes had been his fault—

“Forget it, Zichen.” Xingchen is walking now, as if trying to put distance between him and Song Lan. “Just forget it. It’s nothing…”

Song Lan runs after him, tripping, falling, scrambling clumsily to his feet. Not nothing! You’re dying—

“It’s fine.”

Song Lan wants to yell, scream at him, Your life is important! It’s not nothing! I only just got you back—

How? He writes instead. It takes him three tries to get the characters right, consternation making his memory even worse than usual. How did he keep you from—from rotting?

Xiao Xingchen glances away from the tablet. “He…he gave me his yang.”

He—

“Yes. I don’t know the specifics, he destroyed his work after I came back, I don’t know why, I don’t know…I….”

Dual cultivation? How is that even possible with two men?

Xiao Xingchen gives a soft sad smile. “He’s a genius. Was a genius.”

He forced you to—

“It wasn’t like that…”

What else could it be like?

Xiao Xingchen licks his lips, an old gesture of discomfort. His tongue dislodges one of the maggots, the writhing white creature falling into the collar of his robe.

“He kept me whole,” he mumbles.

Could someone else do it? Give you yang? Song Lan, as a fierce corpse, is full of yin. Yet another way he’s failed Xingchen. Had he not been a fierce corpse, he would have done anything to save Xingchen, no matter how revolting, but as he is, he's completely useless. Perhaps a woman—

“Only him,” says Xiao Xingchen shortly, and he heads down the road.

Song Lan remains behind, staring at the spot Xingchen had been standing.

He’d killed Xiao Xingchen.

Killed him as surely as if he had driven Fuxue through his heart.

Had Xue Yang been alive—

No.

Song Lan would never allow Xue Yang to come near Xiao Xingchen.

But he could have forced Xue Yang to figure something else out—

He’s been trying to forget them, but Xingchen’s words come back to him.

He forced you to—

“It wasn’t like that…”

But Xingchen had not been thinking clearly. Song Lan knows that. Xingchen, as always, is too compassionate for his own good. That monster had twisted his mind, forced him to allow him to—to touch him, just for the privilege of being kept alive—a life he’d been forced back into by that animal—

Song Lan follows Xiao Xingchen down the road.

They camp under the stars that night. Song Lan wants to make a fire, but is afraid of what the heat will do to Xingchen. Xiao Xingchen lies beside him in the tall feathery grasses, staring silently up at the clear moonlit sky, scattered with thousands of stars.

Like eyes. Like eyes watching them both. Eyes that know everything, have seen everything: watched Song Lan scream abuse at Xiao Xingchen, watched Xiao Xingchen blind himself for Song Lan, watched Xingchen leave—

The stars know that everything that happened in Yi City was Song Lan’s fault.

Know that Song Lan owes Xingchen more than he can ever repay him.

Know that Song Lan should have died in Baixue Temple with the rest of his people, the people he can barely remember, should remember—

Xingchen is silent, as if he too knows that Song Lan does not deserve to be there beside him.

Song Lan is seized by a sudden desire to tell Xingchen that he spent three years looking for him after their fight. That he hadn’t cast Xingchen off.

But that would be unfair to Xingchen.

Xingchen is dying, because of him. To tell Xingchen any of this now would be cowardly, the act of someone trying to lessen their guilt. Would place an unfair burden on Xingchen. Wouldn’t allow Xingchen to continue to fully feel the anger Song Lan knows he must feel towards him, Song Lan, the jinx who had brought about both of Xingchen's deaths.

Trying to calm his flurried thoughts, Song Lan draws in a deep breath for the first time in years, and his entire body goes numb.

The night is filled with the scent of rotting meat.

He forces himself to turn his head, glance over at Xingchen.

He is beautiful in the starlight, despite the rot. Despite the beetles nestling in his ear, the maggots in his mouth, the blackened lesions on his delicately-curved throat and the slimy red and purple spots marring his gray skin.

Silently Song Lan rises, goes to the nearby creek, returns with a wet cloth, and cleans Xingchen’s face. Wipes away the insects eating at his flesh, the writhing white dots on the yellow bone showing through on his hands and collarbones and jaw.

Something he can do for Xingchen, at least.

Xingchen opens his eyes when Song Lan is finished.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Song Lan nods and returns to his place beside him, making sure not to lie too close.

"I mean it." Xingchen reaches out, lays a decaying hand beside Song Lan’s, close enough for Song Lan to cover with his, if he chooses. “Thank you. For everything.”

Song Lan nods again. He no longer produces saliva, but he swallows hard anyway. He feels that phantom warmth again as Xingchen smiles at him for the first time since their reunion—his first real smile, the first one not touched by sadness, that same soft, gentle smile his faulty memory still remembers with painful clearness.

“I want to go to Baoshan Sanren,” Xingchen whispers, and the warmth fades, replaced by a ghostly chill. “And then we’ll find A-Qing…”

There is only one reason Xiao Xingchen would want to return to the mountain.

Song Lan knows that Xiao Xingchen would not risk breaking his vow a second time.

But it would not be breaking his vow to return home for burial...

Song Lan takes Xingchen’s slimy red hand and presses it between both of his, and nods.

It takes two months for Xiao Xingchen to find Baoshan Sanren’s mountain.

It’s more of a feeling Xingchen is following than an actual location, as her mountain moves every few years, and that inner spark has dampened with death and the decay that eats at his mind.

It’s at the end of the first month that his foot falls off, leaving behind a sharp shard of bone and rotting tangle of tendons and ligaments.

Without so much as a grimace Zichen helps him up, strong hands gently gripping Xingchen’s delicate waist, slipping his arm under him and helping him to the side of the road, where he fashions Xingchen a crutch with fingers that shake as they work.

He’s been touching Xingchen more and more lately. Cleaning the maggots from his skin, wiping away the ooze, bandaging the stumps left behind by his fallen fingers and toes and foot. Washing the foul liquid rot from his clothes, brushing the dead flies from his hair. Is willing to touch him despite his aversion to even the cleanest of touch, despite the decay.

Xingchen lets him. Zichen seems to need it as much as Xingchen does.

Xingchen can’t imagine the Zichen of six years ago would have done any of this. His friend has softened in this second life, grown more attentive, warmer, as if afraid that Xingchen’s frail body will crumble at the slightest frown from him…

Xingchen almost wants to laugh at that thought. That was what had finally happened today, excepting the frown.

Chengmei would have made a joke out of it…

"Need a foot?" he would have said, picking up the foot and handing it to Xiao Xingchen. "Get it? Like 'need a hand'? Admit it; that was funny!"

But best not think of him now. Should be easy enough to avoid thinking of him, given how Xingchen's mind is fading as his body falls apart.

Yes. Best not think of him now…

Think of him ever.

Think of his laugh, his stories, the joy on his face when Xingchen first opened his eyes.

Think of his mocking laugh, his cruelty, his fixed stare.

Of how quickly and brutally Zichen had killed him.

Of the surprising gentleness of Xue Yang's touch. The worshiping look on his face, as if he’d forgotten Xingchen could now see him. The warmth between his legs, Xue Yang’s lips nuzzling his throat, as if afraid to presume to kiss him on the mouth, as if unworthy now that the daozhang knew of his crimes.

Of how it felt to be so well-loved by someone so depraved, the one spot of light in another person’s darkness, his sole reason for being. The reason he was changing, becoming better, the reason he had spent six years trying to do something good, make up for his mistakes.

All of it as intoxicating as it was selfish.

How it felt to be forced to kill Zichen.

Xingchen rubs at his good eye.

The sad mound in the snow…

“Is it a ghost puppet?”

“I think so….it was shouting so fiercely a moment ago, but it should be dying…”

The clang of Fuxue as it hit the ground.

“Let’s go back and make food. I’m so hungry…”

Zichen used to cook for him.

He glances at where Zichen lies beside him, eyes closed. Chest unmoving, as still and silent as a true corpse.

Xingchen closes his eye. It’s hard to look at Zichen when he’s lying like this. A blatant reminder of what his friend has become.

Become because of Xingchen.

Not quite as bad as what you’ve become because of him…

He chases the thought away, as he has too many times before. His thoughts have been tangled and undisciplined since his return to life, a hectic jumble he can no longer control with meditation or breathing techniques.

Dying with Zichen watching over him is a better end than he deserves, after the countless innocents dead by his hand, after willingly lying back down with the beast—

With Xue Yang.

With Chengmei…

Zichen is not to blame for Xingchen’s current state. Not to be blamed for doing what he thought was right by Xingchen.

Not to blame for killing Xue Yang without hesitation.

Killing Chengmei...

How was he to know Xue Yang was going to help him find A-Qing? How was he to know Xue Yang had been trying to make up for what he had done, start fresh alongside Xingchen?

Xingchen knows full well there was no way Xue Yang could ever make up for everything.

But he had believed him when he swore he wanted to try.

Had to believe him.

Because if even someone as lost as Xue Yang could be better, could atone, that meant there was hope for Xiao Xingchen, too.

He speaks less and less as they near the mountain, even as Zichen grows more attentive, as if, in his solemn, subdued way, he’s anxious to bridge the gap between them.

But Xingchen is not pulling away intentionally. At least he doesn’t think so. It’s simply getting harder and harder to think straight as his mind decays…

The sad mound in the snow…

Stop. Stop...

Xue Yang cradling him, the warmth of his arms, the wild heartbeat vibrating through Xingchen, the hot splash of a teardrop on Xingchen's cold skin. "You're alive, you're alive, I did it, you're back, daozhang, you're here—"

Shifu is waiting for them at the foot of her mountain when they arrive, as if she had known they were coming. She looks exactly as he remembers her, tall and beautiful and deceptively stern.

Xingchen had not expected to last as long as he had. Had expected Zichen to bring his corpse to Shifu for burial. Had expected to spend his final moments beside his friend, had not expected to have to face Shifu as a walking corpse. Had not meant to break his vow again.

He’s surprised to find that he’s ashamed of what he’s become. But not for his sake, he realizes as Shifu stares at his monstrous face.

He’s ashamed on Zichen’s behalf. He can see the pain on Zichen’s face as he looks at Xingchen, the guilt.

It’s not your fault, Xingchen wants to tell him, but he can’t, not in front of Shifu. Not your fault...

He should have spoken earlier. Should have told Zichen that he doesn’t blame him, has never blamed him. Not truly...

He'll tell him tomorrow. Perhaps Zichen might even believe him...

Shifu says not a word about Xingchen breaking his vow and returning to the mountain again, at his bringing an outsider to her enclave a second time. Just reaches out to touch Xingchen’s face, staring at the slimy coat that comes away on her fingertips.

Silently she escorts Xingchen to his old bedchamber, meeting alone with Zichen while Xingchen rests.

Xingchen knows he should be looking forward to reuniting with his martial family, should sleep, meditate, something, but all he can do is lie in his familiar bed and stare at his half-blackened hand, three fingers already missing and the thumb beginning to wobble in its socket.

The missing fingers are in a qiankun pouch with his other dropped-off body parts, ready to be buried with him when the time comes.

He closes his eye as the hazy sunlight begins to fade, twilight filling the room with an eerie blue light, as if the room has been plunged underwater and he will begin to drown at any moment…

He drifts off into the nightmare-ridden in-between-state that passes for sleep nowadays, a sleep filled with bloated maggots feasting on his abandoned corpse as he floats, spirit-like, above his own body. Beetles gorge themselves on his rotting flesh, flies swarm his decaying face until his white skin is a liquid black mass of them. Worms curl around his exposed ribcage and dangle into his chest cavity like discarded rice noodles, twisting and writhing as they burrow into his bones.

The scene is lit by a fallen star, trapped on earth, lighting the skeleton with a lurid red glow, the once-pure white light tainted by blood.

Grasses sprout from his stomach, flowers, trees, vines ripping his skeleton apart with a cracking sound.

He can feel it, feel nature claiming him, feel the agony of snapping bone as he returns to the soil he never should have left—

He wakes with a cry.

Shifu stands beside his bed, a soft look on her face. The morning sun is dimmed by heavy rain, the room almost dark.

“He left you a note,” she says.

Xingchen sits up with difficulty and attempts to bow. “I—I don’t understand—”

She hands him the slip of paper.

I am sorry I couldn’t do more.

You will see me again.

Don’t forget about A-Qing…

The note flutters from Xingchen’s nerveless fingers, small greasy spots of rot staining the paper.

“He made me promise to heal you any way possible,” Shifu says, picking up the note. “For one who freed A-Xing, I have no choice but to oblige. But as an outsider, and a man, he could not be allowed to stay on our mountain.”

Xingchen barely hears her, staring at the wall. Then he looks up.

“Where is he waiting for me?”

“He will always be with you, A-Xing.”

A sinking feeling. “Where is he waiting for me?”

Shifu looks as if she wants to settle him back down in bed and pull up his covers like she used to when he was little. She had gone out of her way to tend to the children brought to the mountain. Abandoned baby girls, rescued by Baoshan Sanren. Xingchen had been the only male child taken in after Yanling Daoren left the mountain and become a tyrant. Xingchen had been born sickly and weak and not expected to survive even after being rescued from his basket in the foothills…

Sometimes he thinks he would have been better off fading away into the mountain all those years ago.

“You will know, when the time comes,” Shifu says. “Did you sleep well? You will need your strength. The procedure is a taxing one…”

Xingchen blinks. “Procedure?” His thoughts are increasingly, his mind rotting along with his body. "I don't understand."

“To replace your leg,” she says gently.

Xingchen glances down at his leg. It had fallen off several weeks after his foot, dislocating entirely from his hip socket. Zichen had carefully cut away the last scraps of skin connecting his leg to this hip, wrapped the putrefying limb with his cloak, and stored it away in the qiankun bag, carefully washing his hands in a nearby stream and giving Xingchen a gentle smile as he crafted him a crutch, as if to say, It's alright. I want to do this for you.

“My leg was rotted away,” he says. The words sound unreal on his slippery purple tongue. Rotted away. “It can’t be fixed…”

“I have a fresh one for you.”

“I don’t…”

There’s almost pity in her eyes. “There are many corpses around this mountain, unfortunately. Too many…”

He knows there’s something wrong about this, that they should be granting these bodies an honorable burial, but his dulled mind can’t formulate an argument.

After the first leg is replaced, his arm is as well, a week later, after it falls off into the stream with a gruesomely cheery splash while Xingchen attempts to scrape the putrid slime off his limbs.

Then his chest, his other arm, his other leg…

Shifu rarely leaves his side. She has him speak as much as possible, as if to distract his rotting mind from what’s happening to his body. Asks him endless questions about the world outside, from sect politics to the latest fashions, things neither she nor Xingchen care anything about, but it’s something. His knowledge is all years old, but he responds to her questions, glad of distraction.

“I want to go find Zichen,” Xingchen tells her one day, a month after he returned to the mountain. “Need to find him…”

“He will find you.”

“How…”

She puts a finger to her lips. “Quiet, A-Xing…”

And then one day Xingchen’s tongue bloats so that he can no longer form words. His throat is filled with writhing maggots, thick white larvae oozing from the split flesh of his throat, and Shifu, her face lit by sorrow, tells him they found a new corpse with an intact head, that she will transplant his consciousness, that he will still be himself…

“Better than you are now,” she says, shaking her head slightly, and Xingchen knows she’s picked up on his decaying mind despite how hard he’s worked to hide it.

He wakes a full week after the last procedure.

It’s raining again, a gentle cleansing rain that taps musically on the tile roof. Cool mists press against the windows, as if his room is suspended in a cloud, and off in the distance someone is playing a flute.

Silently he creeps from the bed, his new legs firm and strong, and pads across the room to where Shuanghua lies on the table.

He picks up the sword for the first time since returning to the mountain, the hilt solid and familiar in his pale, almost bleached-looking new hand. He has two eyes again, and though the vision is slightly blurred it’s sharper than his has been as his eyeball rotted, and his mind, though slightly fuzzy, is still faster and clearer than it has been in months.

He takes the sword over to the window, where the milky light is strongest. Chill damp radiates from the windows, ghostly fingers curling around the limbs that are not his own, as if trying to lure him outside into the haunted murk.

He draws the sword.

Holds up the shining silver blade.

Is about to look into the mirrored surface, inspect his new face, the stolen face of a dead man, when the door opens.

“A-Xing! You’re awake—”

Startled, he lets the sword fall from his hand with a clang reminiscent of Fuxue as it struck the ground of Coffin House courtyard.

Shifu holds out her hand commandingly. “Give me Shuanghua, A-Xing. You need to rest. Go back to bed—”

Xingchen tries to speak, can’t.

His tongue is gone.

“Back to bed, A-Xing, at once—”

Instead Xingchen stoops, picks up the sword, gazes back into the blade as if propelled by a force outside himself.

A familiar face stares back at him.

.............................

AO3!

#theuntameddaily #fytheuntamed #fymdzs #mdzsnet #xiao xingchen #song lan #songxiao #xuexiao #baoshan sanren #xue yang #lotus writes #Familiar Faces #no zombie rots/ex #I'm sorry too

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pluto-art · 3 years

Text

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

-------------

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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thebigqueer · 3 years

Text

Solangelo - "Drowning in Sorrow" - One-Shot

Summary: Apollo confirms Nico of Jason's death, and Nico has to deal with the grief.

Word Count: 2406

SPOILERS: The Burning Maze Spoilers, Tower of Nero Spoilers

Read on AO3

Only one thought races in Nico’s mind, over and over: He’s dead.

Nico feels the grass under his feet, feels the wind brush against his face, feels the warmth of the air around him. But he never acknowledges any of that. He flies over the ground, only wishing to get away from the truth that lies behind him.

Demigods wave a hand to him in greeting, but he just pushes past all of them. He can’t do this right now. He can’t deal with anyone, not when another person he loves is gone. Nothing matters anymore.

His feet rise and fall with the shift in terrain, and soon the grass gives way to smooth marble floors as he steps up into his cabin. He longs for the darkness, for the solitude, for the emptiness.

Nico rushes in, his chest already heaving with heartache, and he slams the door shut. A large bang resonates in the room, drills into his bones and mind and skin, and finally he is alone. The curtains and blinds are all drawn shut, shrouding him in darkness, and he is safe from all eyes.

Nico slams his back against the door, unable to move any further from the entrance. He can’t find the motivation or the strength to go to his bed. His nails cling onto the wooden door and he slides down, the ache of tears pressing against his throat and demanding to break loose.

Nico sits there for hours, his head in his hands, his breathing heavy. He allows himself to drown in sorrow.

He’s dead.

Will stands outside the door of the Hades cabin, his fist balanced readily just above the wood. It’s been a few hours since Apollo broke the news to Nico, and a few hours since Apollo passed out.

Will feels like everything is happening too fast, too much, too… everything. The day has only been one thing after another. First his father returned to him, looking exhausted as hell but overall alive, and Will’s heart overflowed with joy. He spent months worrying about him - the amount of dreams he’d had of his father dying kept him awake at night. In fact, in the past few days, even he hadn’t been sleeping well - his dark circles are ready to rival Nico’s.

As excited as Will was to find out about Lester’s return, dread injected itself into his bloodstream at the sight of him. Apollo’s return could only mean that the real fight was about to come, and Will wasn’t ready. If Nico’s dreams were any indication, then things were about to get much, much worse.

Then Will’s own worries dissipated as soon as Apollo confirmed Nico’s fears of Jason: he was dead, period. Nico’s death alarm wasn’t false; he had died months ago, giving his last breath to Caligula.

Will can’t stop thinking about the way Nico’s face fell, the way he swayed on his feet as if the weight of Jason’s death was about to push him over. He thought about rushing after his boyfriend, but between Apollo’s own passing-out, Nico’s well-known desire to be alone when things like this happen, and Will’s own confusion and chaos, he decided it was better not to crowd him. Too much had happened all at once and they both needed the space to process everything.

After Will helped Lester to bed, Kayla turned to him and asked if he wanted to take a break, too. “You literally look like you’re about to pass out,” she muttered.

Will passed her up and told her he’d go check on Nico. She looked skeptical about it, as if she didn’t agree with his decision. “I don’t know, Will,” she said. “If Nico’s upset and you’re still dealing with all this all at once, maybe it’s better to wait a bit. Maybe it’s better that both of you let things settle before doing anything. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

Will wanted to protest, but he knew she was right. His stomach was knotted up with anxiety and his exhaustion was continuously pressing on him, drilling pain into his bones. So he waited a few hours until going to Nico.

Now, a little more rested, Will stares at the door. He presses his ear to it to check for any concerning noises. For the most part, all seems silent - except for the faint sniffles that hum through. Will’s heart twists over itself at the sound.

“Nico?” he calls softly. No answer, but the door creaks a bit as if someone is pressing against it. He takes this as a sign that Nico’s listening.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Are you okay?”

There’s still no answer.

Will sighs. He doubts Nico will let him in just yet. Instead, he opts to sit on the ground and lean against the door, his body aching with the excitement of the afternoon.

He lets silence linger in the air for a moment, considering how to start talking. Tapping his finger against the ground, he begins, “I guess this was a pretty intense day, huh?”

A soft thud echoes against the door in response.

“You know, my dad actually passed out after you left. Completely zonked out. The lemonade spilled all over him. Kayla had to hose him off.” A small smile quirks at Will’s lips at the memory. “Meg and I had to hold him up. It was kind of funny.”

No response again.

Will sighs. “I’m sorry about Jason, Nico. I thought… For your sake, I thought maybe it was just a false alarm. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. He was a really good hero.” As he says the words, though, a pang resonates in his chest. Were you ever a good hero? he wonders to himself. Jealousy and grief both pull at his heart - he shouldn’t be thinking like that, not when Nico’s hurting.

You never were as good as he ever was, his brain insists.

Will grips the sides of his jeans. He won’t fall into this rabbit hole of insecurities right now. Nico needs him.

Does he, though?

Tears prick at Will’s eyes, but he doesn’t let them fall. He can’t break right now.

Nico still doesn’t respond, but another sniffle floats through the door. Then a choking sound echoes through, and the crack in Will’s heart expands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Will whispers.

The son of Apollo doesn’t expect any response. For a moment, time is frozen; nothing happens. Then Nico’s fingers peep through the space between the door and the ground, and with a jolt Will realizes he’s asking for his hand. Will touches the olive skin gently, then Nico reigns his fingers in, stealing them back into the darkness of his room. After a moment, something clicks and the door swings wide open, a soft breeze swishing through. Will almost falls over if it weren’t for his hands behind him.

Nico’s on his knees, his arm raised to the doorknob as he holds the door open. Tear tracks create cracks against his face, glimmering in the setting sun. His red nose stands out against his olive skin.

He looks broken, deflated. Void of all hope.

“Nico,” whispers Will. The sight of him looking so lost, so shattered makes Will’s own breath hitch with emotion. The ache of tears presses against his own throat, and all of a sudden he wants nothing more than to hold Nico in his arms. He’s exhausted and emotionally drained; he just wants to be in the comforting embrace of his lover.

Nico holds his hands out, lips trembling, tears rolling down his face, and Will falls into them. He pulls Nico’s waist against his body and Nico wraps his arms around Will’s neck and they spill over each other, holding one another in their sorrow, in their devastation, in their misery.

They sit like that for some time, breathing each other in, absorbing each other’s pain, holding one another through the sobs that rack both their bodies. They are one being in this moment, finding a connection through their grief.

Then Will lifts his head and brushes some tears from his own face. He stares at Nico, at his puffy eyes and his red nose and thick tears, and holds his face in his hands. Nico leans into the touch, melting into Will’s skin.

“I didn’t want him to die,” Nico whispers, leaning his head to Will’s. His voice is choked with pain, strangled with agony. Nico’s body vibrates against Will’s arms. “I thought… I thought the worst was over. I thought after the Argo II, we’d all be safe. But he wasn’t… He wasn’t.”

Will brushes a lock of dark hair away from his cheek, and his fingertips whisper against Nico’s soft skin. It’s feverishly hot, saturated with salty tears. “He died a hero,” Will promises.

Nico nods against his shoulder. “But it’s not fair,” he says. “Jason… He deserved more. He was one of the first people I trusted. I thought… It’s like… Everyone I care about somehow always leaves.” Nico looks up at Will, and behind his eyes, the blond sees it: the hesitance, the fear, the perception of his truth. He thinks Will’s going to leave, too.

Will shakes his head. “His death wasn’t your fault, though.”

Nico nods slowly. “I know. He… He took the fall for Apollo.” Will doesn’t miss the kick in his voice as he speaks of his father, the simmer of resentment. The blond caves into himself a little as second-hand guilt slips into his skin. “He went down doing something noble.”

Will nods and offers an encouraging smile, but his mind groans with anxieties and worries. If Jason was someone Nico trusted, what does that say about Nico’s next actions? Will he start going after Jason’s life the way he did for Bianca?

Would Will have to help him?

As if reading his thoughts, Nico wipes his eyes and says, “But he made his choice. He doesn’t deserve death so early, but that is not up to me. It’s up to the Fates.” A small, knowing smile wavers over his mouth. “I won’t be going after him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

And Will can’t help it - he sighs externally, a tsunami of relief washing over him. If Nico decided to go feral again with Jason’s death, then he would have no idea how to stop him. He’s seen how powerful Nico can be, how easily his emotions motivate his actions. A shiver slithers down Will’s spine as he thinks of that night a few months ago, when Nico first found out about Jason’s death. He’d gotten so angry and upset he almost sent skeletons after Will.

And even as Nico holds Will in his arms, the blond can’t help the knife of anxiety that scrapes against his skin. If Nico is so unstable right now, there’s no telling what he could do. Will just hopes he doesn’t make his boyfriend so upset that he sets more skeletons after him.

The son of Hades takes a deep breath and wipes his tears with the back of his hand. He removes his arms from Will’s neck and suddenly Will is left in the cold, freezing in the lack of his touch. He wants to tell Nico to hold him again, to keep him in his warmth, but he refrains. Nico scrubs his face then takes Will’s hand in his own.

A small smile flashes against his lips. “Thank you, Will, for being here. I appreciate it.”

Will offers a wavering smile back, though he doesn’t quite fill it with genuinity. “I’m always here for you.” Unlike Jason, he thinks, green envy flowing into his muscles. He hates himself for thinking that in the first place.

Nico brushes his fingers against Will’s face, over the splash of freckles and down his jaw. Warmth blooms in Will’s chest at the touch and he tilts his head closer, but cold, hard guilt settles in his stomach. How can he be thinking so jealously of Jason while his boyfriend is grieving so much?

“I’m sorry,” Nico murmurs. “I know this has probably been a long day for you, too, considering that Apollo is back. How are you, my love? I can’t imagine it’s been easy for you either.”

A new volcano of emotion erupts in Will’s chest and hot tears press against his eyes. He folds his arms over Nico again, crashing into him. His tears soak into Nico’s shirt. “I’m just happy he’s alive,” Will admits. “I was scared.”

“I know,” Nico agrees. “You said he passed out. Is he alright?”

“I think so. He doesn’t seem to be in any imminent danger; I think he just worked himself up too much getting here.” Will offers a shaky, relieved sigh. “At least he’s not dead.”

Nico nods against him, his dark hair gently brushing against Will’s cheek. “Did he say anything about important prophecies or any business to do with the camp?”

Will jerks up and stares at Nico’s face intently. His dark, tear-filled eyes gleam under the sunset, flashing with sorrow and exhaustion. Nico looks so weary, so done with the world. Will understands that feeling - he’s tired, so tired. He just wants to sit here with Nico, to bask in the calmness just for a few more minutes before everything turns to shit.

Without meaning to, Will lets loose a small sob. New tears roll down his face and he bends his face to Nico’s neck. Nico glides his hand over Will’s back, through his curls, but Will barely acknowledges his touch.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Will whispers. “Not now. Later, but not right now.”

Nico flinches with surprise, but he nods against Will’s cheek and slips his hand into the blond’s. “We can talk about it later, at dinner.”

“Dinner is in ten minutes.”

“Then at the campfire.”

Will sighs. “Let’s skip out on dinner.”

“And do what?”

“I just want to sit here with you. I want to be sad. Let’s be sad. We’ve been forcing happiness too long.”

Nico’s fingers jerk against Will’s neck, a twitch of surprise tugging at his body. Then, with a shaky sigh, he nods his head in agreement. His body goes limp against Will’s, melts into a puddle of sorrow, and Will pulls himself into Nico.

They sit there for a long while, drowning in their sorrow together.

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