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delicrieux · 3 years

Text

—MAKE YOU SAY “OH” EXTRAS: TINDER

extra meaning non-canonical occurrence; can be placed anywhere in the “make you say oh” timeline after couple (cha. 14) and before the final “oh”.

pairing—corpse husband x f!reader warnings—tinder profiles, tw: men, swearing. word count—2.6k. format— written. ─── ❥ req by nonnie: y/n makes a youtube vid/live stream where she's just swiping through her tinder acc and corpse literally blocks her lmao

author’s note—akldsljfs this was such a funny idea i could not not write it lmao

ultimate masterlist. myso masterlist

You have pulled the biggest brain move by setting up both a facecam and a screen recorder on your phone. All is beautifully displayed and visible during the stream. Your fanbase is particularly intrigued on what exactly are you planning on doing today, seeing as your tweet of “strea” had been a bit vague, if not downright ominous. No emojis. No elaboration. You couldn’t even be bothered to finish the word. Truly, a mystery. Everyone tuned in and are currently waiting with bated breath.

A few of your fans must sense upcoming doom because the overall mood in the chat turns from optimistically intrigued to...evil. It’s an entity all on it’s own now, clawing at you through the screen with various renditions of laughter and devil emojis. A few eggplants thrown in there for good measure, accompanied, naturally, by the scandalous water drops. At first the common consensus is that you’re biting the bullet and going through your camera roll on stream. Definitely an idea worth considering, though you frankly don’t know what lies at the start of the 11k photograph journey, and you are afraid to check in public. Could be a harmless meme, could be a salacious pic you had saved of an OF star. It’s really a gamble. Either way, you would definitely get banned. You might still get banned. Why do you insist on doing shit like this?

Because it’s funny. Because you’re kinda stupid. Because it’s just so absolutely laughably easy to do.

A smile quirks your lips, and while it is not explicitly smug, the look in your eyes sure is, “Greetings,” You utter lowly, dimming the lights--the budget for this stream! Ugh, you went all out, “my children.”

mother i crave violence

sensing evil energy rn!!

i do not claim the energy in this video for myself or anyone else watching this 💖💖

^with peace and love shut the fuck up

“I know y’all lowkey hoes-” Upon your words the chat splits into two: one side eagerly agrees (even shares a few OF accounts! How helpful, supporting small businesses!), whilst the other feverishly insists on innocence. You make a face stuck somewhere between offended and bewildered, “Now c'mon now-I know you. I know you all. We’re the same, don’t-what was that?”

You try to scroll back to the comment but it’s loss in the sea of incoming messages, “I swear to God I just saw-”

Corpse_Husband: i love late night streams it’s not like i have anything better to do.

“COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORPSE!!!!”

rip headphone users

i cant feel my face when im with you by the weeknd but instead of face its my fucking ears

yall think full vol on pc is better?my parents woke up 😭😭😭😭

To think he’s spending his last waking moments for today with watching you (he probably still would have anyway, because you do not posses an ounce of shame or self-control and pester him relentlessly)! It makes your heart sing, and suddenly, a traitorous, fun hating idea barges it’s way through the crowd of incoherent buzzing and states: don’t do this. For some reason it also has the voice of Rae. As if that would work in guilt-tripping you- Rae never succeed, and her fictitious rendition in mind won’t fare much better either.

Still, you thought about it. That must count for something. Corpse will understand, won’t he? Why don’t you want to upset it in the first place? Men look so funny when they lose their shit, like hello, don’t you have anything better to do? But the image of Corpse just sitting there, hurt, distraught, leaving you on seen because he’s in his sad boy hours leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

queen rly went from 🥺😊 to 😕 u ok bbgirl?

Corpse_Husband: no pouts cutie

akjdjoeijdfse cUTIE??? deadass boutta r.i.p.

Well that succeeded in eliminating everything from mind, doubts included. If this was an anime, the scenery would shift into something roseate, with flowers and bubbles and sparkles all around you along with a halo or two. Alas, not an anime, rather reality. The led-lights, however, seemingly possessing a will of their own, slowly turn from deep violet to pink. You smile brightly, like the absolute dumbass you are, and you are met with a ray of heart and blushing emojis. You are just so cute, a real cutie! Still in your disguise adorable state, you swipe your finger on your phone screen, the grin never leaving your lips.

There, among the plethora of apps, nestled sits a red square with a white fire plastered on it. The delicate calligraphy on the bottom reads: TINDER.

The mood changes once again- you’re giving the roaches emotional instability by how quickly everything flips over- and the chat spams eggplants vigorously; some, of course, bravely fight against the thirst.

nooooooo i thought y/n is gonna stream in a god honoring way!!!

^pack it up girl defined

“So, Charlie and I-” You note a few awfully curious comments and squint, “-yes, we talk a lot. Charlie is a really good friend of mine. We’re best friends. Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. The whole fucking family tree-no, that sounds weird. Delete. Anyway, Charlie, being the absolute fucker he is, said, hey, you know what would be funny? And I was like, nooo, what would be funny, Charlie? And he says to me, he says, says, making fun of men on Tinder. And if y’all need any more proof that Charlie and I are platonic soulmates, then dunno, my children, my roaches, I dunno-I dunno what more to give you.”

You can’t be bothered reading the comments, there’s too damn many. You also need to save your reading comprehension for the actual bios. It has a time limit, that darn thing.

“Okay, so I made a profile earlier, but I hadn’t swiped on anyone yet-” Despite the fact, Tinder helpfully informs you that already 99+ people have swiped right on you, “So, this is me,” You show the pictures you have of yourself, and damn, not to be a conceited narcissist, but you look really good. Like if you saw yourself on Tinder, you’d super like instantly. “Uhm, so, my bio-my bio says: let’s sauce in the tub together, ya dig? splishy splashy, giggle giggle.”

i cant believe we are witnessing y/n trying to form a coherent sentence live

shes trying give her time

ya dig??? y not capeesh

what scene from the godfather is this lol?

“My anthem, is,” You laugh, covering your lips with your hand, “Corpsie, this is form you-” Proudly, you show that indeed, Corpse’s E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY FUCKING LIFE is listed as your anthem on Spotify, “Hehe.” Yes, you say that aloud.

Corpse_Husband: you’re killing me Corpse_Husband: thanks baby Corpse_Husband: now delete tinder ❤︎

You ignore his last quip, deciding it’s finally time to get this show on the road, “Right, let’s do this shit. I’m not actually going to swipe on any guys that look, uh, decent? Yuck, can’t believe I just said that, uhm, because I-because I feel like some actually deserve a chance with someone? I don’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up, as I am currently in a long distance relationship with Chrollo. So I’m just gonna swipe on, like, frat boy assholes. Because I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. Quite frankly I don’t think they possess them in the first place.”

The chat voices their agreements. With the ground rules set, you, giddy, click on the first profile.

Does Tinder know what you’re doing, your plan? The FBI agent watching you through your phone must be working overtime, bless his heart. They must, because the the first guy to meet you is named Jason, and there he is, blond hair and blue eyes, holding up a fish the size of his torso. Marginally adequate in looks, pretty good muscles. A solid 7 bordering on 8. He’s the same age as you, 15 miles away, and he studies at some college you don’t care enough to look up. Bio reads:

I like to drive fast. Fishing is my passion, but if you can’t catch me by the ocean, you’ll catch me catching waves, bro! Love a good gym date. You do squats, and I’ll keep a close eye to make sure you’re doing it correctly ;) You probably saw me at a party. Leader of the The Phi Kappa Psi. I’m a Gemini, if that matters lol.

You, of course, read it aloud, dramatically; provide some constructive criticism-he seems nice, but he’s a Gemini, so naturally, you can’t trust him at all! Also, that gym date session leaves little to be desired. With your rant done, you swipe right, and shocker! (not), it’s an instant match.

“Okie, I still wanna swipe of some profiles, so I’ll see what he’ll text later-” For a second you wonder the legalities of this stream, but you’re having too much fun to think of it further, “guys, I won't get sued, right?”

NOW she considers it

well....

if you do, we’ll kickstart your lawyer dw <3

Onto the next profile. Kevin, 25, is seen fixing his car- or, you assume he’s mid-fixing it, you don’t really know why else he’d hold a wrench and be covered in oil. He’s shirtless, and the caveman part of your brain echoes something closely resembling AWOOOGA!, but...but!...blonde hair, blue eyes. You pout again, “I don’t...I don’t really like blond boys, ya know? With the blue eyes and all, it’s just not my thing, uhm, unless it’s like-like...Armin from Attack on Titan. Else I don’t care.”

Onto the bio:

You have to treat a car like you treat a woman: go on long rides, take the lead, but most importantly, keep her oiled up 😜

“What the fuck did I just read?”

The chat is equally confused. You swipe right anyway- another match. Too easy.

The stream continues without incident for a solid thirty minutes- all of your matches, expect a few that genuinely looked like normal dudes that really couldn’t write a decent bio to save their lives, had been blond hair blue eyed gym rats with ranging forms of misogyny. Some opened with asking for nudes out right, some asked about your day first before asking for nudes. You prefer the former. Straight to the point! You admire the gall.

But then, down the forty-five minute mark a profile popped up that made you still by your phone, your smile dying as your eyes bulged. Dear God. Lord in heaven. Who is this demonspiit lookalike and why is he so fucking hot? The neck tats, the skateboard, the clothes- holy shit, you gotta close your mouth before some drool dribbles out.

No bio, just his name, Tyler, and that he’s 23.

“He boutta be 23 in me.” You mutter, swiping right with lightning speed.

WHAT DID SHE SAYYYYY?????????

tyler is y/ns karma for relentlessly mocking that one guy that had a whole ass list on what his “female” partner should be

^he deserved it and also tyler seems like a typical fuckboi y/n grow a braincell

look at mom 🥺 her eyes are sparkling

It wasn’t a match right away. You somehow expected as much, but it still upset you. Simp behavior, pathetic. The stream continued bravely, and when Tyler messaged you a simple “yo” you totally didn’t sequel. You didn’t manage to text him back on stream: texting all those guys that you didn’t really find all that attractive was easy, but this...You’re a sucker for a man who radiates red flag energy. His whole profile is a red flag. He might just be a red flag himself.

What can you do? Suddenly becoming color blind is not easy. Once the stream ends, you unmatch with everyone expect Tyler. He you chat with for a bit, but a sudden craving for different company makes you abandon him, too. You don’t feel too heartbroken for him- you’re certain there’s already too many girls in his dms. You wish them luck.

Happily, you delete Tinder. You go to Twitter, notice you’re trending again- look at you go! Queen shit- and as you compose a thank you tweet, something strange happens. You go to text Corpse, but when you click on his profile you grow cold.

YOU’RE BLOCKED. You can’t follow or see @/Corpse_Husband ‘s Tweets.

...Pardon? You hop onto Instragram and-also blocked. Seriously? And you thought you’re one petty bitch. Corpse is seriously prissy about everything. Damn, if he didn’t like your stream, he could’ve just said so. Didn’t need to, like, block you from his internet existence. So not cool.

You try texting him but no text go through. Well how will you let him know you deleted Tinder just like he asked? You relieve your frustrations by punching your pillow a few times. Later, you apologize to her, you didn’t mean to hurt her, it’s not her, it’s you. Fuck, 5 minutes of exile and you’re already loosing your mind.

“Raeeeeeeeeeeee!” You whine loudly. It’s roughly 2am now, but you don’t care. You’re too heartbroken to care. There’s a thump from her room, but nothing else, “Raeeeeeeeee!!!” You wail, wallowing in self-pity on your bed. You hear a very loud, very annoyed sigh from her room, followed by angry marching. Your door is abruptly thrown open, and in the dim, colorful light you see her scowl.

“What?” She grits.

“Can you please tell Corpse to unblock me from everything?”

“What did you do now?”

“I made fun of men on Tinder.”

She pauses, “...That doesn’t sound so bad.” She surmises, voice laced with suspicion, “What else?”

“...There was one really hot guy that I kinda sorta talked to after--”

“Y/n.”

“-But I totally deleted Tinder and honestly he was pretty boring, so, like, uhm, please?”

She sighs, the servery of which implies she is holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and instantly you know that you won. She taps away at her phone, “You owe me one.” She states, and before you can reply, she exits your room and slams the door behind her.

Grinning, you text his phone again. The message goes through, oh gosh, you’re so relieved you feel like crying. This has been, officially, the worst five minutes of your life.

You Y DID U BLOCK ME LOSER!!! MAJOR LOSER ALERT!! I DELETED EVERYTHING IT WAS A JOKE r u still mad at me? y u always mad at me i never do anything:(

my husband You’re my baby, how do you think I’ll react when I see you publicly simping for some asshole on Tinder?

Oh no, he used the words, he delivered the killing blow. You’re finished. Your heart can’t take such a workout.

Not that you would ever admit it to him, though!

You hehe ur jellyyyy u always dis jealous hehe?

my husband Not jealous.

Yeah, you might not be the brightest tool in the shed, but even you know that’s a lie. You send him an array of kissy emojis that he doesn’t have the decency to reply to. Then, completely unprompted and dead serious, you send him a simple voice memo, saying: “You really have nothing to worry about, you know? You’re my favorite, Corpsie.”

He responds via text, reiterating that he’s not fucking jealous and that he just doesn’t like when you show such outward interest in anyone but it’s not like he cares or anything. It’s just really, like, weeeeird to see his baby simping for another man like that totally ruins the whole dynamic!!! It was only natural that he should block you on every social media platform, including his personal number (which, like, was completely necessary! Doesn’t matter that his viewers can’t see it, it’s gotta be super believable!), and inform his followers of that, because it’s all a joke, like, for the dynamic, that Youtube grind, you know? Ya dig? No personal feelings were involved at all. He totally wasn’t upset that you found someone else cute, no way!

my husband I’m not jealous. Lol.

You ik u repeated tht like 50 times u trynna convince me or??? lmao

my husband No comment. ...You don’t actually talk to anyone else like we’re talking, right?

You no one else calls me their baby if thts wat ur wondering at least not to my knowledge lol im all urs

my husband That makes me very happy to hear:)

Yeah, it makes you very happy, too.

hope you liked it!! xx

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse #corpse x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #myso #make you say oh #imagine #imagines

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darkfearsandkittyears · 3 years

Text

Y'all, it's Whumptober! I'm super excited!

Okay, uh...funny story [and super embarrassing for me] I am a highly unorganized person, I have a calendar in my room, but it's so much easier to check the date on the huge calendar in the kitchen! So, I calculated the days till October in August, and promptly forgot to write prompts and outlines, [even though I pants most of my works].

Fast forward to today, when I see my mom writing down the October events. I was like, oh, she's just reminding herself for next month.

Then I realized.

I literally forgot that September comes right before October.

I literally thought that I had another month to plan ideas.

One of you come whack me on the head, I really need it.

Anywho, let's get on with the show!!

"Come on, Damian! Reach for it." Jason dangled Damian's bottle, inches from the baby's hands. Damian whined and stretched his arms out as far as they would go, attempting to snatch his bottle. Jason smiled at the child. "Scoot forward. Like this." He demonstrated, pulling his body along with his arms. Damian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then cooed a little. "Yeah, it looks whack. But come on." Jason shrugged and put the bottle down, wagging Damian's little toy dog instead. On what planet did this qualify as a dog? It looked more like a deformed elephant. The woman at the store had insisted it was a dog….he had to get Damian some more toys. All the parenting books said that babies needed good toys for development. "Come on buddy, get your..animal." Jason called. Damian laid his head on the quilt and sucked his thumb. Jason snapped a quick picture as the little boy nodded off, tuckered out by 'tummy time'. "Come on Dames, don't fall asleep just yet." Jason said, grunting as he got to his feet. The wound he'd sustained wasn't helping any, and the painkillers weren't working right, thanks to the pit. Oh well. "Come on kid, you can't fall asleep on your stomach." Jason rolled the sleepy baby over on his back. Big blue eyes batted up at him, laced with sleep. Looked like Bruce, a little. House of Wayne. Once upon a time, Jason had wanted to use the kid as leverage...but this was a baby, and his brother. He'd realized that, but realized it a little late. Damian deserved to grow up, shielded from batdad's nonsense and in a world without Joker. Godamn it, Talia was right. Having a 'family' around him had cleared his head. And screwed up his plans. Majorly. But he wouldn't trade it for anything. Besides, he'd nearly had Joker's brains splattered against the wall yesterday, right in front of Bruce's face. He'd make them watch, make them all watch when he pulled the trigger on Joker. For himself. For Barbara. For Damian. Maybe then, when Joker was dead, he'd present Damian to Bruce. Let Bruce wage war against the House of al Ghul while he and Damian ran for the hills. Then they'd double back and destroy both families. He couldn't kill Bruce, not until Damian was older. Jason was no Willis Todd, he was far from willing to force his brother into a life with no father. Picking sides would be Damian's choice, when he got older. But for now, it was Damian, Jason and Talia against the Joker and Batdad. Not a hard fight. Especially when Jason had the upper hand. "We're gonna be just fine." Jason smiled down at the sleeping baby. "We're already winning." Damian's eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a tiny snore. Jason picked him up and transferred him to his playpen, then wandered out of the living room and into the bedroom that he'd converted into a gym. A rumble of thunder burst through the room, and Jason paused, hoping it wouldn't wake Damian up. That was pretty loud, for thunder. The ground seemed to shake with the sound. The pull up bar he'd installed yesterday clattered to the ground, and he flinched lightly as an image of a crowbar flashed before his eyes. It felt as if something had hit him in the back, but he chalked it up to imagination. He was probably imagining the fog around him too. Some things Joker gave him, he could never get rid of. But Damian began to cry, loud, hysterical wails that sent fear up Jason's spine. Another rumble broke through the air as Jason sprinted out of the room. A sickening crack ricocheted through the house, and Jason unwillingly moved to the left as something brushed his right shoulder. A support beam. "Damian!" Jason had never moved so fast, weaving past and through the falling drywall and wood. He was only feet away from the playpen when Damian's wails choked to a stop, as if someone had turned them off. Through the fog and falling objects, he reached into the playpen and curled around the child, shielding him with his body as he tried to find an exit. Damian's body was limp in Jason's arms, not a cry or a coo. Jason risked a

glance at the child's closed eyes and pale, dust covered face. He shoved the blanket up to cover Damian's nose and rushed blindly into the direction of the doors. Behind him, a beam fell and what was left of the house shuddered. An eerie feeling washed over Jason, settling right in the pit of his stomach. Everything went quiet, but Jason tensed, alert. A hot burst of air slammed into his back, and he knew he'd been right to keep alert. Jason grunted as he was thrown into what was left of a wall, which crumbled, pinning his legs down. His mind fogged like a static TV, and he could feel warm air. Fire. Then realization hit. Damian was no longer in his arms. "Damian. Damian!" His throat was raw, coated in drywall dust and dirt. But he yelled on, hoping, needing to hear anything from the rubble. But there wasn't a sound. Jason pulled his leg from under the rubble and plowed through it to the best of his abilities, climbing over and under and around piles of garbage that had once been a house. There was an odd feeling in his leg, the only other thought that wasn't an urgent repeat of, "Find Damian!". But he quickly suppressed the feeling, because through the fog and dust and smoke, a tiny hand protruded from under a beam. Jason attempted to lift it, but couldn't. Damian was trapped under an air pocket, but any wrong movement would send it all crashing atop him. A lever. Jason searched desperately for a board or pole to use as a lever, but saw nothing. But then his eyes scanned over his own leg, and he had to look back at it. His foot was quite literally facing the wrong way. The odd feeling vanished and became a sharp pain that nearly took his breath away. Focus, Jason. The League had trained him as a sniper, and he was good at it. He excelled, even. But all snipers knew how to do one thing. Hyperfixate. And that skill, with the help of adrenaline, might just save both his and Damian's lives. Jason looked around the room once again, eyeing the position of the beam that Damian was under. If he could manage to get across the rubble, he could crawl into the air pocket and rescue Damian. Jason pulled his body up and over rubble, ignoring the extreme pain that was now burning through his body. At some point, that white agony would get the best of him, but for now, adrenaline was masking most of it. "Damian!" Jason called again, nearly falling over a piece of wall. His broken leg slammed into a sheet of metal, which dislodged. The beam began sliding, and Jason screamed, unwillingly. He felt his legs propelling him towards where his brother lay, and he pulled Damian into his arms and cringed as the beam fell down around them. "Damian...Dames." Jason panted as the dust settled, smoothing the dirt off his brother's pale face. The baby was too pale. He had to get him out of here. The falling rubble was controlling the fire, but smoke inhalation would kill them. And Damian had been unconscious for far too long, but there wasn't a single scratch on the child to evidence any injuries. Jason growled in frustration. "Damn it!" His entire body hurt, his leg most of all. Adrenaline was wearing off...the pain was mixing with the green light of the pit, and together they nearly blinded him. Rage, and pain. Great combination. He looked around for a way out. It was like a grave. Tight, and hard to breathe. No Jason. No. His breath caught, and he knew he'd just screwed up. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, and he could breathe it in quickly enough. He clutched Damian to his chest and tried to get in a breath, to no avail. Whimpers punctuated his breath, and the rational part of him could have laughed at himself. But he couldn't. Whimpers turned to screams, and nothing made sense anymore. He screamed the only name he knew would come for him. "Bruce! Bruce, please!" He could hear his own screams dying out, feel himself losing a grip on consciousness. "Dad! Dad...Bruce…" His voice rasped into a whisper, and he gritted his teeth. "Batman! Dad! I need you! Please...please dad!" Not a soul

stirred. "That's right. He's not coming for you." Joker whispered sadistically. Jason shook his head desperately, tears mixed with blood running down his face. "Shut up, you stupid clown! Please! Bruce. Bruce! Please!" Like a miracle on Christmas eve, a ray of light shone into their prison, and a familiar shadow fell across Jason, along with another pound of dust. Damian wailed, and Jason shielded himself and the child against the dust, then spiraled into an exhausted darkness. Four hours later, he pulled himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. "Dami?" Jason slurred, exhausted. "He's fine, Jay. With Alfred." That voice. Jason made an attempt to bolt upright, only to find that he was secured to the bed. "You have two broken legs, five ribs, son." Bruce muttered, undoing the restraints. They must have given him some hefty painkillers, since he could feel nothing. "Call me son again-" Jason snarled, his voice cracked and dry. "How am I your son, if you had the nerve to let him live?! I gave you the choice last night, Bruce. Save me, or save him. You threw a batarang at my throat instead." "Jason-" Bruce looked wounded, his jaw working with words he didn't know how to say. "No! You don't get to "Jason" me. Not after what you did. You don't deserve to have your son." "Jason." Jason looked up at Bruce. "What?" "I put a batarang in your throat?" Disbelief surged through Jason. "You didn't know? All those years of aiming those damn things, and you didn't know?" Bruce's face was as stone cold as ever. "No." Jason had probably imagined the look of sorrow on his father's face. It wasn't like Jason meant anything to him anymore. "It only nicked me, lucky for you. Doesn't even matter, I'm alive. Surprising, isn't it? You wanted me dead and him alive. What, you got a crush on him?" He looked away, unwilling to meet Bruce's eyes. "I hate him, Jason. I just can't kill him." "You screwed me over Bruce. All this," Jason gestured to himself, "Is your fault." "You have a son, Jason." Bruce said softly. "He's not my son. He's my brother." Jason replied, tone dark. "He's your son." There was a dead silence that almost resonated. Jason chanced a look at Bruce. For once in his life, the man looked truly stunned. Did he break him? "Bruce…?" "Talia's child?" Bruce whispered. "Yes." A sudden whim forced him to add, "And you can't have him. You're not going to get him killed too." "I wasn't going to make him a Robin." "Cut the bullcrap, Bruce!" Jason screamed, startling both himself and Bruce. "Yeah, maybe I almost got us both killed, but I've never put a gun or a batarang in his hand and told him to throw it!" Bruce hesitated before speaking. "It wasn't your fault. The city was destroying a building, and the explosion shook the foundation of other buildings. I couldn't get to you two as quickly as I should have. I'm sorry, Jaybird." Bruce sighed. Sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it, Bruce, Jason wanted to say. "Whatever, Bruce.", was all that came from his throat. "Not the first time you've forgotten me, anyways." "If I had known-" Rage surged through Jason. "Save it! Why the hell is he still alive? That's my only question. Why. Isn't. He. Dead? Don't kill him. Fine. But let me kill him. Look at Barbara! Isn't what he did to me enough?! When will it be enough, Bruce? When he murders Damian?" Hands gripped Jason's shoulders, and he stopped his tirade. "Son…" Bruce began, then stopped. Jason could feel his face crumple, not a word slipping past his dry lips. "I can't kill him, Jason. I can't let myself go off that edge. "You failed me, Bruce. When will it be enough?" Bruce didn't answer. Jason swallowed against the knot in his throat and spoke roughly. "I just want him dead. All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. That, the abandonment, it doesn't even hurt anymore, but I wanted you to kill him. For me." Jason's face twisted into a scowl that thankfully repressed the tears. "Make him die." He spat. "I can't, Jason. I'm sorry Jason. It's meaningless, but I'm

so sorry." Bruce looked physically pained. He's acting, Jason told himself. "If you're sorry, don't let him hurt anyone else." "I can't promise that." "I know you can't. But I can!" Jason yelled, finally. But instead of his rage getting the best of him, it all just evaporated. He felt nauseated, as if someone had punched him in the gut. But all he vomited up were words, words that he shouldn't say. "All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. I don't care about that...but didn't you care about me?" Bruce's expression darkened to something that Jason had never seen before. "I put the Joker in a body cast for a year. That permanent limp he has is evidence of it. I couldn't bring myself to murder him, because in his dead eyes, all I saw was myself in him. And it was all too peaceful. He tortured you for months. I'll torture him for the rest of his life." Bruce said the words like a vow, determination lacing his tone. Jason stared straight ahead in shock. Silence settled over the room. "You-when was Joker dead?" Jason finally asked, almost dreading the answer. "Dick killed him when he found out what happened. I couldn't let him live with the remorse, so I revived him." "Dick….killed him." Jason repeatedly slowly, almost dumbly. He wanted to feel anger that Bruce had brought the damn clown to life, but he couldn't. "He always had a temper." Bruce said lamely. Oh great, both of them were shutting down their emotions and verbalization. "Didn't think he'd go that far." "I did. He loves you, Jason." "Don't talk to me about Grayson. He managed to do what I've been trying to do." Jason managed a rough laugh. "Isn't it funny, Bruce?" Bruce only stared at him, a near pitiful expression on his face. It wasn't until Bruce hugged him that Jason realized that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Slowly, Jason hugged back, blinking back the stinging wetness of his eyes. This, all this 'emotional seminar with the Batman' was a total mistake. So Jason let go of Bruce and pushed him a little to regain personal space. Bruce unsurprisingly was fine with taking back his boundaries. "You're doing alright, Jaylad. You took in a son that wasn't yours and you're raising him." "I took him in for all the wrong reasons." Jason bit his tongue. "And what are your reasons now?" "Touchè." Parents...and adoptive older brothers make mistakes with kids. They fail them and screw them up. But Jason's mistakes with Damian could be fixed. Jason couldn't. Not until the clown died. "You can always make the present better than the future." Bruce said. Dammit, old man. "Whatever." Valid points. Very valid points. "Who else trained you in manipulation?" Bruce just looked confused. Either this was more manipulation, or Bruce being bipolar by the days. Whichever one, Jason would try his luck. It was a mistake, destined for disaster. But he just couldn't help himself.

#jason todd angst #jason todd #batfam #batdad #baby damian #whumptober 2021 #writers on tumblr #Wrote it in school #Okay Batdad #Batman #batman and robin #bruce wayne #dcu #detective comics #dc comics #batman fandom #red hood angst

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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Fallout new vegas companions taking the courier's place in lonesome road (+ cut companions if that's cool with u) (thanks!!)

The problem with trying to adapt Lonesome Road to another character's experience is that so much of its story hinges on the courier's missing past and the former Frumentarius' struggle to make them understand what happened, why it caused a shockwave across multiple lives, locations and generations, and whether to avenge or let go of the harm that was unknowingly done to the Divide. So if you bring the companions into the mix instead of Courier Six, you either have a long-running story of mistaken identity (a hilarious concept, Ulysses being absolutely positive that the companion is the one who wrecked his dream home while they have no idea who this angry, verbose man is), or a drastically different history for the companions themselves. I say let's give that second option a shot, it seems fun and headcanon-y.

Arcade Gannon: While I don't think Arcade would be directly responsible for the destruction of the Divide, I think he would pale at hearing Ulysses' message searching for Enclave agents and would set out to confront the angry courier on behalf of his hidden family. The Enclave remnants are already hunted by the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel, and the last thing they need is to be chased out of yet another home over something they didn't personally do. He'd accept ED-E's help wholeheartedly and consider turning back every time he ran into marked men or tunnelers, but his own resolve to save his loved ones would urge him to persevere. I think his determination would intrigue Ulysses, enough to engage the young research scientist in conversation if he arrived at the end of the road in one piece, and the courier might even let go of his vendetta if Arcade revealed that he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart rather than a sense of duty. Arcade would cancel the nuke launch, but would seriously consider blowing up the Legion.

Craig Boone: We know the NCR and Legion were fighting over the Divide before the ICBMs leveled the area. But what if that was by design, rather than by accident? Maybe Boone has more skeletons in his closet than just Bitter Springs, and he was part of a strike team that used old Enclave technology to surprise the Legion forces and seal off an access route, a decision based on math and made by men who had never met the people of Hopeville and Ashton that they sentenced to death. It's yet another weight on the sniper's conscience, and yet another debt he feels obligated to pay, so when Ulysses' call goes out, he answers. The usual dangers of the Divide wouldn't slow him down, but the turbulent weather would irritate him to no end. Upon arrival at the temple, Boone wouldn't mince words because he already knows he's guilty of the charge and he knows Ulysses used to walk for the Legion. If he survived the encounter, Boone would take the opportunity to rain the same destruction down on Caesar's troops.

Lily Bowen: There are about 119 years of Lily's life as a super mutant that are unaccounted-for, and we know she suffers from schizophrenia like many other nightkin. Perhaps it was Lily who discovered the Enclave package and unwittingly left it in the home of America's missiles: Perhaps it was Leo. I'm inclined to think it was Leo, who was probably searching for a cache of Stealth Boys in the old military installations across the desert, and who simply didn't care when a new hole in the earth opened up behind him. Lily, on the other hand, cares deeply, and would set out after Ulysses in the interest of making amends where she could. More so than any other companion, I think Lily would be disturbed by the tunnelers and would go out of her way to crush them wherever they popped up. The marked men would earn her sympathy and she would do her best to knock them out without killing them. After doing the same to Ulysses, Lily would cancel the launch and weep over the subsequent loss of ED-E. She would likely bring the little eyebot back to the Mojave and search for a way to fix it.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: We already know that Raul goes to extreme lengths to avenge the people he cares about, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to mix his backstory into the story of the Divide. Following the murder of Claudia in Tucson/Two Sun, Raul chased Dirty Dave and his brothers across Arizona and into the town of Ashton before killing them. Unbeknownst to him, Dirty Dave had a package with him that could speak to the nuclear missile silos hidden in the Divide, and the earth crumbled behind the vaquero as he made his way back home. Though he'd heard of the devastation, Raul didn't put two and two together until Ulysses sent out his summons, and because he didn't have anything planned that week, the old mechanic decided to answer the call. He would put up with Ulysses' messages like a good sport until he encountered the man in the temple, where he would refuse to fight until the two talked things out like civil people. I think Ulysses would be surprised at the revelation that the ghoul he had cast as a villain was following his own quest for vengeance and unaware of the package, and would come away somewhat amused by the situation. They would most likely team up to fight off the marked men, and Raul would cancel the launch and take a wrench to the machines to prevent any more "misunderstandings."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Let's say one of Cass' caravans delivered a package back in the day. Let's say that package accidentally buried the caravan crew and an entire community along with it. Let's say Cass knows, and that's one of the reasons she drinks. While Courier Six walks the Divide out of curiosity about their missing past, I think Cass would do it as a form of penance in and of itself, with a little desire for self-destruction thrown into the mix. The journey would start out as a bender fueled by self-loathing and the fanciful notion of giving her missing caravan a proper funeral, and by the time Cass runs out of whiskey she's already halfway through the Cave of the Abaddon and punching holes through the tunnelers with her shotgun. She would largely ignore Ulysses' cryptic messages and holotapes, but she'd grow fond of the little eyebot that took a shine to her and would tear after it once the mysterious courier repossessed it. Following the final battle, Cass would cancel the launch, but only at the very last second, just to revel in the fleeting feeling of control.

Veronica Santangelo: I just can't see Veronica knowingly or unknowingly waking up a nuclear arsenal with a careless application of tech, but I can totally see her stumbling upon the aftermath of something her old mentor is responsible for. Father Elijah already has a tenuous grasp on the consequences of his own actions, and we know that the prototype tech that controls the Divide's weather is a Big MT project. Maybe Elijah paid Hopeville a visit to check it out and took his investigation a little too far when he discovered the nukes. This would explain Ulysses' directions to the old man to find the Sierra Madre, sealing his doom inside the casino. But where does that leave Ulysses? Along comes Veronica, following her mentor's trail of destruction, and the courier can't help but guide her along the path, show her the meaning of the wreckage and the danger of pre-war technology when left to the discretion of those with old-world values, like the Brotherhood. Along that line, I think Ulysses would try to test her like he does Courier Six, and would schedule a launch to see what she does. Veronica would cancel the launch and resolve to never tell her brothers and sisters in Steel about the secrets of the Divide. She might dump some water on the consoles for good measure. More importantly, I think she might finally realize that the unchanging family she clings to can only die out, or go down the same path that Elijah did.

ED-E: Given that ED-E is a robot, I think Ulysses would be hell-bent on finding whoever sent the little guy rather than consider that the eyebot saw a package with Enclave markings on it, picked it up of its own accord, and deposited it wherever it next encountered old American symbols. Through its communication with the other eyebots in the Divide, I think ED-E would get the picture about the courier's quest for the responsible party and play dumb for as long as possible. The other ED-E would help conceal the mistake to save its new friend, but Ulysses isn't stupid and would eventually figure it out. But how do you effectively punish a robot? Maybe he would set the nukes to target the Divide again, to send any remaining eyebots to the scrapyard for good, but it's a long shot. If he did, ED-E would cancel the launch, but would join its override system capabilities to its counterpart's and use the combined decryption power to ensure that both eyebots make it through the ordeal unharmed.

Rex: This good boy would never even consider entering the Divide. Seriously, what dog in their right mind would go in there? What cyberdog? No thank you. Still, the idea of a dog being responsible for the nukes and Ulysses continuing to hold a grudge is beyond funny. Maybe Rex was part of a mission for the Legion when he still belonged to Caesar, part of the group that leveled the Divide on behalf of the Bull. Maybe that's why Antony says he was "lost in battle," and maybe he's the only surviving member of that squad. I don't see why Ulysses would hang around the Divide waiting for the dog to look upon the hell he'd wrought, and he would more than likely seek the canine out himself as soon as he heard about the King's new pet. From there, the story turns into Courier Six investigating an assassination attempt on a goddamned dog, and the events of Lonesome Road play out pretty much the same way they were written - plus plenty of asides about how Ulysses is going to way too much effort over a creature that can't comprehend what nukes are.

Benny Gecko: Few people know that Yes Man was actually one of two securitrons that Benny managed to incapacitate and reprogram, and while the head of the Chairmen hid his favorite in the Tops for safekeeping, he sent the other out into the world for some recon and experimentation. Imagine his surprise when Yes Man was able to remotely hack into a nuclear missile silo and wipe out a budding trade community. And who would've thought that test run was going to come back to bite him in the ass, right after he was sprung from the Legion camp? I think Benny would do everything in his power to avoid entering the Divide, but I also think Ulysses would have little patience for him and would actively force the disgraced city boy into walking the Courier's Mile by blocking any other path out of the Mojave. Benny would form an attachment to ED-E, similar to Yes Man, but would complain the whole way and confront his tormenter with little remorse. He would also nuke both the NCR and the Legion if he came away alive, probably with some snarky one-liner about "letting the chips fall where they may."

Vulpes Inculta: Vulpes already has a few scorched-earth badges on his Pioneer Scouts belt (Nipton, Camp Searchlight, etc.), so eliminating the Divide is just another tactic in the grand strategy playing out between the Bull and the Bear. All he needed to do was leave a certain package in town, and the problem basically solved itself. Unfortunately, that deserter of his wasn't buried under the wreckage, and now Caesar has ordered him to assassinate the renegade. The fool keeps announcing his whereabouts every few hours or so, making tracking an easy task, but by the third time he feels eyes on the back of his neck and turns to find nothing there, Vulpes can't help but wonder whether the student has surpassed the teacher. The final showdown of Frumentarii would be something for the ages, a clash of philosophies and loyalties with plenty of verbal sparring between the bullets. If he survived the encounter with Ulysses, Vulpes would definitely nuke the NCR.

Ulysses: This cut companion can't very well face off against himself, can he? Unless... he was the courier who accidentally brought the Enclave detonator that sealed the Divide's doom. Given the weight of this grief, I think Ulysses would similarly force himself to walk the length of the Divide, take in the utter destruction that his own actions had wrought, and reflect on the meaning of one man changing the course of history. When it came down to the final room, the final decision, our disillusioned courier would activate the launch as a way of testing himself, testing his own resolve. Like Cass, he would stare at the machines shuddering to life around him until the very last moment, before shutting the system down for good, smiling under his breathing mask and walking away forever.

Victor: The robot cowboy doesn't really know what the angry man on the eyebot keeps talking about. He certainly doesn't remember delivering a package to a place called Hopeville or Ashton. Why would he? Mr. House is very good about covering his tracks, particularly when it comes to eliminating business rivals. Really, it could have been any old securitron. Nevertheless, Victor rolls merrily along in search of the courier who summoned his master, letting his own optics passively take in the devastated wasteland left behind by bombs that launched 200 years too late. Because of his robotic nature, I think it'd be a lot easier for Ulysses to get the drop on Victor and disable him at the temple, then wait until House sent another envoy or came himself. House would probably lose interest as soon as he got his data, which I don't think would stall Ulysses much: Once he figured out the Strip's owner isn't coming, he'd find some way to get inside the Lucky 38. If, however, Victor prevailed in the final struggle, he would nuke both the NCR and the Legion on behalf of Mr. House.

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imnotusedtobeingloved · 3 years

Text

PLEADING FOR MERCY

(PLEASE DON’T REBLOG!)

Warnings: heartbreak, betrayal.

Pairing: Zuko x f!Reader

Characters: Zuko, Iroh, Azula, Katara, Aang, Sokka (mentioned), Toph (mentioned)

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the gif. Credit to the owners.

Summary: Part two of “destiny is a funny thing”

A/N: Since I’ve been asked for a next part to my last Zuko fic, here it is. (tho further requests only per inbox please haha)

“(Y/N)?” You felt someone’s hand on your shoulder, lightly shaking you awake. “(Y/N)!” A groan passed your lips, feeling every limb ache. “You have to wake up, we need to get out of here!”

The sudden sound of water irritated you, but one second later relief flowed through your body. The pain disappeared. Slowly you blinked your eyes open, seeing a slightly blurred version of your friend. She looked no different than the last time you’d seen her. Her braid was a bit more tousled than usual, but her ocean-blue orbs were like the calm after a storm. “Katara?” You slurred, stumbling slightly when she helped you up, but her healing powers were quick to work. She drew you into a hug, as soon as you’d gained full balance. Immediately the smell of salt and sea overcame your senses. Something you constantly associated with her. “I’m so glad you’re back. We were so worried,” She pulled away slightly, analyzing your face. “What happened?” Her voice was soothing. It felt good. Knowing that they had, indeed, thought about you. “I was-”

The tunnel above you began to rumble. You took a hold of Katara’s hand, spotting one of the earth benders against the bright sunlight. “You’ve got company,” Another one sneered, pushing their next victim down into the Crystal Catacombs. “Gaah!” He screamed as he tumbled downwards, landing on his stomach directly in front of you. It took you a second to recognize it was Lee. “Zuko!” Katara said, surprised, before her face disorted with anger. You calling out “Lee!” at the same time didn’t help the situation. His eyes widened when he saw you, but the shock was gone in a flash. You’d wanted to help him up, but upon stepping closer he turned his back on you, still sitting on the floor. Your smile disappeared. “Don’t get close to him, (Y/N). He’s dangerous,” The water bender murmured, grabbing your upper arm to hold you back.

This wasn’t a happy reunion. Instead it was all a big puddle of confusion.

Katara hadn’t even registered you calling him by the wrong name, too caught up in her rage. “Why did they throw you in here?” She asked, only to answer herself a second later. “Oh, wait. Let me guess. It’s a trap. So that when Aang shows up to help us you can finally have him in your little Fire Nation clutches!” He briefly looked over his shoulder, but stayed silent. “Katara, what are you talking about?” You asked, bewildered. “This is him, (Y/N)! This is Prince Zuko, who hunted us down countless times to capture Aang!”

You swallowed dryly. Was this supposed to be some kind of bad joke? His feelings for you. The stories you’d shared. The caring touches when he’d changed your bandages. All a lie?

Of course you hadn’t been truthful yourself, at first. And you didn’t blame him for being precautios. But you’d told him in time, when things got more serious. Didn’t you deserve the same?

Weeks were wasted with a prince, who’d hunted your friends for ages.

Now you blankly stared at the back of his head. His shoulders seemed more slumped than before, but he didn’t deny the accusations that Katara had thrown at him. Your love was lost. Lost to someone who’d probably never been honest with you. Not once. Deep regret formed in the pit of your stomach. You felt sick. Speechless.

“You’re a terrible person, you know that?” Your friend remained unimpressed by his Royal heritage, continuing to yell at him. “Always following us! Hunting the Avatar! Trying to capture the world’s last hope for peace!” She growled, pacing around like a panther in it’s cage. “But what do you care, Fire Lord’s son? Spreading war and violence and hatred is in your blood!” Katara spat, which eventually gained her the response she was waiting for. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” She whirled around. “I don’t? How dare you? You have no idea what this war has put me through. Me, personally!” She turned and sunk to the floor. “The Fire Nation took my mother away from me,”

You choose to interrupt, standing between both sides uncomfortably. “Maybe we should calm down...” You didn’t know how to explain that you’d spend the past weeks with the enemy. Surrounded by rocks and crystals there wasn’t much room for you to comfort her, but you choose to help her calm down before you’d attempt to talk to... Zuko. It was hard not to think of him as the ‘Lee’ you’d met him as. Wrapping your arms around her, you swayed her softly, trying to soothe her outrage. Something scraped over the stone behind you. The prince must’ve shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry about your mother. That’s something we have in common,” You pulled Katara up to stand next to you, gently wiping the tears from her face. When you lifted your gaze, Zuko stood directly in front of you.

You didn’t know what to think. Couldn’t even look at him. So you kept your eyes focused on the crystals around you. “(Y/N)...” He mumbled, but you shook your head. No more lies. You couldn’t take it anymore. “No,” Tears stinged in your eyes, but you refused to let them go. A throbbing headache soon formed, from your tightly clenched jaw. Katara looked between the two of you, sensing a new kind of tension. “But-”

“No!” You said with more force, glaring at his face. It was the first time that his eyes met yours, since you were down here. “You lied to me,” your voice wasn’t as strong as usual, shaking with emotion. “All this time was just a big lie!” You could see the big questionmark on your friends face, but you couldn’t bare to tell her what a stupid mistake you’d made. “It wasn’t! Yes i did lie about my identity, but i didn’t lie about anything else! Besides you never told me you were with the Avatar!” This was unbelievable. “Why would i? I didn’t think it would matter to our-” The walls shook around you. A part of it exploded, making stones and crystals fly everywhere. The three of you covered your faces, coughing from the whirled up dust. To your relief it revealed Aang and Iroh behind it.

“Aang!” Katara exclaimed, running up to him and embracing the Avatar in a tight hug. The man you’d formerly known as “Mushi” did the same to Zuko, while you stood in the middle. Silent. Unmoving. “Aang, i knew you would come. I found (Y/N) down here!” The water bender said. He smiled as you walked up to him and shared a hug with both. “It’s good to see you. We tried searching the city, but we couldn’t find you. Then i had a vision about Katara and you being in danger... What happened? Did they hurt you?”

You detatched yourself with a sigh. “It’s a long story,” He nodded, letting you off the hook for now. “Uncle, i don’t understand, what are you doing with the Avatar?” Zuko growled from behind you. “Saving you, that’s what,” Aang replied, still clinging to Katara. “Ugh!” The prince made a step forward, but the general held him back. “Prince Zuko, it’s time we talked. Go help your other friends!” he said to the Avatar. “We’ll catch up with you,” Aang didn’t waste any more time. He bowed to Iroh with a thankfull grin, before disappearing into the tunnel. Katara followed him without hesitation.

“(Y/N)?” At first you wanted to ignore the man. But you owed your life to him. He’d been the one to take you in, nursed you back to health, and now he seemed to help you once again. So you stopped for a second to look back at him. “I’m sorry we had to lie to you. But for what it’s worth, i’m glad to see you alive and well. I hope you can forgive us one day,” He mildly spoke, without force. You acknowledged his words with a brief nod, not sparing a glance for his nephew. Then you moved to follow the others.

The three of you took off, running deeper into the Catacombs. “We’ve got to find Sokka and Toph,” Katara called out. Suddenly a hiss rang out behind you, a wave of heat following the sound. You turned around just in time for Aang to block Azulas attack, barely escaping her flames. You’d never seen her before. Tough the resemblance to Zuko was undeniable. Knowing who he was helped to connect the dots between them more quickly. They had the same shade of umber hair. Shared some particular facial features. And nearly the same intruiging eyeshade. Just almost. You’d never known golden eyes could be so cold.

Producing a large wave Katara ran up to her, letting the water come crashing down. The princess deflected the attack with an offense of her own, transforming it all into hot mist, clouding the room. It didn’t take long for her to attack again. You redirected the fire balls with some of your own, staying in the defensive. “I see you’ve added a firebender to your little group,” She mocked, landing on a stone pillar. “How does it feel being a traitor to your own Nation?” You ignored her bribes, watching her every move.

The rock crumbled under her feet at Aangs next command. She had to jump, meeting the three of you on even ground. Minutes of deafening silence passed. No one dared to make a move.

A deep red flame interrupted the tension, landing right in the middle of the ring. Zuko had joined the field. And he was ready to fight. The question was: Which side would he choose?

You had no idea. You’d thought you knew him before. But now he was unpredictable. The boy you loved never existed in the first place. And yet you still tried to catch his eyes with yours, pleading for mercy.

He didn’t even look in your direction. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to fullfill his destiny. Wouldn’t be able to go home.

His burning hot flame shot directly at Aang.

Azula responded accordingly, sending her fire in Katara’s direction. The blue flames clashed with her water and the air sizzled, as a relentless fight erupted in the hall of the Catacombs.

In mere seconds pure chaos ensued. You tried defending Aang from the prince as best as you could, both of you working together. But as he bend a large rock to knock Zuko back, you found yourself at the ground as well. You landed on your back, directly on the wound the prince had treated. A sharp pain travelled up your spine.

Katara had Azula at her mercy, who was quickly freed by her brother while you and Aang got back to your feet. “I thought you’d changed!” Your friend yelled at him, using her water as an extension of her arms. He did the same with his flames. “I have changed,” He striked with all his might. It was a painful sight to look at. Her braid didn’t exist no longer, hair flying freely from the blow. She was knocked into a pair of green crystals, stained red around the edges one moment later.

“You’re right,” you mumbled, coming up behind him. “You really have,” For a moment his stance faltered. Nevertheless he faced his opponent. Neither of you made a move for a long time. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Azula hunting after Aang. She got the best of him as she pushed him back into the crystal wall. “Aang!” you screamed, rushing forward. Zuko stepped in your way, now producing flames, to hold you off. A rush of energy went through you, calling out to the fire within. It formed in your palms, pulsating and strong. They collided with his. Smoke rose around you, fighting tooth and nail.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Only rage. Pure and powerful anger. You shoved him back repeadiately, the despair fueling your fire. In a moment of carelessnes he managed to grab your wrists, pressing your back against the wall. The troubles of your injury caught up on you, weakening you faster than normal. You were no fool. It wasn’t a secret that he was a better fighter than you. Zuko was holding back.

Your heart clenched in your chest. This time you couldn’t hold it in. Tears spilled on your cheeks. “Please,” you gasped desperatly. You’d tried to concentrate on your hatred towards him. You really did. But your heart played a different game. “I don’t want to fight you,”

Doubts crossed his mind. It showed on his face and a tiny piece of hope flared in your chest. “You can still choose differently,” you whispered. Right now he was closer to you, than he had been in days. Once again you discovered all those tiny details in his face, that you’d loved so much. For a second you saw Lee. But before you was standing Zuko. His thumb catched one of your tears, gently wiping it from your cheek. And then he left. You weren’t worth his alliance. Weren’t even worth a fight. He left you sinking to the ground, the taste of ashes in your mouth.

All it took was one look upon the battlefield to know you’d lost. Aang’s next attack didn’t even reach the fire benders. Surrounded by Azula, Zuko and a number of Dai Lee agents, you had no chance. Katara had gotten back up, drawing a circle of water-tentacles around her. But you knew it would be of no use. There were too many. You got up despite the defeat, refusing to lose sitting down. Distanly you registered Aang producing a tent of crystals around his body to protect himself. You wondered how long it would take, before Azula burst through it. You positioned yourself in front of it regardless.

The princess smirked at you, raising her hands. Like a cat watching it’s prey.

Then the makeshift tent began to glow. From the inside. Aang floated in the air, his marks and eyes glowing brightly. He’d made it. He’d reached the Avatar-State. Everyone watched, entranced by the sight. Until a blaze of lightning striked. His body convulsed under the pressure of it’s power. And then the Avatar fell.

All you could do, was watch.

You were by his side before anybody else, still protecting his lifeless body with a circle of flames around you. Katara produced a large wave, reaching you just in time before the siblings. And to your luck, she wasn’t the only one who did.

Someone burst through the wall near the exit. “You’ve got to get out of here. I’ll hold them off as long as i can!” Iroh screamed, sending flames in every possible direction to create an opening. You took it. Carrying Aang, you and Katara ran for your lives. The waterfall of the Catacombs was your loophole, and you managed to get through, thanks to your friend producing a pillar of water.

Your eyes remained on the prince, until you were no longer able to see him.

find part three here!

tagging u beautiful ppl: @zvkonation @viva-la-millennia @randomness501 @drheinzd @kaylove12

#zuko x reader #avatar zuko #zuko imagine #prince zuko

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

“Why are you shaking?” Yakko >:)

Yakko’s leg bounced up and down so quickly, it appeared to simply be vibrating. In truth, Yakko had to be forced to sit down, his pacing was driving the others in the hospital waiting room insane.

Dot had begun her surgery about an hour ago, and they should’ve heard something by now... at least Yakko thought. In truth, he hadn’t asked how long it was supposed to take, and even if he had he didn’t have a watch for which to keep track.

Either way, Yakko was anxious to hear if Dot was okay. A million things could happen during surgery, a million things his mind loved to jump around and explore while he waited. He tried his best to listen to the advice of his younger brother and Plotz (a sentence he never thought he’d ever form) and remind himself that this was necessary and Dot needed the surgery and that everything is going to be okay, but Yakko was Yakko and his anxiety continued.

His brother was right for calling him a ‘worry-wart’, but ‘worry-warting’ had kept them alive so far so he wasn’t exactly going to stop now.

After a while of that, however, Yakko just put his elbows on his legs to stop the shaking and just hoped for the best. All the pacing and shaking was tiring. Quickly after that though, none other than Doctor Scratchnsniff himself entered the waiting room, and Yakko and Wakko hugged each other nervously.

“Ze operation vas a complete success!” The doctor smiled and Yakko and Wakko practically jumped with joy as a wave of relief washed over them.

Finally, it was over.

“However... there is one thing we’d like to talk to you about, Yakko,” Hello Nurse said, appearing next to Scratchnsniff.

Well... at least, Dot’s sickness was over. They still had a lot more loose ends to tie everywhere else.

“But I wanna see Dot,” Wakko frowned and pulled on his brother’s arm.

“You’ll get to later, she’s just in recovery for now. Surgery is quite the tiring process,” the nurse explained. Wakko huffed and pulled down his hat.

“I’m gonna be boredddddddd,” Wakko groaned.

“I’m sure you’ll find something to do in that head of yours,” Yakko teased, standing up. Wakko huffed, but didn’t say much outside of that, so Yakko took that as his brother’s permission and he went off with the nurse and doctor.

“So... what’s this about? Is Dot okay?” Yakko asked once they were alone in a room.

“No, Dot is doing vonderfully,” Scratchy shook his head. “Zis is about... something else.”

“Yakko, do you know why you came to Acme Falls?” Hello Nurse asked.

“Well, my mom told us- why are you asking?” Yakko raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you see, your father actually grew up here, before he was a squire and moved away,” She said. “As such, Queen Angelina II and King William knew that you three would be safe here, in case anything happened to the two of them. We knew what to expect and more importantly, they knew we wouldn’t harm you or turn you in to King Salazar.”

Yakko paused a long moment.

“You mean... you guys knew?” Yakko asked.

“Vell... yah. Of course ve knew. Not everyone looks like your family, you know?” The doctor looked at him in a way that pointed out the stupidity of the question. Yakko facepalmed.

“Right, yeah,” Yakko cringed. “So... why are you telling me this now?”

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve heard, the people of Warnerstock’s hatred of Salazar has only grown over the years, and rumors have spread about the Wishing Star and you three’s survival of the attack and now people are suggesting that you three inherit your parent's thrones, and well... we have proof,” The nurse explained, showing Yakko their birth certificates.

Yakko’s eyes fell upon the familiar handwriting of his father, and he touched it carefully.

“I-i... I don’t know what to say,” Yakko managed to get out.

“It’s a lot to process, no?” The doctor said. Yakko nodded.

“I-i just... I don’t know... I haven’t thought about actually returning to our old lives in... a really long time,” Yakko set down the certificates and scratched the back of his neck.

“It’s one thousand percent up to you, we aren’t forcing you to do anything, we’re just... pointing something out, so to say,” Hello Nurse explained, feeling bad.

“Yeah, I get that,” Yakko said. “Still it’s... wow. I mean... my dad really used to live here? Why didn’t anyone say anything?” he questioned.

“Well... I suppose there was never a right time. We did our best to make sure the three of you were well, but with everything going downhill so fast... well, there was only so much we could do,” She did her best to justify. Yakko slowly nodded.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” He admitted. Looking back, he could see their acts of kindness and how they did try their best to have sympathy and help while the world went sour around them. The looking away when they borrowed food, the conveniently placed goods, the constant hiring of Wakko while they could. Acme Falls was good like that.

“Well... I’ll need to talk to my sibs about this... and do some thinking... a lot of thinking,” Yakko said.

“Of course, you shouldn’t rush a zing like zis, no?” The doctor agreed. Yakko bit his lip.

“So when will Dot be okay enough for guests?” Yakko asked.

“Oh, not for a little while. Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to keep you two updated,” Hello Nurse said. “Should give you plenty of time to think.”

“Yippie,” Yakko laughed pathetically. The doctor and nurse gave him looks of sympathy.

“You must be in your head often, no?” Scratchy asked. Yakko nodded. “Not fun.”

“Yeah, you said it,” Yakko said, standing up.

“Well... I’ll give what you said a thought... this should be fun,” He nodded at them.

“We’ll send for you if Dot wakes up while you’re gone,” The nurse suggested. Yakko nodded at that, and headed out of the room, pausing briefly outside of Dot’s room.

“Please recover fast. I don’t know how much more of this thinking I can handle,” He thought, before walking back to the waiting room.

“What’d they talk to you about?” asked Wakko.

“Oh just... things,” Yakko couldn’t think of a lie fast enough.

“What kind of things?” Wakko raised an eyebrow, painfully curious.

“Legal things,” Yakko said, deciding the truth was boring enough. Wakko groaned.

“Everything is so boring now,” Wakko complained. “Why can’t everything be death defying and a mad chase for the Wishing Star?”

“There’s nothing boring about safety,” Yakko frowned, hoping his brother wasn’t already getting ideas.

Then again, becoming prince again would be entertaining...

Yakko groaned as he felt a headache come on.

“I’ll be back, I have a lot to think about,” Yakko said.

“You’re gonna leave me again?” Wakko pouted.

“Look, it’ll only be a minute. I’ll buy us some food, that sound good to you?” Yakko asked. Wakko nodded and handed Yakko his remaining ha’penny.

“Just come back soon, Mr. Plotz is so boring... though now that he’s asleep...” Wakko looked at him, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Yakko snorted.

“You do what makes you happy, just don’t pretend I was involved,” Yakko winked and left the hospital, happy to get out and get some fresh air.

In truth, the day was still quite young. The Warners had gone to the hospital first thing in the morning, and after a quick, reassuring peptalk from Yakko, Dot’s nerves were soothed and she was taken into surgery. Now it was roughly two hours later, and the streets were full of people who were eager to spend the money that had been returned to them from the Baron, who kept his promise. Yakko couldn’t help but smile at the sight, reflecting on how it had only been two days ago the streets were barron and covered in snow, and the town lifeless and grey.

It seemed Acme Falls was welcoming a bright, new future.

A bright, new future they were probably all hoping was staring- well...

Him.

His sibs.

God, how their days of royalty felt like a million years ago.

Yakko used to have plenty of happy memories of his parents dancing around in his head, but nowadays it seemed they were all tainted. Any time he remembered his mother singing and kissing him goodnight, he’d remember the last time he saw her, all bruised and bloodied. Any time he’d remember a funny story his father read to him, he’d recall his father telling him he’d never let anything bad happen to him or his sibs.

He had made promises to his parents too: that he’d be able to protect them and keep them safe no matter what.

Yakko sighed, as guilt weighed on his back as it so often did. He couldn’t help but wonder if there would ever be a day the guilt would go away. It wracked his mind for as long as he could remember, whether it was about not being able to save his mother, the orphanage closing, Dot’s health, Wakko going away, or how he had failed to protect them and almost lost both of them in one day.

Determined to not dwell, Yakko quickly began to make his way to the market in the town square and filled up his bag with fruits and veggitables, as well as a loaf of bread and couldn’t help but smile as he payed for it with the ha’penny.

That was one benefit if they decided to inherit the throne: him and his siblings would never have to be hungry again. They’d have a nice, warm home and never want for anything ever again.

But at the same time, Acme Falls had become a home to them. They knew most everyone around town, and it would feel strange not to see them. These people had done so much for them over the years, it wouldn’t feel right to leave them.

Yakko thanked the grocer, and decided to stop by their home before going back to the hospital.

It would probably do wonders for them to have a nice, warm home without giant holes in the roof that let in piles of snow and rain, and to have nice, warm beds that were stuffed with feathers and cleaned every day by servants instead of the uncomfortable bare-bones wooden ones Wakko and Yakko had. Goodness knew his back would probably appreciate it.

Still... as he looked around he recognized it as home. He had lived their for a whole year- the longest he’s lived anywhere since before the attack. It would be really hard to say goodbye.

Yakko sat down on his bed and groaned, annoyed as the headache flared. He really thought his mind would be used to all of this over analyzing and stressing by now, but it wasn’t.

He then figured it was best he delay thinking about it until he was ready to discuss it with his siblings. For now, he’d head back to the hospital and wait for Dot to wake up. He had ignored Wakko long enough anways.

Turns out, Yakko didn’t have to wait much at all, as Dot was already awake by the time he had made it back.

“Yakko! Do you like my scar?” Dot beamed when he entered her room and showed off the scar on her chest where they had operated. Yakko laughed and nodded, feeling his headache disappear entirely.

“Very cool,” He said, setting down the bag of food in the corner of the room.

“I think it’s faboo,” Wakko grinned with his tongue sticking out like a puppy.

“How’re you feeling though? Do you feel well rested?” Yakko asked, going to the side of her bed and stroking her head.

“I feel fine Yakko, really,” Dot reassured.

“Yeah, she feels fine. You’re such a worry-wart,” Wakko teased him.

Yakko rolled his eyes. “It’s kept us alive this long, and you can’t argue with that.”

“Yeah yeah,” Wakko mumbled. Sometimes Yakko swore his brother was still four years old.

“Anyway,” He said, giving his brother a look, “I was wondering if you’re okay enough to have a long and kinda tough conversation.”

“What do you mean? Are you gonna yell at me again?” Dot blinked.

“No, no. It’s not like that conversation,” Yakko said, feeling a pang of guilt. “I mean... well...” He sighed, not knowing how to say it other than to outright say it. Instead, he patted for Wakko to sit on Dot’s bed and he did.

“Well... you two know how Mom and Dad were once king and queen before King Salazar, right?” Yakko asked. His siblings nodded.

“Well... you see, now that Salazar is on the way out, now the people of Warnerstock are looking for the true heirs to the throne... us,” Yakko explained, his sibs taking a moment to process what he was saying.

“You mean they want us to rule the country?” Wakko tilted his head.

“I mean- basically, yeah,” Yakko nodded.

“I’d get to be a princess?” Dot beamed.

“Well- yes, but it’s a lot more than just fancy dresses and a castle,” Yakko warned.

“What do you mean?” She frowned.

“Well, for starters, it’d mean we’d have responsibilities, and big ones. We’d have to make sure to take good care of Warnerstock, and it’s citizens,” He explained.

“Psh, we can do that,” Wakko blew it off.

“Oh? And what makes you so confident?” Yakko raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve taken care of us two for six years now, and you’ve done just fine,” Wakko said plainly.

“Yeah right, you two almost died countless times,” Yakko rolled his eyes, but decided not to get into.

“A whole kingdom is a lot more than just two people,” Yakko said.

“How would the people even know we’re the heirs to the throne?” Dot tilted her head.

“Outside of looks? The hospital has our birth certificates,” Yakko said. “They’re signed by our parents and everything.”

Wakko and Dot blinked.

“Can we see them?” Wakko asked.

“Uh- okay,” Yakko nodded and asked for the nurse to bring them over. She did, and Yakko handed them to his siblings, surprised to see how much they captivated them.

“Wow- my name is really long written down,” Dot remarked.

“Well yeah, what else did you expect Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca III?” Yakko joked.

“I honestly have no idea how you remember it all. I get them all mixed up,” Wakko commented.

“Yeah, your name is nice and short, Wakkorotti,” Dot teased.

“Dad’s handwriting was really neat and curly,” Wakko said, tracing the cursive with his finger.

“That’s because it’s cursive and he was trained in calligraphy,” Yakko explained. “Which- if we decided to claim the throne- would be one of our responsibilities.”

“I wanna learn how to write curly letters!” Dot bounced up and down before wincing.

“Take it easy Dot, no need to overexurt yourself. Dont’ forget you’re still recovering,” Yakko warned.

“What else would we do?” Wakko asked.

“Well... we’d make laws, sign treaties, keep people safe and happy, throw parties, and take a lot of classes that will probably be really boring for things like maners and such,” Yakko tried to recall what he could of his past for reference, but very little came up.

“Would we still be together?” Dot asked. quieter.

“Of course,” Yakko frowned with concern. “I’d never let them separate us.”

“We’d get a big fancy castle? With nice warm beds? And warm food?” Wakko quizzed. Yakko nodded.

“O-of course, but it’s not that simple Wakko,” Yakko said, frustrated his worries weren’t getting through.

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. Sign me up,” Wakko officially declared his support of reclaiming the throne.

“Me too!” Dot agreed, and declared her support as well.

“Well- I-... okay,” Yakko rubbed the bridge of his nose. In truth, he knew his siblings would be estatic about hearing that they could become royalty again, and that he’d be the only one with any problems.

Well, he promised he’d listen and ask them, and that he did.

“If you guys are one hundred percent sure then... I’m sure too. Let’s go reclaim the throne... however you do that.”

.o0o.

After about a week of planning, they had finally done it. Salazar was gone and was never, ever coming back, Yakko made sure of that.

He was amused by how scared the king had looked, knowing that he had been beaten by literal children. It was pathetic really, but Yakko enjoyed kicking him out nonetheless. After all, now he’d be rotting a cell for the rest of time. Yakko could finally rest easy about that.

However, as he watched people redecorate the castle around him to become more and more like he remembered, he couldn’t help but feel like a ghost, viewing things that had once been. He had been dazed as he watched old tapestries get hung, and he had been left speechless when they asked for suggestions on flowers or colors.

Thank god he had Wakko and Dot, otherwise he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do this.

Yakko smiled softly. Wakko and Dot had been so excited during the whole ordeal, only getting sad when they had to say goodbye to Acme Falls. They loved their new rooms (though they always ended up sleeping in Yakko’s room out of habit) and all the foods and dressing up and preparation for their corination.

Oh god, their corination was today. Yakko was standing and getting his pants fitted for the ceremony which was in an hour. He was wearing a crown.

He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

“Now... how does that feel?” One of the seamstresses asked him, stepping back and giving him a good look up and down.

“Feels weird to have pants that fit,” Yakko snorted, but admired himself in the mirror.

He looked regal, almost. If he smiled and puffed out his chest, he looked like the epitome of confidence and charm. Thank god, he needed that or else everyone was going to realize he was just a scared kid.

“But I like it. It looks great, thank you so much,” Yakko smiled and nodded at her. He then stepped down and decided to go looking for his sibs, noticing it had been awhile since he had seen them and he needed to make sure they hadn’t destroyed anything.

“Yakko! These halls are so long, and really good for racing!” Dot said, nearly crashing into him as he turned the corner to see them.

“Dot, what did I say about running around? You’re still recovering, take it easy,” Yakko shook his head and chuckled. As much as he warned against it, it filled him with joy to see her running around like a little kid again. After all, it had been over a year since she had been healthy.

“Lame,” Wakko rolled his eyes as he slowed down to join them. Yakko copied his motion as he scooped Dot up in his arms.

“So, what’re you two doing in this hall? I think this is the one part of the castle I haven’t seen yet,” Yakko said.

“A bunch of old art and stuff. The maid ladies said they haven’t decided where to put them up yet,” Wakko said, catching his breath.

“Really? I thought I’d seen it all by now,” Yakko commented, now wanting to see them. Dot bobbed her head.

“Oh yeah! They’re a bunch of old dresses and suits and stuff too, though a lot of them are really dirty,” She remarked. Yakko furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing what to think, as he started walking.

As he walked, he noticed a lot of the furtinture in this hall was covered in while cloth, so he set Dot down and pulled them off before snorting.

He remembered this one. It was a painting of an orchard from one of his Dad’s stories. It had been about a knight returning to his home village after years of being away, and falling for his childhood sweetheart before having to defeat a giant and saving the day for everyone. His father’s words had been so descriptive and precise, Yakko could recognize the painting in a flash. He was pretty sure it had been a birthday present to him when he was seven, though paintings were hardly what he’d consider a proper gift for a seven year old.

Still. It felt nice to see it again.

“What’s that? Who painted it?” Dot asked.

“It’s a painting from one of Dad’s old stories. I’m pretty sure the royal artist did it... Pappy... Pabby... I don’t remember his name,” Yakko shrugged, not caring.

“Can we have a royal painter? I wanna get a portrait done of me. Cuteness like this should be preserved,” Dot posed in her big pink dress.

“I’ll think about it,” Yakko snickered, before moving to one that was much bigger than the others. Tilting his head, he pulled off the heavy cloth and took a step back as a layer of dust got into the air. After coughing and clearing the air, he looked at it and his body froze.

“Woah, so realistic,” Wakko remarked, wanting to touch it.

“Who are those people?” Dot tilted her head.

“Th-thats... th-that’s them,” Yakko said, unable to take his eyes off of it.

It was a portrait of them, their whole family. It had been done a few weeks before the attack, and Yakko had never gotten to see the final product. But here it was- and it was so... so lifelike. Yakko wanted to reach out to it and touch it, hoping that he could feel his mother’s soft gloves and or his father’s fur cape.

“Them?” Dot looked up at him. Yakko gulped hard.

“M-mom and Dad,” he struggled to say.

“Why are you shaking?” Dot asked. Yakko paused. He hadn’t noticed he was.

“S-sorry sibs... it’s just... It’s really, really lifelike,” Yakko shook his head, trying to force himself out of the trance. “I can’t believe it survived. There’s no way any portraits of them should’ve made it. Most of them were burned or torn to pieces.”

“Wow... that’s what they looked like?” Dot asked, looking at it closer. Wakko nodded.

“I only have one or two memories of Mum and Dad, but that’s them alright,” Wakko smiled a little, and Yakko wrapped an arm around him, before feeling himself start to shake again.

“Oh god- what am I doing?” Yakko let go and took a step away from Wakko. His sibs looked back at him, equal parts concerned and confused.

“I-i should be happy to see that a painting of them survived. I-i... I’ve missed seeing their faces a lot. B-but here I am, shaking like some idiot,” Yakko ran his fingers through his hair. He tried to gain control of his breath as he looked in the eyes of his parents in the painting, and felt another wave of emotions go down his spine.

“I-i just... seeing them again, I-i...” Yakko tried to analyze his feelings, but it was proving to be very difficult.

“It’s hard?” Wakko suggested. Yakko nodded slightly.

“Y-yeah...” He sighed. “They just... they look so... regal. In control. They always knew what they were doing. They knew just how to protect us. No matter what happened, they had a plan to keep us safe, even if that ended up costing them,” He said, crossing his arms, as he felt guilt crawl into his throat and his eyes begin to fill with tears.

“I just... I don’t think I’ll ever be able to match up to them,” He admitted, feeling a rogue tear escape.

“God, I’m turning into such a cry baby,” Yakko muttered and wiped his eyes.

“There’s no shame in crying, Yakko,” Dot frowned. “You should know that. You’ve told me all the time.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Wakko said, stepping closer, clearly wanting to hug him.

“Of course you two would say that,” Yakko sniffled, laughing a little.

“Of course we would, we love you,” Wakko said, running to hug him. “And I know Mum and Dad loved you too.”

“I-I’m sure if they were around, they’d be proud Yakko. I mean- look at you. Somehow, you kept me and Wakko alive in Acme Falls for six years, and you’ve kept us safe and gave us food and protection, all while putting on a brave face to keep us happy,” Dot pointed out, joining the hug. “That’s incredibly brave and regal, if you asked me.”

Yakko patted her head softly. “Thanks sis.” Dot just smiled in return. Taking in a deep breath, Yakko tried to regain his composure.

“You know... I’m really lucky to have you two,” Yakko said, and he meant it. He couldn’t imagine how his life would be if he didn’t have Dot or Wakko with him, especially right in this moment.

“Really?” Wakko asked, his tongue now sticking out, as it so often did.

“Of course,” Yakko ruffled his fur. “You two are honestly the best siblings and co-rulers a prince such as myself could ask for,” Yakko smiled.

“Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself,” Dot winked at him. Yakko snorted.

“Seriously though, I couldn’t imagine doing this without you guys. You guys are probably the only thing keeping me sane right now,” He said, only half joking.

“It’s okay Yakko, we aren’t going anywhere,” Wakko laughed a little.

“Yeah! We’re a team, we all agreed on that. You’re never gonna have to worry about being alone ever again,” Dot said with a big smile.

“Good,” He said, hugging the two of them a little bit closer as he wiped away another tear. With a breath, he looked at his watch and gasped.

“Brain is gonna kill us if we’re late, we have to hurry. It’s almost time,” Yakko said, and Wakko and Dot nodded.

“You gonna be okay?” Wakko asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” He nodded. “I got the best team ever. And if all else fails, I’ll improvise a little, that’s always worked out, right?” He said, in reference to the speech he was going to have to make to the kingom. He had written cue cards, but in all honesty he thought those ideas were garbage and he’d figure it out when he got there, which was probably a terrible idea, but if he could improvise a way to keep the three of them from being killed by Salazar, he could probably improvise an acceptance speech to the kingdom.

“We believe in you,” Wakko and Dot gave him big thumbs up.

“You two are dorks. Go finish getting ready, I’ll be there in a minute,” Yakko said. Wakko and Dot nodded, scurrying off to get some final touches done (mostly redoing their hair since they had just spent goodness knew how long running around).

Once they disappeared, Yakko sighed and turned back to the portrait.

“H-hi Mom... Hi Dad,” He gulped.

“I-it’s me. Yakko. I-i don’t know if you recognize me, it’s been a while since you’ve seen me,” He said, cringing at how stupid he must’ve sounded. Still, he felt... better talking to them, so he continued.

“I-i just want to say... thanks. For everything. You’ve left some really big shoes to fill- well... not shoes exactly, we’ve never really worn shoes, but... you know,” He joked.

“And I just... thanks for giving me Wakko and Dot. Seriously. If you were still here, you’d be so proud of them, I just know it,” He said.

“I wasn’t kidding earlier: I really don’t know if I could’ve made it this far without them... They’re so much like you two in so many ways, you’d be surprised. Dot as your kindness and your strength, while Wakko has your optimism and your courage...” Yakko smiled weakly.

“I guess despite everything, we did turn out okay,“ He said, feeling a wave of comfort and relaxation wash over him.

Despite all the hell they had been through, they were okay, and right where they were always supposed to be.

Yakko had done a good job after all. He truly had kept his promise to his mother. He had protected and watched over them and kept them safe and sound.

“Yakko! Brain said to come and get you before he kills you!” Wakko called from the other end of the hall.

“Be right there!” He replied, before returning to the painting.

“I miss you a lot... but it’s okay now. I’m okay,” He said.

“I have my sibs, and no one is ever going to separate us ever again. Not even death itself.”

Yakko took a deep breath and smiled. “I have to go now... but I’m sure I’ll be back. I just gotta go rule a kingdom, I’m sure you understand,” He joked, before shaking his head. He waved goodbye to the painting and ran to go join his siblings at the tower where the balcony where they were going to give their speech was.

“You two ready?” Yakko asked, adjusting his cape.

“Born ready,” Dot gave a toothy grin. Yakko snorted.

“Ready to go when you are Yakko,” Wakko grinned as well.

“Are you ready Yakko?” Brain asked.

“With a team like this? Of course,” Yakko nodded at the mouse. Brain accepted the corny response, nodding at a guard, who them opened the doors wide.

Yakko then held Wakko and Dot’s hands and gave them a tight squeeze, before together, they stepped out into the rest of their lives, secure in the fact that no matter what life threw at them next, they’d always have each other.

Always.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

#animaniacs #yakko wakko and dot #my fics #wakkos wish #angst #family feels #fluff #yakko warner #wakko warner #dot warner #Wakko's Wish collection #long post #jeez this one took forever to write #like- wowza #im exhausted #hopefully its good tho

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crystaljins · 4 years

Text

River lead me home | 01

Characters: Seokjin x Reader

Word count: 9.2k

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Notes: You guys are gonna laugh... I tried to upload this yesterday but it screwed up and only the title got posted! Naturally I deleted the post and didn’t get a chance to fix everything up, but it’s finally here! My monster of a fic !!!! Updates will be weekly. Honestly this fic took a lot to write, and it’s been 8 whole months of working on it!!! So I hope you guys enjoy it T.T If not I won’t be made though LOL (edit: @blue1928 forgot to tag u soz)

p.s. I AM working on the HP prompts I’m just really busy this next couple of weeks LOL

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

You’ve never really been particularly fearful of getting in trouble with your mother. She has always been a sweet and timid lady, the kind who would let her daughter get away with murder. And you are an adult, even if you don’t act like it, and so it’s not like your mother can do anything other than express her disappointment with your actions.

Kim Seokjin, on the other hand, can have you quaking in your shoes with just a look. He was your nextdoor neighbour growing up, even before you all fled your home realm. He has since moved out of his parents’ home into his own apartment to pursue his dream as a doctor (and to take home as many lady friends as he likes without his parents’ knowledge), but he is still very much a stern presence in your life, even as one of your closest friends. He likely feels responsible for you, since though the two of you were young when you were driven into the human world, he is three years older. He did once refer to you as something like an untrained puppy, which you guess is very reflective of how he views you. The result of such feelings of responsibility is him trying his best to fulfill all the duties of being your legal guardian despite having no obligation to do so. The effect is him being terrifyingly stern with you, despite him being a calm, good-humoured guy with everyone else he meets.

Which is why, when you wake up in a hospital bed with your leg wrapped in a cast, you know that today is the day Kim Seokjin kills you. If the job interview that you completely messed up isn’t enough motive for him to seek you out, then the fact that you tried to stop a purse snatcher and ended up breaking your leg in the ensuing scuffle after said thief’s motorcycle fell on you most certainly is.

In your defence, it wasn’t like you could just leave them be! Yes, you had not been back to your home realm once in the thirteen years since you and every other guardian were driven out, but at your core, you like to think you are still a Guardian. And so, as is custom, you cannot turn down a plea for help. And the young woman screaming in distress as a man on a motorcycle drove past and snatched her purse straight off her shoulder had certainly sounded like a plea for help! Really, Jin should be impressed, because the ensuing chase was something straight out of a movie, what with you in hot pursuit on your own bike (the one both your mother and Jin do not know you own). And you totally would have gotten the purse back if it wasn’t for the slight motorcycle crash. You’re not exactly sure what you hit since the events are a little blurry, but whatever it was, it ended up knocking you out and breaking your leg.

A slight commotion breaks out at the entrance to the room and by the way onlookers swoon, you know that your time on earth is up. For the only person that can stir such a reaction upon entering a room is Kim Seokjin himself. Guardians naturally fit most of the qualifiers of what humans consider attractive, but even by Guardian standards, Jin is ridiculously handsome. Even though you find him boring and the biggest nag to walk the planet, not even you are immune to his disarming good looks. You could probably sense his aura blindfolded and your eyes are always drawn to him in a crowd and so you easily pinpoint him amongst the crowd of onlookers before he spots you. Today is his day off and so he does not wear his usual doctor’s gown. Instead a well fitted button up shirt and trousers highlights the broadness of his shoulders and the elegance of his figure as he strolls through the room as if he owns it. You recognise the style- that particular combination of button up and trousers are his date clothes. Your heart plummets when you recognise the outfit. Jin will be extra irritated about having to check on you in the hospital on his day off. Why did the paramedics have to take you here of all places? You’ve really signed your life away this time.

He pauses to smile at a nurse who passes by and she is immediately dazzled. Though he is no doubt furious with you, and is frequently irritated by your shenanigans, to the rest of the world he is charming and funny and good-tempered. You watch the exchange with curiosity- the nurse laughs at something Jin says and there’s a faint flush to her cheeks. You will probably never have such an exchange with Jin- even if he relaxed enough to make a joke in your presence, it would probably be at your expense. Jin’s taste in women is very obvious- he likes women that match him in beauty, ones that are fantastic at making you feel like a potato in comparison despite your guardian heritage, however unintentionally. Something in you twinges at the thought- you wouldn’t mind having a normal relationship with Jin. One where he smiles at you and makes jokes and actually enjoys your presence. But he’ll probably never view you like that- he’s made it very clear throughout your friendship what you are to him.

The nurse points in your direction and takes Jin’s distraction as an opportunity to trail her gaze appreciatively over his figure, settling on his profile. She must be new to the hospital if this is the first time that she is experiencing what Jin’s coworkers at the hospital describe as the “Jin effect”. Any humans (and most guardians for that matter) who meet him instantly succumb to his charisma and absurdly handsome face and find themselves desperately in love. This nurse is no exception and you decide to utilise the momentary distraction she has provided Jin when she attempts to get his number by attempting to slide off your bed and scurry away.

A tug at the back of your collar has you stiffening. If this were a movie, there would be an uneasy swell of high-tension violin as you turn your head to find Jin has grabbed the back of your shirt to stop your slow escape. He must have utilised a spot of enhanced guardian speed to be able to cross the room so quickly. The violins in your head begin to screech in terror. Jin merely smiles and it is eerily charming. His cheeks puff out and his lips curl in a way that would dazzle the average onlooker but you see the lethal intent in his eyes. You barely manage to hold back a fearful shudder.

“Nurse Jo!” He calls, and his tone is playful and sweet which contrasts directly with the venom in his dark pupils. In their depths you can foresee your death. “It seems one of our patients is trying to escape.” His tone darkens and drops on the last word and you flinch, preparing for the end.

Only it never comes, and you find Jin hoisting you up by the back of your shirt and with the help of security rushing forward they wrangle you back into bed. They do well- the average human doesn’t stand much chance against the superior strength of a guardian, and you are currently fighting for your life. But with Jin in the mix, they have you strapped to your bed in no time, forced to listen to whatever longwinded and painful lecture Jin has prepared for you

He stands at your bedside, arms folded across his chest. You mentally write your will in your mind- Taehyung can have your Nintendo switch and his girlfriend can go through your clothes and take any that she likes. Your mother gets anything worth more than $20 in your bedroom (though she might be searching for a while to find such an item, if it even exists) and Seokjin can get custody of your evil cat. Maybe it’ll scratch his stupidly handsome face up and you can get revenge from beyond the grave.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Jin asks, and his voice is surprisingly calm. You look away, scratching at where the cast on your leg rubs at the skin of your shin. It’s stupid to wear the cast since with your enhanced healing abilities the break will be better by tomorrow, but the doctors of this world do not know that.

You are not fooled by the almost friendly, interested tone to his voice- there is anger bubbling behind the mask of polite curiosity. Likely he is holding back to full force of his fury because this is his workplace.

“Well, I’d like to preface by saying I had no choice. Was I supposed to just let the robber go?” You say. You were attempting to placate him before elaborating on the full story, but it appears to have the opposite effect. Jin’s eyes bulge out of his head and his face goes that interesting shade of red that only appears when he’s very, very angry.

“Robber? You took on a robber?” He says slowly, and you can tell it takes a few moments for the words to process. But gradually, the veins in his neck bulge and his eyes gradually widen and you wince as Jin erupts into what you like to call his “jants- Jin Rants.”. “Ya! Are you crazy? What were you thinking? What if you had been killed? I would have had to tell Auntie and then I would have had to organise your funeral because she would be inconsolable! If I even survived my parents trying to kill me for letting you die at the hands of a ROBBER of all people!” The impressive thing about a jant is the speed at which it is spat out. You are sure that professional rappers have nothing on the way Jin can spill out verses in a rage. He shoves a hand through his hair in distress and the ensuing messy look it generates is unfairly attractive- you think you see a middle-aged woman swoon in the hospital bed across from yours. Or faint. It’s hard to tell in a hospital. He continues screeching. “And then they’d PROBABLY make me MOVE BACK HOME as PUNISHMENT and there goes my social life! You could have ruined MY WHOLE LIFE, (Y/N)! What is wrong with you? Why do you always go making trouble like this?” It is those words, out of his whole rant, oddly enough, that causes you to stiffen. The implication that all you do is cause trouble. Which in a way you suppose you do. You cause your mother unnecessary worry- Jin is constantly sacrificing things to take care of you. Even your friends are constantly having to shout you meals due to your perpetual state of unemployment.

“I... couldn’t just leave it- they needed help, Jin.” You admit softly. Jin somehow hears your quiet admission over his furious jant and falls silent. He stares at you in confusion for a long moment, like he was expecting more of a fight, or some sort of annoying comeback. But the confusion is enough to subside his rage. The jant is over, with minimal damage. He drags over a chair and slumps by your bedside, once more running a hand through his hair.

“You’re so reckless. Robber’s rarely pull stunts like that unarmed! You may have enhanced healing compared to a human, but you still die if someone stabs you! And this is your third ER trip this month!” He scolds and his tone is far gentler than before- not unlike how one might speak to a child, rather than someone a mere three years younger than him. You meekly bow your head, chastised. “How do you think auntie would feel if anything happened to you, (Y/N)? You may be a Guardian, but Guardians aren’t invincible. You, of all people, should know that.”

You flinch, feeling as though he’s slapped you. He’s clearly furious with you if he’s willing to choose such a sore spot to shame you. For the thirteen years you have been in the human realm, it has just been you and your mother. You have not been able to forget that fact for a single day. Every day you awaken afresh with the reminder that there is a third member to your family who should be there but is not. Your father’s life was lost as you all fled, and your mother had found herself widowed with a headstrong young child in a foreign and unfamiliar realm. Jin’s family have always been around to help because you haven’t exactly been an easy child to raise, but there are some burdens that no one can lift from a single parent.

And you love your mother, and you really would do anything for your her. It’s just... you don’t want to pretend that you’re a human. For your entire time here, your guise as a human has felt like an itchy, poorly fitted jacket that you want to peel off and throw away. Humans are selfish and lazy and would leave a child on the side of the road and they’d been very quick to notice that you were different and target you for it- these are all things your father hated. To be human is to spit on the sacrifice he made for you... and yet to continue to fight it is also disregarding that he gave up his life to let you live in comfort.

Jin, with his handsome face and ability to charm anyone he meets instantly, has never had an issue settling into the human realm, and so he’s never really understood why you cling so much to your former home realm. He knows that you’ve never truly stopped grieving the life of your father, but he cannot understand why you do not see the human world the way that he does. He had very much taken to being a human and enjoys all the perks that come with it- the technology, the fawning women, the interesting and unique cuisines... Jin adores human culture. And so, it irks him that you constantly seem to be sticking out like a sore thumb.

“I’m sorry.” You say in a small voice and you’re so downcast that you miss the way that Jin’s face crumples with guilt.

“Just... try to be safer in the future. This realm has its own law enforcement. We don’t need to be guardians here.” He tells you softly. Then he clears his throat awkwardly. “How was the job interview?”

It’s an act of mercy- he’s trying to save you any further misery by changing the subject. Unfortunately, you have yet to break the news to Jin; you bombed the interview. Massively. It’s not like it was even a job you were that invested in. Just a fulltime job that involved doing some admin in an office. The exact, safe, boring job your mother has dreamed of for you since coming here and the exact job Jin has been pushing you to apply for because he’s sick of his parents nagging him to lend you money or take you out for dinner or give you lifts because your car broke down and you can’t afford to fix it. But you messed it up and you hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for disappointing your mother, and, if you’re really honest with yourself, for disappointing Jin. You’re already so aware of how lowly he views you and this just makes it sting that little bit more.

But it is the exact kind of job that will slowly kill you inside. You are trying to kill the part of you deep down that longs for something more. You don’t even know what it is you want. But killing that part and settling into this world and its ways and its customs mean giving in. It means forgetting. And for thirteen entire years, you have not been able to forget. How can you, when you left a piece of yourself back there, on the battlefield where your father had lost his life for your sake? He was not even given the luxury of a grave and yet you are supposed to be comfortable and post pictures on Instagram about how happy you are and go to brunch and just enjoy life? You... you can’t do it.

“I... don’t know.” You finally say. You shrug and glance away. “It felt like it went well. We’ll see if they call me back.”

Jin visibly brightens, unaware of your lie.

“I knew I had a good feeling about today!” He says warmly. “You’re totally going to get that job, I can feel it in my bones. Finally, my parents will get off my back!” He cheers. He probably means the last part as a joke but it’s just another sting; another reminder that Jin just sees you as a burden.

His celebration session is interrupted by an alert on his apple watch. He glances at whatever notification appear and winces. He glances at you like he’s done something wrong.

“I’ve got to go. I uh… I have a date.” He confesses. Jin is always tentative when he talks about the women he sees, like he’s anticipating some sort of reaction from you. You don’t know what reaction that would be, though, and you don’t think you’d ever feed his ego with any reaction other than a mild disgust and indifference. When you just continue to stare, he nods, more to himself than you. “I still have to sort all your paperwork to make sure you can get discharged so I probably can’t stay with you for your discharge. You don’t need a lift home, do you? I’ll probably have to drive straight there.”

Normally you would accept- though your broken bone heals faster than a human’s, it is still highly painful and inconvenient. But the thought of being in the car with Jin right now is highly unappealing. For some reason, lately when you spend time with Jin, you just feel more and more aware of how inadequate you are. You can’t help but notice the way people gravitate towards Jin. The way their eyes are constantly seeking him out or how a room brightens when he steps into it. And it’s not just his looks- it’s his everything. His demeanour, his smile, his success. He has taken to the human world like a fish to water and you just can’t. It’s not like you don’t want to. But his presence, his nagging, his constant disappointment with you… it’s a persistent, painful reminder of everything you can’t bring yourself to be. Not even for him, as much as you sincerely hate constantly disappointing him like this.

He adjusts his watch as you shake your head.

“I’ll just get the bus. I can still walk.” You say, plastering a smile on your face that hopefully seems sincere. Jin glares at you and reaches out to tap a finger against the firm plaster of your cast.

“Fine, but this stays on until tomorrow. I don’t care how fast you heal- I don’t want that leg healing crooked. Your mother will definitely notice if you suddenly have an extra bend in your shin. And no more chasing robbers- not even if it’s an old grandma with a cane being robbed. We stopped being Guardians for a reason.” He warns you. He adjusts his shirt cuffs and pulls out his phone to adjust his hair in the selfie camera before glaring at you. “I won’t tell Auntie about today because I don’t want her to worry. You can stay at mine tonight, so she doesn’t ask any questions when you hobble home in a cast.”

“Thanks.” You say and he’s oblivious to the bleak tone in your voice and the way your expression is downcast. If there’s one thing that has Jin oblivious to the rest of the world, it’s the prospect of a date. “Is the code to get in still the same?”

“I changed it to your birthday because that stupid pixie that always hangs around you worked out the code and keeps leaving my sugar open on the counter. I’m getting so many ants. I’m pretty sure he’s leaving it open for them.” Jin tells you already halfway turned around. You wisely choose not to tell Jin that you had told Jungkook the code to Jin’s apartment. Jin pauses before he can stride off. “Oh yeah. Auntie texted me- she wanted me to make sure you remember to come to dinner tomorrow and that you dress nicely. She has something important to say.”

“She could have just texted me herself.” You mumble, but Jin has already walked off, probably to sort the last of your paperwork before his date. A trail of sighing onlookers watch his departure. It just makes you scoff as you return to glaring at your cast. It itches.

You make a promise to yourself to use Jin’s kitchen scissors to remove it tomorrow so that he has at least some kind of inconvenience in his life. Nothing is more irritating than a blunt pair of kitchen scissors.

++++

Despite seeing Jin’s mother every other day, and renting the apartment directly across from her, your mother always acts like the president is coming over whenever Jin’s family comes for dinner. She pulls out the fancy glass bowls and the plates she bought with her first paycheck from the diner she was employed at when you were small. She vacuums the whole apartment and checks your room to make sure you’ve cleaned it in case Jin needs a bed to nap on after a long day at the hospital.

She’s never quite managed to get the hang of human cuisine and since the human realm doesn’t hold the magic stores available to cook Guardian food the way that she learned, you are always the one to make dinner. You’ve never once complained because you know that on some level, this is your mother’s attempt to compensate. This is the closest you will ever get to having a community with other Guardians, and Jin’s dad is the closest thing you will ever have to a father.

But even despite her usual frantic state whenever there’s a joint family dinner, she definitely seems more frazzled than usual.

“Is it meant to smell like that?” She asks with a grimace, leaning in to look at the salad you’ve thrown some vinaigrette over. You glance over your shoulder from where you are checking on the food in the oven.

“Yes, mum.” You say, standing and gently nudging her from the kitchen with a smile. “It’s vinaigrette- you liked it last time when I made it, remember? It’s why I made it tonight.”

Your mother digs her heels into the ground before you can drive her from the kitchen and send her back to wiping the already sparkling cabinets in the living room. She turns to scrutinise you carefully.

“Are you going to do your hair? It looks a little messy.” She frets. You raise an eyebrow. This is new. Your sweet, doting mother has never once criticised your appearance, not even when you went through that phase where you had an eyebrow piercing and dyed your hair neon green. Something is up.

“It’s just Auntie and Uncle, right?” You say suspiciously. “They used to bathe me when we lived in magregnum, mum.” You say. Using the original term for your home realm feels foreign on your tongue and your mother’s expression shutters at the sound of her original home.

“Well, a lot has changed since then.” She says softly. You’re about to question the strange, unfamiliar expression on your mother’s face. Something looks different about her... you squint when you recognise the shimmer of your favourite eye shadow on her lids.

“Are you wearing makeup?” You question. Her eyes go wide, and you can’t help but notice that her lashes are curled. But her answer is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Your mother pales and instantly she switches back into her jittery, pre-dinner self.

“Quickly, quickly!” She urges. “Dinner’s not ready yet!”

You shake your head with a smile at your mother’s familiar antics.

“It’s probably just Jin- Auntie and Uncle always make him come over earlier to help.” You call over your shoulder. You’re in a far better mood than you were yesterday, particularly after bending Jin’s kitchen scissors beyond repair during your attempts to remove the cast this morning before heading out and pretending you hadn’t been fired from your part-time job the week before. You had punched one of the senior managers for bullying the new hire. Your leg was mostly healed at that stage and Jin had told you that you could take the cast off before he left for work that morning. When you arrived back home in the afternoon, your mother had either chosen not to comment on your slight limp or had been too distracted by the stress of having dinner to notice. You are glad to have evaded her sad, disappointed eyes and the unwarranted comparisons to Jin for the day.

After a long few moments of peace in the kitchen, you can’t help but notice the lack of an annoying presence hovering over your shoulder. Usually when Jin arrives, he makes a beeline straight for the kitchen so that he can sample whatever it is you’re making and proclaim it decent (and then try and sneak some extra portions later in the evening when he thinks you aren’t looking). The complete lack of Jin’s presence to do whatever the kitchen equivalent of back seat driving is has you pausing with a sense of unease. It is the first clue that something is up- the door opens and yet the older guardian doesn’t make an appearance. Confused, you pause midway through pouring out melted chocolate from a glass measuring cup and glance over your shoulder.

“Minyo Dolkara,” is your mother’s tentative call and your eyes widen at the term of endearment. It is a common one back in your home realm, but your mother only uses it to comfort you when she feels you are truly upset. She is knotting her fingers anxiously together and beside her stands an unfamiliar middle-aged man. He smiles warmly at you, and your gaze lands on the arm he holds carefully around your mother’s shoulder. Your grip tightens around the handle of the measuring cup.

“Mum?” You ask, your tone laced with confusion. “Who’s this?”

Your mother swallows nervously and glances at the man in question.

“This is... my love.” She confesses. “Nigel. We met at my night classes and I... He...”

“I’m her fiancé.” The man, Nigel corrects. He is a friendly, round sort of man. The kind of man often seen on tv playing father to a rebellious teenage daughter in a sitcom. And his smile is warm and excited, like he’s happy to meet you. He directs that smile to your mother, and rather than look disgusted or uncomfortable, she merely beams back at him.

That’s probably what this night was for, in hindsight. And why your mother was so nervous. She planned this to introduce her new boyfriend... no, her new fiancé to you, and to Jin’s family. Dimly, in the back of your mind, you register all the unusual signs about tonight. The way she’d messaged Jin to make sure you were at the dinner despite the fact that she’s never been able to bring herself to make you do anything you don’t want to.... the way she’s been commenting on your appearance despite it never having bothered her before... how long has she kept this from you? How... how could she be seeing another man?

No words form in your mouth- instead, the face of your father hovers in your mind. After thirteen years, you can’t fully recall what he looks like and you weren’t able to bring any pictures over to the human realm with you. It has been long enough that you cannot recall his face or his voice. So, in theory, why can’t your mother meet someone new? Did you expect her to live as a widow until she died, alone and far from the home realm she grew up in? Of course, you didn’t. But for some reason, this man’s presence right now leaves a bitter sting like she’s plunged a knife into your chest.

The smile drops from Nigel’s face after a few moments of you staring blankly and his smile is replaced with concern. It takes you a while to understand it is because you have crushed the hand of the measuring cup in your tight grip. It falls to the ground and shatters, followed by a few drops of blood as red rapidly spreads over your clenched fist and lands on the ground. You haven’t used your enhanced strength in so long you almost forgot you had it.

“Fiancé?” You echo at last and though it is your own voice, it sounds distant. Like your ears are suddenly submerged under water. You don’t know what hurts you more in that moment- the painful reminder that the world is moving on without your father... or the fact that your mum has kept such a huge secret from you for who knows how long, probably because she was scared of how you’d react. “You’re engaged?”

“(Y/N),” your mother says, taking a step forward, perhaps to comfort you. She does it tentatively, like you are a beast she needs to placate. The people in your life- at least the ones who know your true identity- often approach you like that. Slowly and hesitantly, as if they don’t know how you will react. Like you are a ticking time bomb, ready to go off and cause trouble. Which in a way, you suppose you are. Things have always been difficult with you, after all. You never settled into human schooling well and you didn’t get into a good university like Jin, and you’re always getting yourself into trouble trying to help random people off the street. And your mother, your poor placating mother, is prepared to do the same thing she always does. Apologise that you had to leave your home, that the new human world isn’t to your liking, but gently remind you that it is, in fact, your real home now.

But you do not give her the chance to feed you the same tired lines. You’re so sick of hearing this lecture. Every time you wind up in hospital because you’ve interfered with a fight or been hit by a car trying to save a random puppy, Jin gives you the same, frustrated lecture. When you fail another interview or get fired from a new job, your mother is there to try and fail to hide her disappointment that you aren’t leading the life she’d planned for you. But not this time- this is too far. You’ve been trying to squash the part of you that is a guardian for their sake for so long now, but you cannot do it for him. For this man, this stranger, who has waltzed into your home like he owns it and announced that he’s marrying your mother. As if he has a right to just join your family. You are out the door before she or Nigel can offer a word of explanation.

You don’t see Jin until you crash into him. He steadies you with a hand planted on either shoulder. You glance up at his face, barely registering what he looks like through the blur of tears spilling forward. For a brief moment, the sight of Jin’s face (even blurred) and the familiar set of his broad shoulders fills you with relief. Even if Jin’s always viewed you as a bit of pain, he’s always been an important person to you, always ready to provide support. But then you see the look on his face.

Jin actually winces when he sees your expression. Perhaps he is realising it’s going to be one of those nights, where he sits up on the roof with you for hours and comforts you as you spill your guts. That’s how it’s always been, after all, ever since you were a small child and would run to him when you scraped your knee instead of your own parents. You would cry and he would offer some wise words mixed in with a stern reprimand and then his parents would congratulate him for being such a good influence on you. Even when you hit high school and started to realise for the first time that Jin didn’t view you with the same adoration you viewed him, he never stopped being that person for you. The shoulder to cry on, the rock to lean on. But now, he stiffens, as if steeling himself for the explanation behind your tears and he probably already has a speech half prepared in his mind. That’s the job he delegated himself, after all. To look after you, for as long as you are alive and giving him headaches. So, if it’s always been his job to do just that, why does he look like he’s just been asked to help clean a public bathroom at the sight of you in distress?

He... he doesn’t want to deal with you. That’s why he looks so uncomfortable.

You feel something inside you crumple. You can’t identify what feeling it is but, in that moment, you realise something. Everyone in your life... they all view you as a burden. Your mum had delayed telling you about her boyfriend until the last possible moment because your response would be difficult to handle. Jin’s parents see you as a hopeless child that their perfect son must look after. And Jin.... well you can see from the look on his face how he views you. It reminds you of a dark day, all those years ago in high school, a memory you thought you’d pushed down, and it surfaces now, before you can push it back down like you normally do. But then you set your shoulders- you were over the things Jin had said that day, and you aren’t going to allow the way that he looks right now to be the thing that resurfaces those feelings.

You shove past him. Over the past few months, you’ve been avoiding Jin more and more as your self-esteem plummeted lower and lower but today something tips over the edge for you. You don’t know how or why it happened but at some point, Jin has stopped being the person you can turn to when things get rough. And you have just realised that he no longer wants to be that person either, which hurts far more than you ever thought it could.

“(Y/N)!” You hear him call out to you, probably shocked that you aren’t caving immediately and telling him what’s wrong- after all, there’s probably only been one time in your life before this that you’ve done so. You ignore his call though, making a beeline for the staircase, and he does not follow you.

The place you usually go to when misery strikes is the rooftop of your crappy apartment building. You’ve spent countless hours up on the rooftop, watching the sky. It’s oddly therapeutic- the thing you used to miss most when first moving to this realm was the stars. Back home, they sparkle different colours like precious stones scattered across black velvet. Here, the smog of humans blocks their stars from the sky. But the brightest stars are somewhat visible on clear nights and they are the closest reminder you have of home. That’s probably why you have chosen the roof as your refuge. Since beginning to take refuge here when things go bad, you’ve accumulated a small collection of old furniture from whenever your mum goes on a redecorating spree.

What has resulted is a comfy little corner of the world you can call your own, away from everyone else. No one else seems to use this place, even if the rooftop is accessible to everyone in the complex, but that suits you just fine. It’s perfect for curling up and wallowing, much like you are desperate to do right now. There are a lot of confusing, painful emotions swirling around inside you, ones that you aren’t really sure how to deal with or process.

You slump down against the old picnic blanket you have stretched across the floor and let your head collapse against an old cushion your mum threw out years ago and peer up at the sky. Wincing, you idly pick out pieces of glass from your hand and watch the skin seal over almost immediately as you wonder if the sky really as beautiful back home as your memory tells you it was. Or, do you just want to believe things were better in the other realm? You’re not really sure but it really would be nice to go back. Not forever- as much as you hate to admit it, your family is here now, which makes this realm your home. But you want to see the place you came from. You want to see the stars and the valleys and the rivers. The night before you and your mother fled, your father had told you that everything about Magregnum would change by the time you were old enough to go back, except the landscape. Mountains cannot move, after all. A part of you longs desperately for that- to see the things that will not change and the landscapes that could not leave your father behind. The only reminders that you aren’t just a random human washed up in the bleakness of life, but a guardian. Something special and precious. Something better than what you feel like you are.

An annoying buzzing in your ear breaks the bubble of your pondering. You blink a few times and then sigh, turning your head to the side. A small figure, no taller that the height of your handspan, stands beside you with his arms folded. Small, insect like wings flap so rapidly they are little more than flashes, catching the light of the fairy lights you’d strung across the fencing of the rooftop a few weeks ago. The figure tilts his small head to the side and at this proximity you can see the way he frowns. He always has the oddest tendency to pop up whenever you are alone and miserable and likely he is displeased to find you in such a state yet again.

“Do you ever do anything other than sulk?” The creature asks. He is a pixie, as you know from your first interaction where he had very indignantly informed you that no, he is not a cross between a mosquito and a human in-between your attempts to squash him with a fly swatter. You grimace.

“No.” You snap, rolling onto your side to face away. Alas, the small pixie merely lifts easily into the air and sails over your face like he’s an Olympian performing high jump. He lands neatly in front of you once more and grins.

“What happened this time?” He asks, settling down into the picnic blanket cross legged. He plants an elbow on either knee and rests his chin in his hands. The buzzing of his wings slows to a gentle flap, which allows you to discern the thin, silvery veins that lace across the delicate membranes of his wings. You’ve always secretly thought it a shame that Jungkook is just a pixie, given his handsome face and charming nature, but being a human would mean the loss of his gorgeous wings. “Did Jin ground you again?”

“He’s never grounded me before.” You snap defensively. “And even if he did, it’s not like I would listen to him. He’s not my parent.”

Jungkook shrugs, leaning back to press his weight into his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Yes, you would.” He points out. “You always complain about Jin, but I know you always do what he says.”

You purse your lips and sit up. Jin is one of the last people you want to talk about right now. Jungkook stands up too, launching himself into the air so that he can settle on your knee.

“So what did Jin do this time? Change the code to his apartment again? Find out about your motorbike? Treat you to dinner?” Jungkook questions eagerly. You’ve never seen the pixie interact with another living being other than you, Jin or Taehyung (and on occasion your mother) and he had sadly informed you that he was the only one of his kind in this realm when you first met thirteen years ago. So, you have a theory that he lives out his need for drama and gossip and social interaction vicariously through you. It’s the only way to explain his constant interest in your life and the things that are making you sad.

“It wasn’t Jin.” You finally admit, lifting your gaze once more to the sky above. “Why are you even here anyway? Did you run out of YouTube dance covers to copy?”

Jungkook nods and settles down beside you. “It’s all pointless after a while.” He says forlornly. “It’s not like humans can see me. Only guardians will ever see me dance and they don’t care. I figured I might as well talk to one sentient being before I go crazy. The moths just aren’t great conversation partners these days.” He pauses. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Jungkook’s confession has your resolve crumbling. Sometimes it is easy to forget that you, Jin and Taehyung are the only people Jungkook can mix with, as a pixie in a human world. Even if humans could see him, the government would probably deport him back to the other realm the second it found out he was threatening exposure of magical beings to humans. A strange sadness on his behalf overcomes you and that is the thing that makes you willing to confess what’s bothering you. “It was... my mother.”

Jungkook is silent and when you glance down at where he is seated upon your knee, he is also gazing in wonder at the sky above. He doesn’t press further but you still somehow feel compelled to share.

“She’s engaged.” You admit and the words feel oddly piercing amongst the soft hum of city traffic. They hang in the cool night air and suddenly the warmth of the night seems stifling rather than comfortable.

“I thought the Q’uvar were happy when that sort of thing happened? Don’t you all have those huge festivities in your village whenever a marriage ceremony happens?” Jungkook questions. The natural way the original term for your people rolls off his tongue testifies to his origin- despite him living in the human realm, there is no doubt he comes from Magregnum, just as you do. Even when you were living in the other realm, your people would refer to themselves as guardians. Only the really old-fashioned members of your race would use the language that had slowly died out over the years as the common tongue became the norm. Not for the first time, you are curious about Jungkook and where he popped up from. Jungkook turns to look at you and tilts his tiny head. His inky black hair flops to one side with the motion. “Shouldn’t you be happy that your mother is engaged?”

The unintentional reprimand slaps you across the face and you wince. In theory, you should be thrilled that after so much difficulty and hardship settling into this realm, your mother has found a source of happiness. She has worked so hard on your behalf to make sure you grow up safe and secure in this foreign realm and so the least you can do to repay her is to be happy when she is happy. But the niggling fear that always chases you holds you back. It’s a fear of change- of the way life seems to move too fast for you to catch up. Here you are, stuck in the past when even your own mother has managed to move on and build a life for herself.

“I should be.” You answer softly. You lift your knees and hug them close to your chest- Jungkook falls off with an indignant squawk. Moments later he rises in the air until he is eye level with you- even the buzz of his wings seems irritated.

“Well then, why aren’t you?” He asks, but the tone of his voice implies that his patience has been lost with you. Since the moment of meeting you all those years ago, Jungkook had assigned himself as a sort of pseudo-counsellor and confidante, but it does not mean he enjoys the position. No, more often than not, he is annoyed and puzzled by your seemingly trivial problems. You kind of enjoy such an attitude though- it makes the things that feel insurmountable to you become small and insignificant. Jungkook makes you feel like problems can be overcome. This time, however, his dismissive attitude has you feeling worse.

“Because I’m homesick.” You admit miserably. “Why does everyone seem to settle in here so well? Why am I the only one struggling? Why could everyone leave things behind so easily? How can they just pretend that they’re humans, and completely ignore the fact that they are Guardians?”

You press the palms of your hands against your eyes and release a long exhale. No one has followed you up here, after you rushed out like that. Who even knows what state your mother’s dinner is in? Hopefully she remembered to get everything out of the oven. Are they having fun without you? Is Nigel charming them, winning them over, getting them excited about the possibility of a wedding? Are they… are they really happy, in this realm? “Do you ever think about going back?” You question, after a long moment of silence. You drop your hands from your eyes.

“Sometimes.” Jungkook admits. “I wonder what it looks like now. Taehyung says it’s largely the same, it’s just the cultures and people that change.”

You stare out across the ugly concrete buildings that the rooftop view provides you. In this realm, everything moves fast and changes quickly. In the blink of an eye, a new building can pop up down the road or an entire family can move away from their twenty-year-old restaurant and close it without any warning. Back home, you remember things being steady and unchanging. Every morning, you would rise to the same mountain ranges, to the same fringe of forest, to the same river song. The only guardian you know who has gone back is Taehyung, and he validates that impression- forests and mountains do not change.

“I wish I had half Taehyung’s courage. I want to go back.” You confess.

Jungkook hugs his knees into his chest and mirrors your position beside you.

“What would it achieve?” Jungkook asks curiously. You shrug, picking idly at a stray thread on your jeans.

“Hopefully something.” You say. “I feel like I’ll never know what could happen if I don’t take the risk. I just… I feel like it’s calling me. It doesn’t want me to forget what I am. This realm doesn’t suit me because this isn’t my realm. Maybe I’ll find a place that fits over there.”

Jungkook nods sagely. A moth flaps past him and he smiles at it as it goes past.

“And what would you do once you’re there?” He questions. It does not take you long to give an answer. You’ve had this adventure mapped out in your mind since you were a miserable, homesick eleven-year-old.

“My dad used to have this phrase. “The river loves those who take the plunge.”. He’d always say it in the old tongue, and apparently it was an old guardian phrase that meant sometimes taking the risk was worth it. But apparently the phrase comes from a river to the east of our home. Dad said that the river is home to a special migrating plant, and it lights up and looks like shooting stars. They call it ‘the dancing river’. He promised to take me there, one day when the war was over.” You explain. “If rivers and mountains don’t change… then that’s that last piece of him I can find in that realm.”

“And that’s what you want to see, if you go back?” Jungkook asks. You nod and shift your position to the side of some old drawers you had rescued from your mother’s bedroom. Inside are a bunch of wrinkled old papers that you pull out and show him.

“Taehyung always brings me back a map whenever he gets back from over there to show me how things have changed. Look.” You point at a small blue line that trickles across the painted landscape of the map. The label is written in the common tongue. “River of stars” it says in sleek cursive. You know from matching it up with an older map that the name has changed but it’s the same river your father told you about. “It’s only a five-day hike from the portal.” You point at a small mark on the map- this has Taehyung’s writing scribbled on it, marking the join between the human realm and the magical one. “I could go and just... get it out of my system. See the river. Like a road trip but in another realm.”

Jungkook flutters over to peer at the small distance between the river in question and the portal on the map.

“I just have to go once. Just once. And see it- see the places he loved. And then I’ll settle into this realm and get the boring job Jin and my mother want me to have and marry an equally boring human. I’ll go to her wedding and watch her pretend like my dad never existed and like I’m not a Guardian.” You tell him. “I... we didn’t even get to say good-bye, Jungkook.”

Your voice cracks and Jungkook glances up at you in surprise. You rarely open up about your father to the pixie but he’s always curious when you do, like you’re sharing the story of an ancient war hero. Which in a way, he is. Though the war is fresh and recent in your mind, over a thousand years have passed back home, since your people roamed freely there.

“We just got word that he was dead, and we had to go, or we would be too.” You tell him, recalling the way Jin’s father had woken you two up in the middle of the night, pale as a ghost and drenched in your father’s blood. You remember running a lot that night and clinging to your mother’s hand. You had tripped and scraped your knee and you hadn’t been able to cry. And when you reached the human realm, your mother had shed a single tear and then shouldered on into your new life. No time or space to grieve. Not when there was so much uncertainty ahead. “No funeral or anything. I just... I want proof, that he was alive. I want to see the places he saw and just... I want to get a chance to say goodbye. I never even got to tell him that I love him one last time.”

Jungkook holds a hand to his chin as he ponders your words and then he looks at you. Though he is small, you can make out the dark colour of his eyes. His expression is soft and gentle. It reminds you of the look Jin used to give you when you’d come up here because the kids had made a mean comment about you not understanding their weird meme jokes or you were sad because you’d seen a kid hanging out with his father. Back before Jin had lost his patience with you, when he just got that the reason you couldn’t settle in was because of the cost it took to get to this realm safely.

“You know it wouldn’t bring him back, right?” Jungkook asks softly. “Everything you knew about that realm faded thousands of years ago. You won’t find home there anymore than it is here. And it won’t stop your mother from getting married.”

“I know.” You answer forlornly. “But maybe things will be better if I just get to… acknowledge what I am. Even if it’s only for five days.” Jungkook stares for a long moment and then nods, his shoulders set with sudden determination.

“Then let’s go.” He announces. You blink in surprise at his proposition.

“Go?” You echo. He nods and straightens, planting on hand on his hip and pointing the other directly at you.

“I am the first person to point out that you’re spoiled and selfish.” Jungkook reminds you, which has you wincing. “You don’t even know how lucky you are, to have so many people who love you. Do you know what I would give to be human? To have a friends and family like you do? And every day you spit on it. If this is what it takes for you to finally be content, then do it.”

You frown and look away from him.

“I don’t want to go when you put it like that.” You say, resenting the slight way your voice wobbles with hurt. You feel the slight tickle to your cheek and find Jungkook has pressed his tiny hand comfortingly to the side of your face.

“Don’t be hurt.” He says softly. “I do know why you’re struggling.” He offers you as comfort. “And I do understand why it’s so hard. To live amongst humans every day and pretend like none of the terrible things that went down over there really happened. But in focusing on the things you’re missing, you’re missing out on the things you have.” He explains. “So, let’s go, (Y/N). Let’s go see the Dancing River and find the peace you’re looking for.”

You stare at Jungkook for a long time, before offering the slightest nod. He’s right. What’s the use of waiting and hoping and holding out for something? Why not just go and find out if seeing this river will solve any of your problems? The river loves those who take the plunge, after all.

“Let’s go, Jungkook.” You agree, with the faint hint of a smile on your face.

What you don’t see, as you converse with Jungkook, is Jin slowly closing the door to the rooftop, first aid kit in hand. He gives one last glance at the doorway, wondering if he should join you and Jungkook before shaking his head with a sigh. He turns around and makes the slow trek back downstairs with a troubled expression on his face.

#kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #castlebangtan #seokjin scenario #writing

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Painful Use of Powers

Tim and Jon are having a friendly discussion that is rather rudely interrupted when Jon accidentally Beholds something. They powers of the eye have faded after the world is back to normal, and it makes Jon very ill.

Cw panic (not detailed), vomiting (he vomits static so like.... not anything gross just weird), food mention, baby shark

This prompt is from the bingo on my tumblr, feel free to send a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a drawing or a fic! The starred ones I already have prompts for, the crossed out ones are ones I have already posted. Bingo by @celosiaa!

“It’s… been pretty strange. About half the people I talk to remember everything about… well, you know. And the other half don’t seem to remember anything at all. Just remember before… and then remember after. I have to wonder if it’s a trauma response thing or ….some weird eldritch thing. But… not actually that curious, if you know what I mean?” Tim is sitting on the couch next to Jon. Once upon a time, they maybe would have been flush with each other. But it had been a long time since they were that comfortable together. Jon hopes that one day he will feel safe enough to lean on Tim again.

Jon half swallows a partial laugh. Not a particularly humorous one, just a huff of air, really. “I’m curious… of course I am. I just… try to avoid thinking about it. Curiosity is a little dangerous for me… Which is irritating because being a teacher is about Learning as well as teaching. And apparently it is down to me to try to revive these children from the fatigue of rote memorization without an independent will to learn!”

“Ha! You inspiring people to learn! Are you sure you don’t just give them that glare of yours and tell them when the homework is due after babbling to them for an hour about whatever. Bet they don’t get a question in edgewise!”

Jon gives Tim that very glare. And Tim laughs properly. Which fills Jon’s chest with hope. He shouldn’t hang on the every positive response he gets from Tim… but he does.

“Actually I read something funny the other day! I was on twitter and I found a threat that had a theory that one of those stupid kids songs brought about the Eyepocolypse! One of those ones that you sing over and over again until every adult that ever met you just wants to clobber you…. I think it was the baby shark one… Whatever the fuck that is.”

Static fills Jon’s mouth. Buzzing through the air. And he Knows the song. The words. The many many many versions.

B̠̼̙͙̘͚̺̓̋̿͑̓͘͟͞ả̶͎̜̙̩̖̋̈́̆̂̚ͅḇ͕͓̘͖̦̫̥͂̊͂̀͂̇̇̂̚͜͢y̟̬̳̱̦̘͖̗͑͑͛̀̚͝͞͞ s̘̠̪̠͎̻̯̰̏͂̒̍̒̏͞ͅẖ̴̢͕̙͕̟̤̯͆̊͂͐̆͜ą̛̙̞͇̹̪̖͕͈͆̽͗̇͋̍͘͘͜r̡̛͍̹̳͉͕̱̝͔̾̒͛͊͐̾̿̕͠ͅķ̯̼̀̉͒͆̌̈͜͢͡ d̷̪͙͓͔̞̗͂̋̀͆͆̕͜͞ơ̵̲̩̦͐͋̊̔̉̑͢͢͠ͅ d̜̳̜̺̣͓̟̿̽̔̽̑͜ͅo̸̙͈͇̠̣͐̿̾̂̏̇̚̚ͅ d̸͍̞̹̫̤̀̑͒́̒͊̔ǫ͚̮̳͇̤̰̦̖̀̋̋͂͌̋͑͢͡ d̲̜̹̤̘̝͖͗̀͑̆̽͢ǫ̴̛̤̤̗̝̯͒͆̂̿̀̐͝ͅ ḍ̶͈͇͖͔̫̯̥̄̃͋̄͌̀̇̑͛͋͟ö̢̖̥̯̹͙̱̓̀͋͗͟͡ d͔̬͚̤̩̯͛̽̏̈͘o̪̼̬̯̮̼͌̈̎̐́̕ b̷̢͙̮̱̹͓̎͑͂̊̋̋͛̊͋̇a̗̩͍̩̲̾̇̄͐̾b̮͇̖̣̭̫͎̂̽̅̾́̄͠ỷ̷͚̘͕̫̲̩̠̮̬͒͆̾̃̅͑̓̄ s̲̳̖̼̩̙̓̿͆̉͛̃͒͝͠͡h̴̡̺̯̮̼̙̜̋̓̋͐̿͢ͅa̴̳̩̲͓̱̞͊͊̓̑̄͢ͅṟ̷̨̛̬͎͕̮̖̣̜̎̌̂̎͢k̟͍̱͍͛̅̉̏̑͑͌͡ͅ d̸̥͓̻̗̩̮͖̓͛̀͒̈̉̀̕͞o̹̭͓͎̤̝͆͂͆̈́͗d̵̙͕̼̖͔̬͚͕̞͂͑̒̀͢͞͝͞o͖͕͉̘̠̹͑̂̂̽̌̋͜ḑ̢̟̙̝͋̈̾͌̆͐͋͂̓̌͜ơ̛͖͎͖̱̳̘̓̽̒̔͌͐̔͒͢ḑ̵͍̱͙̘̙̇́̃͡͞o̴̧͓̼͔̜̣̲̻̔́̓͒͗͂́͜ͅd̨͓͈͎͚͕̳̝̩̿͋̂̔́̔̈̇̓͜ȍ̷͕͙̝͎̙̼̣̃̍̏͘̕͟͞d̴̩̩͖̙̘͕͓̼̯̊̿́̾͋̄͘̚͞ŏ̞̤͉̱̝̯̔̄̅͊̑͟ w̴̰̥̱̲̦̤̘̠̑̅̉̓̀͢ę̶̛̬̗̗͓͍̟̏̀̓͗͑͢ṇ̙̟̳̅͑̾͆̈́̀͋͢͞t̵̠̯̫̙̘̺̳͋̋̍͒͂̍̌̐̋ f̸̻̭̫͚̮͐̑̉̄̍̓̂͝ȯ̢̨͔͍̥̲̌̅̋̂͋r̢͔̥͈͎̭͔̼̹̀̿̀̂̊̈́̊͜͠ ả̢̡̛͉̙͓͎̩̈̈̑̇̒͢ͅ ş̺̦͍̣̬͔̭̲̅̓͑̿͗̍ͅw̺̺͉͙̩͚̻̣̜̪̿̍̽͒̎̀̚͝í̢̺̥̩͖̹̣͖͚̈́̿̐̏͜m̶̜̯̺͙̯͒̔̈́̍͞͡͠ d̶̢̨̡̛͓̖̥̱̩̹͊͒̔̽̈̎̽̚ò̤̤̪͎͔̺̽̍̋̅̆̔͠d̳͎̥̟̺̰̰̘̿̌̐́̄̌ơ͔̣̝̱̪̟̪̑̒̿̑͆̂̓̍̃d̢͎͖͖̭͓̭́̌̇̊̇̀͗͛ơ̴͖͓̤̝̘̯͓̐̊̓̾̕͜d̷̤̺̫̙̠̜̬̈̆͐̽̚͟ő͕͚͖̳͙̭̞̜̓̊͊͘͘d̴͈̲̰̬̘́̈́̓̚͠ȍ̶̠͙̜͖͉̱̥̄́͛͌̌̈͟d̳̜̮͓̀̓͒̈̌̅͌͢o̺͕̙̺͔̫̍̾̾̍͊

The knowledge floods his senses. Too many words. Too many songs. And he can’t stop it until he has experiences every annoying children’s song and rhyme and poem at once and he can’t take any of it in and he can’t thinkcantthinkcantthinkcantthinktoomanywordstoomanytoomany

sharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharkDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDo

The static crackles in the air, and Jon’s vision goes dark.

Jon wakes up and throws up. Or would, if his insides hadn’t turned to static. As it stands, static floods his mouth and echos around the bin that has been shoved hastily in front of his face.

He thinks vaguely this must be an unpleasant experience for whoever is guiding him upright and holding back his hair.

Even so, it is miserable for him.

This is one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. Which is saying something.

It hurts. It feels like he is being turned inside out and his head sawed in two.

Once his body is done, his eyes are leaking static is well and he slumps further, head still in the bin, breathing hard. He groans, pitifully.

He allows himself a minute. A minute to try to process the information overload that sent him into this state. To try to feel more real and less like a manifestation of buzzing energy.

He can’t drag his eyes open. He doesn’t even want to try.

Then he remembers Tim.

Tim who is almost certainly the one rubbing his back.

Tim who just witnessed Jon Behold something.

Tim who thinks Jon has this under control.

Jon is supposed to have this under control.

But does he? Does he really? Because this Does happen. Not too often anymore, but it does. Jon can’t always.

Sometimes a weak compulsion threads through his words. Sometimes he something slips through into his subconscious. And sometimes, the floodgates open like they just did, and Jon’s body is not equipped to deal with that now, if it ever even was. (Which it wasn’t. He remembers lying on his office floor… sick and shivering for hours before Basira found him at his desk, having finally found the strength to stand, plagued by a raging headache.)

Tim wasn’t supposed to see that he is still like this… this… monstrousness that hasn’t gone away. It hasn’t. Just a bit weaker. Still out of control and he should have this under control by now! It’s been years!

And he can’t think anymore because it hurts too much, and even the gentle hand on his back is too much like hitting. Like scratching. And he knows it is just oversensitive skin and he knows that touch is fine and grounding and good, but his brain can’t tell the difference anymore. Not after years of hurt have been visibly pressed into his skin. And not when merely existing is rending his head in two.

He is breathing hard with a solid band of panic crushing his lungs. And he’s gagging around more static. And static is streaming down his face and he can’t let Tim see him like this. he can’t. He can’t! He doesn’t want to lose Tim again. He can’t do it again! Not when things are so close to good that it hurts.

He tries to get up. To hide, but it sends him retching again.

Tim is alarmed. Not about Jon’s use of powers. He’s… something close to okay with that. Well… not Okay okay with it. But it’s still… just Jon. It doesn’t happen often. And Martin warned him Long before allowing them near one another, the second conversation they had after Tim ran into him in the grocery store and had to go through the awkward business of ‘yes I’m alive, sorry I didn’t say anything, also here’s Sasha who you thought was dead. What do you mean you almost got yourself killed because you were left with nothing to live for?’ That had been…. a conversation to remember.

In any case, Tim knows that Jon isn’t entirely human. Mostly human, at this point. But… not entirely. Sometimes things like this happen, although Martin hadn’t said anything about….. all the static. Something about ink? Something about some minor compulsion. And that Jon is… not cagey about it… but skittish. That he still expects to be punished for this thing that he clearly can’t entirely control. He knows that Jon occasionally Knows things on purpose and gives himself migraines. Much to Martin’s worry. But accidentally Beholding… well it looks worse than a migraine to Tim. This looks painful, and like it’s quickly devolving into a panic attack.

Which… Tim has a sinking feeling is because he is there. This would be…. the third one he’s caused. At least that he knows of.

There was the time that Jon was under the weather and compelled him by mistake. There was the time when he’d finally gotten comfortable around Jon again and had started joking and something in the tone of his voice or the volume had sent Jon into a messy spiral. And now this. He’s been so careful. He wants his friend back. And they were finally getting somewhere with easy visits without Martin moderating. Finally.

And now Jon is sick and hurting and afraid and Tim is probably just making it worse.

Jon flinches away from his hands with a whimper, and his theory is strengthened.

He stops. Timothy Stoker takes consent very seriously. “Do you want me to let you go? Can you sit on your own?”

Jon whines again, forehead resting on the edge of the bin. Dreadfully pale and face crackling with a static that Tim guesses to be sweat or tears… possibly both.

He would absolutely let go of Jon if he was sure he could safely do so, but… Jon looks as if he might just topple over as it is. Best not to disturb him too much. And if he looks uncomfortable with the arrangement, then Tim will try to fix it. However he can.

Until then, he ought to call Martin. But he can’t get up without dislodging an unsteady Jon. And Jon doesn’t look up for sitting in on a conversation.

He sends a text instead.

There’s been an incident. We’re okay, but if you could come back here soon… Please come back soon.

Jon cries. And so does Tim. Softly. Briefly. So many steps they have taken together, and there is still a journey before them.

Martin’s home. Jon would cry with relief if he wasn’t already crying. Finally real tears instead of trails of static. Every time he’s tried to move has made him sick. He eventually gives up and leans against Tim. Shivering slightly. He wishes he could get some painkillers, but…. he can’t even sit up. Not even far enough to let Tim get up.

He did find it in himself to weakly sign for Tim to wrap an arm around him.

It’s grounding. And solid. And warm. And real.

But now Martin is here. Speaking in low tones to Tim. Hands on his face. Jon leaning into Martin’s warmth. Martin wiping his damp face with a warm flannel.

“Hey, sweetheart. Jon, what happened?” Martin.

Jon doesn’t want to open his mouth. Insides still unhappy static. He signs, “Baby Shark.”

Tim chokes on a laugh.

It jostles Jon, which causes him to groan. But… but. A laugh is good. It isn’t derisive. It’s… just warm. And very Tim, as he once was when they were together. As he is, now.

Tim stays for dinner. It’s takeout. And while Jon is still queasy, he manages a little bit of soup before falling asleep. Still leaning on Tim, Martin cradling his legs.

#the magnus archives #tma #whump #jonathan sims #timothy stoker #tim stoker #martin blackwood #cw nausea #cw food #cw fainting #cw panic attack #cw vomiting #emeto warning #words #my words #my writing #my fic #art #my art

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Intro

F/M Pairing: Y/N x Lee Minho (SKZ)

Warnings: Angst and Fluff

Genre: Family AU; Haven Prequel (thus the title)

Word Count: 3K

Summary: It was nerve-wracking sometimes - keeping her new relationship with Minho a secret from the others. But Y/N also has bigger problems on her mind, like why Seungmin seems determined to ruin her life.

It was warm outside with the promise of summer interrupting the long weeks of mild temperatures and cool wind. But I loved when the weather felt like this - full of potential that would carry through the weeks leading to summertime. Because there was nothing better than that prospect - escaping school for a few months while I relaxed inside the house with everyone else.

When I was younger and still inexperienced, I might’ve enjoyed reading in the basement with Jeongin because he liked the sound of my voice. But that was a long time ago, and I had recently developed another preference. And he was 172 centimetres of imposing height and stature - spending most of his waking hours working at the warehouse before returning home in the evenings to relax with the rest of his family.

At first, I tried to keep my feelings a secret from him - following Minho around the house or helping him outside. But I must’ve been too obvious, especially when he confronted me about my sudden interest. It was probably around the same time when I realized that one of hugs was far more arousing than it should’ve been.

Thankfully, Minho reciprocated my admiration, and we both agreed to try out a relationship. But one that we kept to ourselves because the rest of our family might prove to be an unanticipated obstacle. I trembled just thinking about the idea of Chan finding out that Minho often snuck into my room at night to sleep with me while we tried to keep silent. Because there was no way that he would understand, and I was afraid that Chan would try to separate us before we could truly explore our feelings.

But I guess we were really good at keeping things private, and it was probably for the best. In the meantime, I could prosper under Minho’s affection, and it was kinda nice to keep him to myself without anyone else’s intervention. It almost felt like we were lost in our own little world - enjoying the honeymoon phase of our romance.

I smiled just thinking about it, even though I was still in the middle of my class, and I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of the dismissal bell. “Good work, everyone,” our teacher said as I collected my books together - listening to my classmates wish one another a great summer vacation. I offered several of them a courteous smile on the way out the door since they were nice, but I was far more excited to see Minho again.

And I could already feel the tension start to lessen when I located Jeongin standing next to his locker. “Hey,” I said, knocking my shoulder against his own. “Are you ready?”

“Y/N, I’m sleeping for the entire summer,” Jeongin said. “It sucks to wake up early.”

I smiled at him while patting his shoulder. “We can take a nap together when we get home.”

Jeongin brightened at the suggestion before glancing at someone over my shoulder. “Seungmin!”

I hesitated at the mention of Seungmin, even as I glanced at him from my peripheral with a murmured greeting. “Felix is waiting outside,” Seungmin offered as a response when he started walking in pace with us.

“Felix is picking us up?” I questioned, and my mood instantly deflated because Minho had promised to bring us home after school.

“Yeah?” Seungmin scoffed. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, following behind Jeongin and Seungmin as we walked outside.

Sure enough, Felix was waiting in the parking lot next to Chan’s car with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his jeans. “Head count,” he announced before making a show of looking around.

“That will never be funny, Felix,” Seungmin said, and I wondered if he was having another one of his infamous bad days.

Felix shrugged indifferently because he had an amazing ability to remain perfectly nonchalant. “Let’s go home.”

“Can we stop by the store to get a snack?” Jeongin asked, climbing into the backseat next to me while Seungmin sat up front.

“Sure,” Felix said - agreeable as always when he started backing out of the parking spot.

“Hey, Felix,” I said, running my hands against my thighs. “Did Minho have to work?”

“He was called back in,” Felix replied, and I couldn’t help the way I sighed upon hearing this unfortunate news.

“Why are you so worried about him?” Seungmin asked before glaring at me in the rearview mirror.

“I’m not,” I insisted while crossing my arms over my chest.

Screw Seungmin and his stupid attitude problem!

“I wish Chan would just let you two wrestle your problems out,” Jeongin commented.

“Like she could beat me,” Seungmin said.

“I’d just substitute somebody in to fight for me,” I retorted.

“I’ve got dibs on Changbin!” Seungmin shouted.

“No way!” I exclaimed. “Changbin would fight for me!”

“I’d go for Chan,” Jeongin contributed as if he was somehow involved in our conversation. “I think he could take Changbin.”

“Whatever,” Seungmin huffed, slinking down lower in his seat. “Can’t you go any faster, Felix?”

“The speed limit is 45,” Felix said, and I glanced at the speedometer to confirm that, yes, Felix wasn’t budging over the limit.

“He’s doing fine,” I said - just to spite Seungmin because it was way too easy to rile him up.

But it was the unique dynamic that we shared - a strange coldness reserved for one another ever since I could remember. And no matter how many times Chan sat us down together in the kitchen for one of his infamous “interventions,” we still always argued over trivial things.

“That’s wise of you, Y/N,” Jeongin remarked. “If you’re nice to the others, then you’ll have more allies in your war against Seungmin.”

Seungmin growled from the front seat, and I smiled with a renewed sense of satisfaction.

By the time we returned home, I was practically sitting on the edge of my seat as I surveyed the driveway for any sign of Minho’s car. But I found myself disappointed yet again - resigning myself to a boring afternoon until he returned home. Meanwhile, I noticed that Changbin was working at the bushes lining our front porch, and his skin was practically burning from his time under the skin.

“Put on some sunscreen,” I suggested to him as I passed on my way inside.

Changbin glared at me playfully. “Do I not get a hug?”

“Maybe later,” I replied, laughing at the pout on his face.

It was far too hot for me to be outside, and I entered the kitchen with a sigh of relief as I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. I also spotted Chan looking over some documents on the table - shifting through the pile with a concentrated expression.

“What are you doing?” I asked while trying to peer over his shoulder.

Chan didn’t respond at first - humming to himself before meeting my gaze. “Will you help me out?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, dropping my bag near the table.

“I need you to clean up the kitchen,” Chan said. “I have to help Changbin in the yard.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem,” I said, smiling when Chan ruffled my hair on his way outside.

I was actually grateful for the distraction, especially since I didn’t have anything else planned. “But what about our nap?” Jeongin whined, and I watched him sit down on top of the counter.

“Maybe Seungmin will give you some company?” I suggested - making my way over to the sink to run some warm water for the dishes.

“He’s moody,” Jeongin replied, and I snorted around a laugh.

“You could always help me.”

Jeongin shrugged while he considered my proposal. “Okay, but I’m not touching the trash.”

“Fair,” I agreed, and we exchanged places at the kitchen sink so that Jeongin could clean the dishes while I took care of everything else.

It wasn’t really meant to be that much work, and I had almost finished when I noticed Seungmin walk into the kitchen. “Must be nice to be Chan’s favorite,” Seungmin said. “He’s making me wash the cars.”

“The water might feel good,” I said, even though there was a slight part of me that was laughing at Seungmin’s predicament.

“Yeah, whatever,” Seungmin muttered, and he pushed me aside as he opened the fridge. “At least get out of the way!”

I frowned as I looked around to ensure the kitchen was presentable. “Fine, have it to yourself,” I snapped at Seungmin, ignoring his glare on me as I stormed down into the basement with Jeongin hot on my heels.

It was too quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, and I had been sleeping next to Jeongin in his bed when everything fell apart around me.

At first, I was paralyzed by the remnants of sleep, and I was blinking my eyes repeatedly when I realized that Chan was calling my name: “Y/N!”

I startled awake from my nap at the sound of Chan’s voice, noticing that Jeongin was groaning from next to me. “You don’t have to get up,” I told him and he simply grunted in response.

I was careful when I rolled out of bed, trudging upstairs because I wasn’t sure why Chan needed me. But when I walked into the kitchen, my mind instantly went blank when I realized that it was a complete wreck - like I hadn’t just spent half an hour cleaning. “Y/N,” Chan said, giving me a very stern look that I usually never experienced. “Can you explain to me why the kitchen was never cleaned?”

“Channie,” I started, but there really wasn’t a rational explanation, until Seungmin made his presence known as he smirked in my direction.

“I never ask you to do much, Y/N,” Chan said, and he seemed far more disappointed than angry, which was honestly worse. “I hope you’re not planning to be this lazy all summer.”

I could feel my heart breaking at Chan’s cruel words because I knew that they were misdirected, but the evidence was against me. Instead, I quietly murmured an apology and promised to clean everything while Chan groaned in response and messed around in the cabinets for an Advil. “Please listen to me from now on,” Chan said before leaving me alone with Seungmin.

“Why would you do that?” I asked him - getting straight to the point.

“Like you didn’t deserve it,” Seungmin snapped, and his tone was harsh.

“Can you just leave me alone?” I sighed, and he had the decency to give me enough space to re-do everything once again.

It was still a tedious process - scrubbing down the counters and re-washing the dishes. But this time I didn’t even have Jeongin’s assistance, and I couldn’t help but wonder how Seungmin even managed to make such a mess out of the kitchen. Did he not care at all about my feelings?

I was close to a breakdown, and it was the condition Minho found me in when he came home. “Y/N,” he cooed until he realized that I wasn’t returning his enthusiasm, and his smile disappeared when he saw me. “Y/N,” he said with a careful tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, tossing aside a wayward dish rag before slumping down at the table. “I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” Minho said, but it wasn’t accusing; instead, it was a gentle observation - a reminder that I didn’t need to lie to him about these things.

“Maybe it’s hard to talk about,” I said, and Minho sighed.

“Come upstairs with me,” he requested, and I allowed him to support my weight as he once again acted like my silent guardian.

There was nothing better than the feeling of Minho’s arms as he kept me close next to him in bed. It was warm and comfortable - allowing him to run his fingers through my hair while I breathed in the faint scent of his cologne. It had long wore off since he came home from work, but I could still find it on the collar of his shirt with every deep inhale.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Minho asked, and I squirmed next to him.

“Seungmin and I had another fight, I guess,” I replied.

“That’s nothing new with the two of you,” Minho remarked. “I know Chan’s already said something, but what’s keeping you both from getting along?”

“We weren’t always like this,” I said - remembering all the special moments that I had once shared with Seungmin. For example, there was one in particular that stood out to me, and it had occurred only a few months after I first moved in:

Seungmin and I were still learning about each other because we had become roommates in the blink of an eye, and I could tell that we were both still reserved around one another. But I also sensed a mutual desire to open up and talk about our lives, and we developed this interesting ritual where we would talk every night before bed and share our most intimate secrets.

“What’s something that you’re embarrassed about?” Seungmin asked, and I looked over at where he was laying across his bed.

I thought long and hard about his question before allowing the first thing that popped inside my head to speak for me: “I’ve never been kissed before,” I revealed to Seungmin.

When I met his gaze from across the room, my new roommate’s eyes visibly widened upon hearing my confession. “Oh...”

I smiled at him. “It’s okay, though, I guess I have to be patient.”

“Not necessarily,” Seungmin quickly interjected. “Uh, I mean, I could always help you out.”

“What do you mean?”

Seungmin quietly scrambled off his bed, tripping over the sheets, and he was sitting next to me in a flash. “I can be your first kiss,” Seungmin said, and his chest was heaving from his previous efforts.

“Are you sure?” I asked while moving into a better sitting position.

“Yeah,” Seungmin said with his best puppy-dog eyes. “I want it, Y/N.”

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes and puckering my lips - waiting for him to make the first move.

And the simple slide of his lips across mine sent a shiver down my spine. But I held myself in place - allowing him to move his lips against mine as he gently held my face between his hands. It was nothing outrageous, and I found a delicate peace in the simple act.

It was nice - both warm and familiar, and I had never felt closer to Seungmin. Yet, when I offered him a new secret during one unforgettable night a few years later, those moments between us eventually stopped:

“Seungmin,” I said, finding myself smiling before I could even get my words together. “I think I really like Minho.”

It felt nice to finally come clean about the confession, but there was a strange silence from the other side of the room.

“Seungmin?” I questioned my roommate, but he never answered, and I simply assumed that he had gone to sleep.

However, in the present, my brain quickly put the pieces together, and I felt an unmeasurable guilt weigh heavy on my consciousness. “You couldn’t have known, Y/N,” Minho said - offering me one of his familiar kisses instead.

“It’s my fault that he hates me,” I said, and I could feel myself on the verge of tears before Minho quickly pulled me away from the edge.

“It’s not,” he told me sternly. “Seungmin made that decision for himself, and he’s the one who allowed that to come between you both.”

I shook my head as I buried myself into Minho’s chest. “I feel really bad.”

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We can talk about it again in the morning.”

I nodded my agreement before closing my eyes, and I found myself dreaming about the past.

It was quiet when I felt Minho whisper my name. Despite the grogginess of sleep, I craned my head to the side to see him. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Minho said. “I don’t have to be at work for another hour.”

“It’s early, then,” I noted, turning over onto my other side because it allowed me to burrow closer to Minho.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m better,” I replied, and I met his expectant gaze. “Do I have to keep talking about it?”

“Of course not,” Minho said, and he encouraged me to lay back down. “If you’re not comfortable, then you should never force yourself.”

“But it makes me sad sometimes,” I said. “I don’t think Seungmin likes me anymore.”

“You’d have to ask him that yourself,” Minho said, but I dreaded the prospect of such a conversation.

“No thanks,” I grumbled. “I’ll just suffer alone.”

“Look at me,” Minho instructed me softly, and I obeyed with only some hesitation because there was nothing more reassuring than the affectionate gleam in Minho’s familiar eyes. “You’re never alone, Y/N.”

He was serious - I could tell by his tone and the manner in which he forced our eye contact. “I didn’t mean to say that,” I told him. “I know that I’ll always have you.”

“That’s right,” Minho said, and he gave me a proud smile. “Whatever we have between us - I hope it’s the deepest bond you could ever imagine. Because I’m never going away, Y/N.”

I closed my eyes when I felt another soothing kiss across my lips. “I like you a lot,” I said, without really thinking.

But Minho just laughed, and there was something safe about him. “I like you too,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper - like his next words were only meant for us to share: “More than you could ever know.”

I grinned and reached for his hand. Because if Minho liked me even half as much as I liked him, then there was nothing that could stop us.

It was our special relationship as long as we remained together.

#stayverse #skzwriternet #skz fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #stray kids fanfic #stray kids minho #skz minho #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #lee know fanfic #lee know fluff #skz lee know fluff #stray kids minho fanfic #mostlycompetent

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voidcat · 4 years

Text

– Stardust

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/You

Genre: fluff/comfort, heart to heart on reader’s part (questioning your place in the universe and all)

Summary: Sleep does not come some nights when it gets loud inside your head. Pebbles thrown at your window feels something out of movies. Oikawa Tooru being the one to do feels unreal. So you do what everyone does in dreams, is this a dream?, and follow his lead.

Word Count: 4.3k (i poured my heart out pls respond)

A/N: I didn’t write it with a song in mind but Kimochi Warui (When? When? When? When? When? When? When?) sounded fitting while proofreading. Take it as a suggestion if you want. – ao3 - PART 2

It’s late.

Too late to still be up. Too late to be thinking like this.

Too late to be up, awake, vibrating with all these overwhelming thoughts filling your head, wanting to break free, scratching the inside of your skull like feral animals, dying to get out.

It’s late and you keep lying down just like that. Hands clasped over your stomach, eyes locked onto the ceiling, trying not to think, keeping your mind blank like a newly bought sketchbook.

You lie like that for seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds.

You lie awake, the dim moon light entering your room lazily. All too familiar thoughts plaguing your mind, telling things you’ve known since childhood over and over and over until you grow numb to the noise.

Tck.

You consider checking the time but you’re afraid it’ll still be too early for the new day to start.

Tck.

Was that an actual sound or the newest trick of your mind?

Tck.

They say third time is the charm. Third time also means it’s too much of a specific occurrence to be a coincidence. The noise seems to be coming from outside, something small hitting your window.

Irritation and curiosity taking over you at last, not to mention boredom, you make way to the window and open it.

You see Oikawa Tooru of all people waving with his phone at you, a little aggressively.

Walking back to your nightstand and picking up your phone, you receive a message.

>[Does your folks wake up early?]

>[Or check up on you first thing in the morning?]

[No. why?] Hitting the send button you wait, walking back there and looking at him again. Face lightened by the glow of his phone, you can make up his eyes and nose.

>[Wear something warm.]

>[And make that spicy tea thingy you like so much if you want.]

>[I’m waiting by the door.]

Weird is seeing Oikawa Tooru under your window at an hour no one else is awake. Him telling you to get dressed and come outside? That’s creepy and worrying.

[Why]

>[I’m doing you a favor out of the goodness of my heart for once.] You want to roll your eyes at that. Since when does he know what being good means? Towards you especially.

>[No shady business, I promise.]

>[Trust me.]

As if knowing what went in your mind, these texts show up on your screen. You come to a halt.

Your relationship with Oikawa was never good. You would ignore one another on the good days and be utterly destructive and spiteful on the bad days. He never gave you a reason or made a gesture to earn your trust, you don’t even recall hearing those words from him much. They are reserved for Iwaizumi and the team only.

So why do you find yourself in a dilemma, as if there’s something to choose, a decision to make? Because the logical thing for you to do, the in-character thing for you to do, is to say no, go back to bed and hope to fall asleep at some point. The usual set of action for you is to refuse whatever he has to offer and go back to your own thing.

But you’re done with the logical and the in-character. So you send a quick [I’ll be down in 5.], make way to prepare something warm first and change your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. A sweatshirt should be enough.

Being too lazy and out-of-it to function once in a while pays, because instead of having to brew the tea and wait for a long while, you just heat up the already brewed and stashed one and pour it to your thermos.

Silently opening the door and getting out, you see Oikawa leaning against the wall.

He walks away when he sees you, you follow without a word. Soon enough you’re met with a car. Since when he has a car?

Wait, no. Don’t ask, don’t wait for an answer. Don’t look at the stupid car, don’t examine it. It is a dream after all, right? What’s the point in observing things when you’ll forget about them first thing in the morning?

Following his lead, you get inside the passenger seat, hear him start the engine, watch his hand reach for the stereo. A low hum arise.

It sounds like he picked a channel on random, the music isn’t bad per se, the volume is down. So it doesn’t exactly bother you either. Getting comfortable in your seat and resting your head against the window, you watch the blur of images go by.

There is no moon tonight, the only source of light is the street lamps coming into view and leaving as fast. Houses, buildings, trees, everything belonging to the day pass by in a fog and smear of colors. Almost like a quick brush of oil paint. It’s calming in a quiet before the thunderstorm kind of way.

As the road goes under the wheels, less and less houses come in to your view.

“Where to?”

Oikawa gives you a quick glance. He almost looks surprised to see you speak. Did he just assume you’d stay quiet all night?

“You’ll see.” His tone doesn’t match his face.

“What’s the meaning of it?”

“Consider it a favor.” This marks the end of your short lived conversation.

You don’t need to recognize the road he takes to understand he’s driving out of town, out of Miyagi. The why of it keeps floating in your head, you can’t apply the ‘it’s a dream’ tactic any more either, you are too awake for that, in both senses.

Turning your attention back on the sidelines, you let your mind wander off to meaningless assumptions.

A light behind the trees, you imagine a lonely night creature, lurking around to find his lost love.

You spot an animal you can’t identify and make up a story about an once-successful maiden, falling fool to a wicked spell.

You look at the trees and imagine nature coming to life in humanoid form, mutating and taking its revenge on human race.

Hearing a ribbit nearby and you recall the time your mother read you the Princess and the Frog years ago.

You turn left to look at Oikawa. Finding your phone inside your pocket and raising it in a show-and-tell manner, you wait for him to take notice and turn off the stereo. You press play.

Satie’s Once Upon A Time In Paris fills the air.

You note the relaxation in his shoulders. You let the melody take over your body as well.

Closing your eyes and holding your hands in the air, you can see the keys in front of you.

Hitting the keys one by one, reaching for the pedal, you can feel it flow through you. Head moving on its own, dancing with the melody, Gymnopedie no.1 as calm and serene as ever. Simple like a short quote on love from a poet.

It ends silently, Gnossienne no.3 enters with much more emotion.

It’s almost comical how many times you’ve played this exact piece but almost never listened to others playing. It sounds like you in some ways, some tints and emphasis different than how you’d play but that’s all you got right now.

You don’t need to break out of the music’s hold or open your eyes to catch Oikawa’s gaze on you once in a while. You went through all this before on so many occasions. Be it on public transportation and a piece you connect with comes on, you can’t stop your fingers from trying to play it on air, making keys out of nitrogen and oxygen in the air. Your body starting to move on its own after a while. Strangers giving you funny looks all the while.

The notes gain meaning and heaviness, hanging in the air and making way for the following ones as fast.

When the B bemols come, you can feel a stinging feeling in your eyes.

Since when does Gnossienne no.3 make you want to cry? Why now of all times?

You don’t care, you don’t want the answers, you don’t want to understand or reach a new level of understanding within yourself. Just shutting yourself out completely and taking in all the music with a deep breathe, you lean back as far as you can into the seat.

Gnossienne no.4 starts and your hands no longer itch to play.

When Oikawa pulls up at last, the music has long ended.

Getting off with your thermos in one hand, you look around.

Not a single building, a sign of life in sight. Where the hell did he bring you?

You can see his figure searching for something in the back seat, some shuffling reaches your ear. You look at the few and far between trees in the distance. It is a dead night. Not even wind, not even some comical tumbleweeds are in sight to add some motion. Time has stopped completely.

You don’t realize Oikawa’s signals for the second time that night, just as you didn’t hear him throwing pebbles at your window.

Noticing the loud thud, as him patting the hood of his car a little too late, only when he starts to get loud, you look back up. He’s sitting there, patting the space next to him, the gesture all too familiar.

Your mind wanders back to the moments you’d do the same, asking your cat to come sit with you, listen to you ramble, maybe purr for you, hear your sobs or meow at your antics. Tilting your hand with her head, bumping your legs with her tail. Those moments painted golden, filtered with a gray film, already gone, leaving nothing but a sharp pain in your chest.

You climb and sit, careful not to have any physical contact with him.

“Why are we here?” you try one last time.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” He says. Nodding your head at that, you’re not exactly surprised. The way he always surrounds himself with people, no matter the proximity and bond he shares with them.

He answered a question, maybe he can answer few more before I drive him to the limit, you think. “Why me?” This nags at your brain more than any other current question you have for him.

“It seemed fitting.”

“Why not Hajime or Makki, or even Mattsun?”

“Iwa-chan has come on little trips such as this with me before. I didn’t want to drag him tonight. Asking anyone else I’m close with didn’t sound like a good idea. And frankly? You seemed like you could use a break like this today.”

Observant prick.

“So, what exactly? We share one cozy moment tonight and return to our daily selves of hating one another in the morning?” His silence is a yes enough. “Sure, sounds good then.”

After the little conversation, you are back examining the surroundings, the comforting stillness in the air, the silence, the emptiness and the blackness of it all.

It gets boring after a while. Not wanting to disturb Oikawa further and at a loss of what else to do in the middle of nowhere, you look up at last.

Oh.

You forget to breathe for a few seconds. And that doesn’t even seem to be a problem in your eyes.

Has he done this before? How long has he been going out at ungodly hours for this?

You knew Oikawa Tooru was obsessed with space and aliens, thanks to Iwaizumi, but you never expected it to be on a more serious, in-depth level. Not like this.

Never like this.

Billions of stars hanging in the night sky, most millions of years old, blinking from a long gone past, probably dead in their current time.

A calm breeze washing over your wholly, reminding you just how small you are, your life is and how it is all okay because in the big picture you’re all nothing but dust. Destined to be forgotten by history in few centuries, if not decades.

Seeing all these stars, colorful lights what you hope are planets, an arm of the Milky Way, flowing like a waterfall and you feel a sense of security you haven’t felt in a while.

There is something comforting about the night sky, the way it can show you your unimportance in the big picture, your place in all this. You feel whole with the universe. You belong.

So you look up, and up and up. Stare at the sky, blink at the stars, smile at the constellations you spot and remember their stories, the gods and the myths, the heroes and the queens…

You look back at Oikawa then. As if remembering only now that he is there by your side.

Facing the sky in a manner just like yours, you can see the stars on his face. Shining on his hair, cheeks and in his eyes. Almost like stardust.

He looks ethereal, unreachable, enchanting. And a little vulnerable. All that tension, layers of masks he puts on each day, all the fake smiles and empty look in his eyes are gone.

Raw and pure.

This is the truest of Oikawa you’ve ever seen.

The admiration can be read from his eyes. His face holding an emotion you’ve seen on him once or twice. Not intense like this, never like this. You’ve seen the same look on him for Iwaizumi but only for a second, when he’s sure no one is watching.

With the same eyes, he watches the starry night sky.

He looks like he belongs up there. Not in a “be an astronaut and go to space” but in a “should be there, amongst the stars, his memory up there, to be remembered by everyone gazing upon the starry night. Like a constellation, become a constellation, a legend and a story, and so much more, just like Orion and Andromeda.”

This is the closest to Oikawa Tooru you’ve ever been. The thought gives you a shiver.

Seeming to notice that, he gives you a puzzled look and raises his right arm. You realize the blanket around his form then. He’s making an offer.

“Don’t worry, three people can fit in easily, it’s wide enough for the both of us.” When his face turned to you, it’s dark, no source of light to reflect on his skin.

You scoot over to him, under the blanket. The two of you refocus back on the scene above you.

Remembering the little mug inside your front pocket, you open the lid of your thermos and start pouring some tea, the steam leaving a little trail behind. You hold out the mug to Oikawa, he just looks at you, the confusion clear on his face.

Why are you offering me the tea you brought for yourself?

What makes you think I’d trust you enough to taste something you made?

“We said tonight was our little secret, right? I can use the cap as a mug, don’t worry.”

Your words and clarification seems to convince him somewhat, holding the mug with both hands, he smells it before taking a sip.

Silence falls over again and it’s much nicer this time.

Not even the coldness can get to you or pull you out of the warm embrace you’re in. The warmth around your shoulders, more provided by the idea of the blanket than the blanket itself. Like a thin veil, separating the real world from your little bubble of escape.

It’s new moon, no reflecting lunar light to block your view of stars. Sitting under the tent of black, blue, white and red; it feels divine. Divine to live in the moment, to truly breathe, to witness something so enthralling and forever.

To stand by yourself, stripped bare of everything; your layers, titles, names and ticks, clothes and paints, to be a newborn again, to reborn again, all alone, in an endless room, empty and cold, filled with stars and gods, stories to tell and dreams to see.

To feel whole again, alone again, hopeless again but reach a self-realization again, to taste nectar and discover the secrets of the universe, converse with the long gone philosophers and waltz with supernovas.

You’re not alone. Not completely.

Maybe left alone with your thoughts in this dead land and you know how one can never have company in their own mind, forever trapped alone. Yet in that moment, you’re not alone. Moving your head to steal a glance at the boy next to you again, you understand it well. It all happens so fast.

“Isn’t it ironic? How as humans we use a word like ‘star’ for untouchable celebrities, important people and such while in reality stars are nothing but these giant balls of plasma-“ gesturing a ball with your hands now, thermos sitting between your legs, “-with their ongoing chemical reactions, sputtering molecules of hydrogen and helium and all, until they come to an end with their current phase of life. If you can call that life.” You say all these with your eyes locked onto the stars, Oikawa’s locked on you. You keep going.

“Speaking of life, what is even life? Aren’t we just a bunch of organic components somehow managing to come together, build a system and gain conscious somehow? Just trying to survive until an outer force comes or our cells come off? Isn’t it technically our cells living, in a way?”

“Aren’t we just piles of protein just walking around and doing things that make no sense but to us? Until we come to an end with our current phase of life? Doing what we see fit or fun or appropriate until it all ends.” It’s not a question any more. He doesn’t give you an answer.

“Aren’t we all children of the stars in a different point of view? All our molecules and elements coming from them. I mean, look at them. We see them blinking and smirking and smiling at us but for all we know they could’ve ended long ago. They could’ve become part of a new life for all we know. They break down and give birth to us, pieces of us; and in return we go back to them when we are gone. Despite being made of stardust, we live pretty shit lives huh?” You give him a lopsided smile, facing him as you say your last words.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” he replies.

“For far too long to pinpoint an exact date actually.” You almost say in a singsong voice. He frowns at that slightly.

“But I am right! Right? I mean, you’re a space nerd! You must know what I’m talking about.”

“Understanding and putting it into words in such a depressing way are two different things.”

Pouting at that, you look the opposite direction sharply. “Whatever, I know I am right.”

His gaze is still on you. “Is that what you’re like most of the time? I don’t get how Iwa-chan deals with you.” He must be shaking his head now.

“Iwa-chan can’t read minds last time I checked.” You deadpan.

His laugh fills the air at that. Light and lively, carefree; you doubt you’ve heard him laugh before. It sounds wonderful.

You wonder how things would’ve been between you and Oikawa, if the circumstances were different. If you never met Iwaizumi that day, would your paths still cross? Would you finish your Aoba Johsai years never meeting him?

Would you meet Oikawa on your own? Could you ever be friends, instead of dancing around one another and spitting out insults whenever you can? Would you like him in another world? Value his friendship, the person he is? Would the two of you have met before or become something more?

All these unanswered questions hanging in the air and you find yourself looking at him again.

His smile looks different now, he looks different, changed. Almost breathtaking. Is that what Iwaizumi means by his ‘fake smiles’?

A honest smile looks good on him.

You find yourself smiling back.

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “If you still want to complain about the meaningless of life and all that, be my guest. I promise I won’t listen.”

Taken aback by his wording, you give him a confused look.

“Tonight doesn’t exist, remember?”

“…Right.” You decide to lean back and lie under the stars.

Feeling a tug at the blanket after a while, you see him placing the mug down next to the tire. You hand him your thermos as he regains his composure, he complies silently and leans back when he’s done.

All there is in the air is your faint breathing now. Never matching one another, sometimes loud, sometimes ghostly. There is no rhythm, no adjusting subconsciously. Completely independent.

You take a deep breath and start.

“It feels grey most of the time. Not in a ‘there’s never two sides, everything is grey, blah blah.’ But more like a numbness of grey.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, nothing to show or to indicate that he is listening. You continue talking.

“Like lacking all color and feeling in life, blocking all there is to see and enjoy and I am left with nothing but… grey.

Grey to the point of everything is filtered, there are no boundaries, it all feels the same, plays the same and I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting. Hurting myself, being hurt myself and hurting the ones around me. Not the ones I love, I don’t even know love. What is love?” You turn to look at him.

“I tried thinking about it, reading about it, understanding it on a chemical and hormonal way. Consulted mathematics and never got an answer. It feels made up, a fairy tale to feel better, to attach ourselves to one another.

I fear I came across love and didn’t notice it, I fear I brushed it off for something else and now it’s too late.”

With each pause, it gets easier to speak, harder to talk. Finding the right words, using your vocal chords, moving your tongue, writing your sentences in your mind. You don’t feel the tears gathering around your eyes or going down your cheeks. You wait for the robot title, to be called heartless and how you have a rock in your chest. They never come.

“Do you really fear of hurting him?” There’s no doubt he is talking about Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know.”

“But you care for him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think before you answer.” He says then, voice stern.

“I think I care for him but I fear I will ruin him.”

The unspoken ‘how so?’ is in the air.

“I feel grey to the point of dust and decay. I fear everything I touch either drives away from me or decays. I don’t want to lose him. I think I care for him. But I don’t want to watch him stay by my side and crumble one by one.

I don’t want to go from grey to blue.”

“Doesn’t he make you happy? I’ve seen genuine smiles on you when you’re with him. You almost light up when he enter a room or sits beside you.”

“What’s the point of happiness if it’s dependent on one person? It is not fair to either parties.”

He starts tsking. “Too many don’ts for that age. You’ll end up with wrinkles before your thirties.”

He stops prying after that.

The air begins to grow colder, a little breeze picks up.

The stars are as cold as ever, blinking diamonds in the sky.

You swear you see the arm of Milky Way coming into motion, flowing like a stream.

For what feels like an hour, it is quiescent. You decide to break it one last time.

“Speaking of stars, you and Iwaizumi are like neutron stars. Can be found alone or orbiting one another, chasing after each other, forever together and merged at last. Both stars on your own but as captivating when together.”

The hour taking its toll on you, your senses grow duller. You can’t hear his breathing without focusing, even the stars are getting blurry.

“Then you’re like a black dwarf.” Oikawa speaks up. “Because you feel unreal most of the time.”

You both fall back into silence. You don’t ask him if he meant it as a compliment and he doesn’t answer.

You don’t need to know which way he meant, in a way, you already know the response to that.

Tonight isn’t real. It’ll cease to exist in a few hours and you let these rare moments sink in. Probably the closest you’ll ever be to Oikawa Tooru, closest see him like this. It almost feels familiar, like you’ve done this before, went on stargazing with him and opened your heart out to him. It feels like a dream, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You chuckle at your attempt of a joke lightly.

It is serene around the two of you and in your mind. A placidity you haven’t had without the help of a distraction in a long while.

“Thanks Tooru.”

His name falls out of your lips like you use it on the daily. Like the comforting shuffle of a worn out sweater as you put it on, the chirping of this family of birds living by your house for decades, the warm meow of your cat when you’re headed to bed. It sounds natural.

Scooting closer to him until your head rests on his chest. He just wraps his arm around you, pulling you further. Not a single word on your way of addressing him. And not a word from you on his way of holding you.

The moment will cease to exist in the morning, along with your confessions and the blinking lights of the stars. In a few hours it’ll no longer be real. So you decide to give it a shot at being close to him in all senses, share something the two of you will never have. Wrapping your arm around his torso, listening closely to his heart. Your head under his chin, his hand atop yours, you fall asleep until the sun comes.

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faithfulwarrior-og · 3 years

Text

Welp. Here’s a preview of a fic I’m working on because it’s 3am and I accidentally hit publish and I’m on my phone so I can’t just select the whole thing to make a new draft and delete this soooo... lol It is not going to make full sense im literally in the middle of working on it and am stupid and hit the wrong button lol

To anyone who reads this nonsense and would like to give me feedback for when I finish it, feel free♥️

Namaari started at the aggressive knocking that sounded at her door. The party had long ended. She snatched her dagger off her desk and hastened to the door.

Her brain stuttered upon opening it. “Raya? What’s wrong?”

The warrior of Heart looked terrible, and her emotions were very unguarded. Namaari watched as she seemed relieved to see her and yet afraid. She tried not to dwell on the awkward way Raya averted her gaze upon noticing that Namaari was wearing only her bindings and cotton trousers.

“I-I just... nothing. It’s nothing.” She shook her head and turned to go. “This is stupid, I...”

Namaari had never seen her like this. “Wait. Obviously something’s wrong.”

Raya sighed pointedly. She seemed to be debating with herself. “I had a dream... it’s—” her voice cracked, “you... I hurt you, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Namaari blinked.

Raya, the woman whose trust had been broken by Namaari over and over again, was checking on her?

Raya sniffed and shrugged her head toward the hallway. “I’ll go now, I just... wanted to make sure.” Her confident air faltered. “It... wasn’t a good dream.”

Namaari finally forced herself to do something other than spiral about why in the world Raya would give a second thought to her wellbeing.

Maybe it was for the same reason Namaari was worried about hers.

“Wait. Raya.” Namaari scratched the back of her head. Raya’s tired gaze followed her arm’s path, before returning to Namaari’s eyes. “Do you... want to come in? I’d feel better. You just don’t look too good, dep la.”

Raya scoffed in amusement, although her signature smirk didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks a lot, binturi.”

Namaari smiled back, but it looked more like a grimace.

Raya took a step toward her, then hesitated. Namaari followed Raya’s gaze and realized she was still holding the dagger.

Namaari shook her head. “I’m sorry. Don’t,” she tossed the knife toward the small closet to the left, “mind that.”

“What was that for exactly?” Raya’s halfhearted smirk was back.

Namaari scowled. “You can’t expect me to answer the door at this hour without a weapon. And I’m sure you have one on you, so I don’t want to hear it.”

Raya smirked again, and this time it looked like she thought of something that she actually found funny. “You’re right. But if you want it, it’s in my pants.”

Namaari rolled her eyes as Raya walked past her into the room, ignoring as always the way that look from Raya made her feel. “Besides, I thought you were going to beat the door down,” she said, shutting the door, terrified all of a sudden to be alone with the Princess of Heart. She snatched her robe from her closet and put it on; she wasn’t sure where her belt was to keep it closed but, it was something.

Raya looked as sheepish as Namaari had ever seen her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Namaari shrugged a shoulder. “You didn’t. I was just,” she hesitated for a split second. “working.”

Raya glanced at the desk to see an old dragon legend unrolled on the desk. “You don’t have to hide that you’re a nerd. I already know.”

Namaari hated herself for blushing. “Okay, fine. I was reading dragon lore. Bite me.��

Raya was wearing that half-hearted smirk again. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Namaari felt a smirk of her own tug at the corner of her lips as she shook her head at Raya’s typical teasing.

“Although,” Raya added, “you are the one with the fangs.”

She leaned against the desk as she said it. Namaari saw the way her features twitched into a grimace, barely noticeable. Namaari noticed.

“If I’m being honest,” Namaari said. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

Raya nodded somberly. Namaari could see her better now that she was facing the candle alight on the desk. Sweat beads dotted her brow and a bruise on her jaw peaked out from behind her hair. She was trembling just slightly and Namaari’s chest constricted at the sight.

“You’re staring.”

Namaari looked down, clearing her throat and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sorry, it’s just—”

A noticeable tremor rocked Raya’s frame.

Namaari stepped toward her, arms hesitantly outstretched. “Raya. What’s wrong.”

“N-nothing... I’m fine...” Raya trailed off and Namaari quickly scooped her up as her feet seemed to give out beneath her. The Fang princess carried Raya to the bed and laid her gently down, careful to support her neck.

Namaari placed the back of her hand on Raya’s forehead to feel that it was definitely warm. Warmer than it should be. Thankfully not to a concerning point.

But it was enough to set a sinking feeling in Namaari’s stomach. She wasn’t used to seeing Raya this way.

“Raya, you have a fever. I’m going to get your Ba.”

“No. No, I don’t..want to worry him.” She began to sit up. “I just need to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Namaari’s hand on her collarbone had her frozen. She gently, but firmly, pushed her back down. “Oh no. You’re staying right here.” Namaari grimaced as she gently pushed her hair aside to reveal the nasty bruise on her left cheek.

Raya pulled away. “Quit it. I’m going back to my room.”

“Not alone you’re not. Raya, your Ba would want to know.”

“My Ba is still recovering himself,” Raya replied. “I don’t want him to worry. It isn’t as if I have never been sick before. This will pass.”

Namaari frowned. “I could get Sisudatu.”

Raya frowned. “Dragons, no. She’d freak out.”

Namaari sighed. “Then I guess I’m staying with you.”

Raya seemed to be sinking further into Namaari’s sheets as time went by, her eyelids bobbing from exhaustion. “Don’t be silly,” she murmured.

Namaari scoffed. “I’m not. I know I’m the last person you want looking after you, but if you won’t accept anyone else, I’ll have to do.”

Raya’s lips curled into her mischievous smirk. “You misunderstand, Princess. Why wouldn’t I want a strong, beautiful woman such as yourself looking after me? And in a robe, no less...” She made to coolly put her arms behind her head to complete her teasing, but winced and clutched her side instead.

Namaari shook her head and made to tend to Raya’s wound, willing herself not to tuck her hair behind her ear at Raya calling her beautiful. “You’re insufferable. What happened?”

Raya swatted her hand away as she made to expose Raya’s waist. “Excuse me! At least buy my a drink first...”

Namaari huffed. “Would you knock it off? I’m trying to help you!”

Raya sighed shakily. “I know you are. I appreciate it, really. I just—”

“That’s from me, isn’t it?” Namaari nodded toward her cheek.

Raya was silent for a moment, then nodded.

Namaari sighed deeply. “Please let me help, dep la. It’s the least I can do.”

Raya huffed a laugh, then seemed to regret it. “I don’t want your pity, Namaari. We’ve both given each other plenty of shiners over the years.”

#draft

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whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

Happiness Begins

Part 21

Chapter Summary: The reader sets out to drown herself in another mistake, leading Jared and Jensen to finally say what they have been holding back.

Warnings: Language, excessive alcohol consumption, another verbal altercation

Word Count: 2.7K+

Author’s Note: I mixed in a few funny moments to try and cut all this angst I’m throwing your way. Plus, the next part starts to lighten things up just a little bit. Thanks again for sticking around and reading, I love every one of ya! xoxo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly.

It was harder than she anticipated to pull herself from the state she had allowed herself to fall into. She would never admit to how broken she now was. Long ago she had promised herself that she would never let another man define her life, and here she was sobbing like she had nothing left to live for. She felt pathetic. She felt like she was twenty-five again.

As the sobs ebbed away into short hiccups, Y/n wiped away the mascara running down her cheeks. As sad as it was, she just felt lost again. Nothing made any sense to her anymore. Everything that she had thought she had known, about her brother and her boyfriend, had all crumbled to the ground in a matter of weeks. Now she was left to pick up the scattered pieces. The only problem was she didn’t know where to start.

Before Jared could get home to find her there, Y/n decided that what she truly needed was one last bad decision. So, she pulled herself together long enough to fix the tears stains down her cheeks and hide the puffiness under her eyes. Then she was off to drown her mistakes in alcohol.

****

The lights from the city below bled into the light shining from Jensen’s television. He sat perched on the couch, a beer in hand that had long since gone warm. He wasn’t paying attention to the sitcom on the screen, his gaze instead fixed on the peeling label on the bottle.

There was no way he could have truly anticipated her reaction to him telling her they needed to take a break. Y/n was a smart woman, but she was also much like her brother, deeply rooted in her emotions. It was not a bad thing, in any sense of the word, but it meant that he saw this going two ways. One was exactly how it had played out. Jensen has gone over in his head time and time again how he could have reworded things in a vain attempt to try and ease her pain. The second was her understanding. It was not far fetched of him to believe that she would have been thinking the same thing, that maybe, just maybe, them taking a break may help heal all of their relationships.

Jensen was not lucky this time.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table broke him out of his daze. He glanced at the number, recognizing the local area code. Intrigued, he answered, completely unprepared for what await him.

****

The bar sat in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway with nothing but trees as far as the eye could see in all directions. Jensen got chills as he pulled into the parking lot. The place looked like it could have easily been one out of an episode of Supernatural, and he was scared what all he would find once he made his way inside.

It was a Friday evening, yet there didn’t seem to be too many cars outside, for which he was thankful for. The less people witnessed him carting off a drunk woman the better. Not to mention it would be Jared’s little sister he was helping stumble out the door. He couldn’t worry too much about that now though, his bigger focus was on making sure Y/n got home safe.

The bell jingled overhead as Jensen pushed the door open. No one paid him any mind, all of them too inside their own head and their own troubles to worry about a new patron in the bar. A quick scan of the room didn’t turn up Y/n, so he went with plan B. He made his way over to the bar, leaning over the wooden top and tapping it with his knuckles to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey, buddy, I’m looking for Oliver.”

“You Jensen?” The guy wiped his hands on the towel he had stuffed into his apron as he made his way over to Jensen.

“Yeah, where is she?”

“My manager has her in a booth over there.” Jensen’s eyes shifted in the direction Oliver nodded his head, seeing Y/n slumped in her seat, her arms crossed and a pout on her lips. “She’s been trying to coax her to drink some water but she just won’t do it. I was going to call her an Uber, but her address is listed in her phone as Texas and I don’t think Uber does that. Found your name in her emergency contacts, she’s been muttering nonsense about you since about her fourth glass.” Oliver leaned his weight onto his hands upon the bar, eyeing up Jensen.

“Thanks. Here, this should cover her tab, no?” Jensen held out a few bills for the bartender who nodded and took the cash. Jensen stuffed his wallet back in his jeans before heading over to Y/n. She perked up when she saw him heading her way.

“Jensen…” His name slurred from her lips, equal parts happiness and despair.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m here to take you home, how does that sound?” He squatted down next to the booth, bringing himself eye level with her.

“No, I can’t go back there! I hate Jared.” She shook her head violently. Jensen put his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down to soothe her.

“You don’t hate Jared. You love your brother.” He tried, but she wasn’t having it.

“I do, I hate him. And I hate you.” Her brow furrowed as if she had just remembered her new distaste for the man come to rescue her. She hiccuped before continuing. “You two and all your stupid meddling. I’m a grown ass woman, I can decide what’s best for me, you know?” Her words twisted the knife already piercing his heart.

“I do know. And I think you know that you need to get some rest. But you can’t do that here. Let’s get in the car and we can go from there. How does that sound?” She chewed on her lip, contemplating his offer for a moment before nodding solemnly. “That’s my girl.” Jensen stood and offered his hand out to her. She took it, but in her inebriated state, needed help not only to stand, but to walk out to the car. Jensen leaned down and threw her arm over his shoulders so he could help support her weight and help her stand. She stumbled over her heels a little as they made their way to Jensen’s car. He slid her into the back, laying her across the bench seat. She curled into herself instantly, her eyes fluttering shut.

Jensen sighed as he shut the door behind her. He had never seen her even close to this drunk. Or this sad. The sadness that flickered behind her eyes when she had first saw him made his gut wrench. He hated thinking that he had driven her here. That had never been his intention. He was only trying to do what he thought was right for everyone. He loved her, he couldn’t deny that now, but Jared was important to him too. It was better that he was just friends with both of them than losing both of them forever. He had hoped that Jared would get over it, but things had only gotten worse. And now, he was dragging a drunk Y/n home because he had broken her heart. He only hoped Jared didn’t hit him again for this one. He blamed himself enough as it was.

He made sure to keep an eye on her as he drove, glancing in the rearview mirror frequently to make sure she was still breathing. Thankfully, she slept peacefully the whole way. She was going to be mad when she realized where he was taking her. It was the lesser of two evils. Either he took her to his place and let her like him for a little while longer but then Jared chews him out for not calling him, or he takes her to Jared, who keeps an eye on her and she gets mad at Jensen. He was just hopeful that if she does get mad, that she doesn’t remember it in the morning.

It was nearing two in the morning as Jensen pulled into Jared’s place. He climbed into the back seat, hovering over Y/n so he could wake her gently. “Hey, Y/n/n. It’s time to get up so I can get you upstairs and into bed.” He brushed her messy hair from her face as he spoke to her. Her eyes fluttered open easier than he thought they would, a small smile on her lips as she registered what he had said.

“I’ll always get into bed with you.” Her hand smacked against his shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a sensual movement.

“Alright there. Come on.” He moved back out of the car and dragged her along with him. Her little nap as Jensen carted her across town did little to sober her up. And apparently she had already forgotten she was supposed to hate him. He wasn’t sure what her worse, knowing she loved him so much she drank herself stupid or that she loved him so much she was trying to convince herself that she hated him.

Y/n was still unsteady as Jensen guided her inside and up to the apartment she shared with Jared. Her fingers gripped tightly into Jensen’s coat as he knocked on the front door. Even if he had been able to find her keys, he didn’t want to just barge in on Jared.

The sounds of Jared shuffling around could be heard through the door before it finally flung open.

“What the hell?” Jared was trying to let his eyes adjust to the brightness of the hallway as he took in the scene in front of him.

“I got a call from the bartender at Trappers saying she needed to be picked up. I was closer so I went and grabbed her.” Jensen explained as he brought her inside.

“Hey! You brought me to Jared’s!” Y/n slurred as she turned into him, nearly causing him to trip over her feet.

“I did, because this is where you are staying right now.” Jensen explained to her, causing her to start giggling.

“Like brother like sister right? You remember that, when Jared had to be carried in here drunk because he found out we were fucking?” Her voice lowered on the last word of her sentence, like Jared may overhear their “secret”. Jensen caught her hand that had snuck its way to his jaw, pulling it from his face and casting a wary look at Jared. He couldn’t stop her actions or the words that came out of her mouth, but he could at least try and limit them for Jared’s sake, and ultimately his own.

“Alright, you’re done talking.” He assured her as he moved her body so he could finish taking her to her room.

“She didn’t even tell me she was going out.” Jared sounded confused as he followed Jensen into Y/n’s room. Jensen pulled back her comforter and laid her down onto the pillows. She didn’t want to release her grip on him at first, nearly pulling him down with her. When he regained his balance, he moved to take off her shoes, setting them on the ground by her bedside table. She mumbled something he didn’t quite hear as he tucked her into her blankets.

“Jensen,” Her voice was louder this time, cracking like she was about to break down into tears as she gripped his wrist when he tried to leave. Jensen sat down on the edge of her bed, leaning in close to her.

“Yes?”

“Don’t go. Please?”

“I can’t stay. You know that.” Jensen smiled down at her, trying to be reassuring even though he had no idea if she could even tell with the way her eyes were drooping.

“I don’t.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to understand.

“Jared’s going to take care of you from here. You’ve gotta sleep now, though.” Jensen promised her that she wouldn’t be alone when he left.

“No, you.”

“Y/n/n,” Jensen sighed heavily. He had known how stubborn she could be, but Jared was already breathing down his neck and he didn’t wish to push his luck.

“I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” Jensen didn’t think his heart could break any more than it already was, but he was mistaken. Hearing the sob rock her body as she gripped his bicep like it was her lifeline physically pained him. He wanted nothing more than to try and fix what he had destroyed, but now he only feared he had made it worse. This wasn’t what he wanted to be in her life. A destructive force that ruined her closest relationship and broke her heart. He never meant to make things so complicated. Now, he had no idea what to do to make things right.

“I know.” He leaned into her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. The only thing he could do was wait until she fell asleep. He let the backs of his knuckles run up and down her arm until her grip on him loosened on its own. Once he was free from her grasp, he slipped away and out of her room.

Jared was leaning against the wall opposite her door as Jensen pulled it closed behind him. Jared had a deep frown on his face, the lines in his forehead scrunched together in thought. He didn’t say anything as Jensen walked past him and towards his front door, he simply followed after him.

“You guys assumed I was just doing this to spite you, but this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I didn’t want to see my sister hurt yet another time! Yet here we are because you did exactly that!” Jared pointed an accusing finger at his co-star.

“Tell me, Jared, have you really always thought that low of me? Do you think that I just go around getting a kick out of breaking women’s hearts? I thought we were closer than that.” Jensen had spun back around when Jared’s voice stopped him before he could open the door. Both were on the verge of shouting, but remembering the woman sleeping just down the hall, were trying their damndest to keep their voices even.

“You’re right, I did think we were closer than that. Then you went and slept with my sister behind my back and now she’s lying comatose in her bed because she drank half a bar when you broke her heart!”

“Jesus, Jared. You can’t put that all on me. I admit it, we made a mistake and I’m sorry that we hurt you, I am. But I love your sister, more than I’ve ever loved any other woman. And I know that to her, family is everything. You are everything. Since it seems you won’t move on and forgive us, I made the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make.” Jensen swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he fought back the tears in the corner of his eyes. “I had to let go of the best thing to ever happen to me, so she could have you. She might not be able to see it right now, and I hate myself for how she is hurting, but she will come around one day. Y/n will know that you mean more to her than I ever could. I can only hope when that day comes, she will no longer hate me.”

“So it’s all my fault, then?” Jared’s jaw ticked as he stared down Jensen.

“No, weren’t you listening? I’m saying it’s all our faults. No one is innocent in all of this. I’m just taking responsibility and trying to fix what I can, for both of you.” Jensen was done talking about this now. Things were still too heated for an adult conversation, unfortunately. He truly believed what he was saying to the man he had once considered his brother. He could only pray that Jared and Y/n could see his side of things. He turned and pulled open Jared’s front door. He paused one last time, his shoulders sagging.

“I’m sorry.” He offered one last time, only hope in his heart that Jared would actually hear him this time.

“I know.”

Part 22

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfics @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique @akshi8278 @superfanficnatural @malfoysqueen14

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl @hillface89 @arses21434 @thevelvetseries @sslater34 @mrsirishboru @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @encounterthepast @facadeformyrealblog @supernatural-bellawinchester @screechingartisancashbailiff @rebeccathefangirl @squirrelnotsam @heartinmyhead1 @1d-killed-me @samsgirl93 @deans-baby-momma @deanmonandnegansbitch @woodworthti666 @supraveng @onethirstyunicorn @heartsaved @know2grow @littlewhiterose @surprisinglysarah @stoneyggirl @carryon-doctor-lock @thebookisbtr @youaremyfiveever @kalesrebellion @lilulo-12 @winchester-fantasies @vicmc624 @supernatural3002 @winchester-writes @maralisa124 @therollingstoners

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straykats · 4 years

Text

this isn’t out of sympathy, not anymore

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: requested! originally an enemies to lovers request, but idk if this ending count as exactly “lovers” yet? this is so long overdue i’m so sorry. and the title sucks too rip :(

On a Sunday morning, one would normally enjoy the pleasures of sleeping in; of the sounds of birds outside and morning traffic below. They would wake up late, have what could be considered a brunch, and sit down with a book and a cup of coffee

But that wasn’t how things were for you.

The clattering of pots and pans could be heard, followed by the familiar ticking of the stove.

“Damn it.” With a groan, you roll to the other side and try to block out the sound with a pillow, your mind chasing for a dream long lost. You soon come to the acceptance that it was futile to try and fall back asleep.

This was not the ideal start to the week.

It had been just over a week since Seungmin moved into the flat with you, and it had proven to be an odd sort of hell, fueled by the mutual dislike for one another.

“What are you doing? It’s barely 9am.” You poke your head out of the doorway, squinting at the sun reflecting off the white walls of the apartment.

Seungmin turns at the sound of your voice - something about him strikes you as odd - and glares. “Making breakfast, obviously.”

Any worry immediately leaves your system. “Jeesh, I was just asking!” He ticked you off - you didn’t even know why. It had always been like that since you first met him in school. “No need to glare.”

“Idiot, you were the one glaring at me first.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around.

Oh, he had mistaken your sensitivity to the light as disgust. He wasn’t too wrong, but it hadn’t been your intention. “Yeah, well you can blame the sun. Can’t you do that-” You jut your chin out in his general direction. “-later?”

“Some of us have a lot of work to do, y/n. We don’t all get to sleep in.”

You deadpan. “Seungmin, you do this every morning.”

He throws his hands up, and you spare a thought for how funny it’d be if the spatula flew from his hand. “I’m a morning person. Sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The two of you barely speak another word to each other for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because Seungmin was locked in his room the entire time, but you weren’t too sure that anything would be different if he hadn’t been locked in his room.

When you had put up the advertisement looking for a flatmate (for rent was not cheap), there had been only a few people who had been interested. It was weeks into the academic year, and most people were already settled. Of the four who had contacted you, you had chosen Seungmin, who unfortunately but surprisingly seemed the most tolerable. In hindsight, you thought, it might have been because you felt more comfortable with him. Yeah, you guys didn’t get along, but you knew him, and the people around him. It was a safe choice.

Come dinner time, and you had still not seen Seungmin. Thinking about it… had he even had lunch?

You were aware that he had some major music assignment coming up, worth almost half his grade. He had even bothered to ask you about his composition, to listen to a rough audio file and see how it was, and you had tried to be civil and rational in your answers. Nothing too rude (it wasn’t a bad composition; being rude to Seungmin just came as a habit) but nothing too nice. You’d like to think that your feedback had been objective.

Dinner was nothing fancy - it rarely ever was. You had before you a bowl of rice and eggs, your laptop playing your favourite show. As if he had sensed your earlier thoughts about him, Seungmin comes out of his room. You glance at him - his hair is tousled, brows furrowed and glasses askew.

“So, were you sleeping or working all day?”

When he gives you the weakest glare in the history of glares, you realise what it was that had struck you as strange that morning. His complexion was paler than usual, and you noticed the redness high on his cheeks now.

Stupidly, you dismiss it. Seungmin was old enough to take care of himself. Right?

Nope.

You jump when something shatters against the kitchen floor.

“What are you- Seungmin, what the hell?!”

On the floor, patterned shards of what had once been a cup were splayed out. The boy in question stood with a hand against the counter and another against his head.

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” he murmurs. You could barely hear him, for he spoke so quietly.

“Just- Just go lay down or something. I’ll clean up.”

The shattering had made you hyper-aware of Seungmin - the way he carried himself now, the way his eyes were barely open, his brows furrowed and hands shaking slightly. It was like the sound had cleared your head or slapped you in the face, telling you to wake up and pay attention!!!

“Oh, so you aren’t a complete-” He cuts off abruptly with a groan, holding his head.

“Well at least I’m not stupid enough to force myself to work until i’m… like that.” You eye him with raised brows, but your spirits weren’t really onboard with teasing him. Watching him as he leaves, you start to worry about how unwell he actually was - surely a night’s rest would help, right?

It takes you only a few minutes to clean up the shards - thankfully, the cup had broken into decently sized pieces. There were only a few small ones laying around, but they were quickly collected with a dustpan.

In a stroke of sympathy, you go to Seungmin’s room. He was normally very on-top of his health, and as much as you hated to admit it, it scared you to see him like this.

But when you get to his door, you hesitate. You couldn’t really go barging in, could you? Not that you were planning to be barbaric about it, or come in demanding answers or anything. Instead, you put your ear to the door. If he was still up, typing or scribbling away, you’d bust in and force him to rest.

Not that you cared too much. As his flatmate, it was probably your job to take him to the doctors - or the hospital - if something were to happen. You’d be the one dealing with the trouble and all, and it was easier to prevent it, right?

The evening progresses into night, a sombre silence filling the flat. It must have been around midnight when you heard Seungmin’s door open. You froze in your bed, pausing the music playing through your earphones. He must be going to eat, you realise. He hadn’t eaten dinner and had instead gone straight to bed.

Silently, you leave your bed and watch from your doorway as he peers into the fridge. The yellow light from the fridge was the only thing that lit up the kitchen.

“You need to rest, not mess up both your sleep schedule and your meal times.”

“Has anyone ever told you that sick people need to eat too?” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two eggs. It isn’t until he takes out a pan that you move in.

“You like them scrambled, right?” Taking the eggs from his hand, you crack the eggs into the pan. “Go make your ramyun.”

“Why… are you cooking my eggs for me? And how do you know I like my eggs scrambled?”

“Scrambled for ramyun, sunny side up for rice.” You shoot him a grin. “You’re a simple being, Kim Seungmin.”

You stayed in the kitchen while Seungmin ate. You busied yourself with washing the pan, and then getting yourself a glass of water. These tasks were completed rather quickly, and you were left to lean awkwardly against the counter while Seungmin finished his meal. Would it be strange to go to your room and get your phone? Probably.

Seungmin speaks up, breaking the awkward tension. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t sleeping before.”

“You should have been.”

“I could say the same back to you.”

Seungmin looks at you over his noodles but doesn’t reply.

“Well, go to sleep when you’re done eating. Don’t stay up late. I will call Hyunjin and make him tie you to the bed if I need to.”

You turn and make your way to your room, trying not to laugh at Seungmin choking on his noodles.

“You don’t even have his number!”

The phrase “disappointed but not surprised” seemed very applicable to the scene you saw at two in the morning. It snapped you right out of your half-asleep state.

“This idiot-”

Seungmin was slumped over in his chair, his head resting on his arm. One of his earphones dangling off the side of the table, the other end plugged into his laptop. The bowl of ramyun sat to the side, chopsticks carefully balanced on top.

Making your way closer, you shake him awake gently. It was almost shocking how warm his arm was, even through his clothes - you were a little cold, for it was the middle of the night.

“Seungmin. Seungmin, wake up.” Upon hearing a disgruntled sound come from him, you prod him again. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Why are you sleeping out here, and why did you start doing work again?!”

“Thought I could-” he clears his throat, eyes half open as he sits up. “Thought I could do some work while I ate… Must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit, genius.” You grab his laptop in one hand, being sure not to shut the lid incase you delete any of his work. Using your other, you shake his shoulder again. “Come on, you’re already unwell. Stop forcing your body.”

You walk a few steps towards his room before turning back. Seungmin was still in the chair, hunched back and arms dangling between his legs. His eyes were closed, head nodding as he tried to keep it up.

With a defeated sigh, you put his laptop on his desk before coming back out for him. “Come on, up you get…”

You grab onto his arm and almost sigh at the warmth it radiates. Another hand was on his back to help guide him to his room.

It hits you as you pull the cover back on his bed that… well, you’d never been inside his room. Sure, you’ve stood at the door to bicker, but never had you gone inside. You hadn’t really ever had much physical contact with him either.

You make your escape with a mumble about getting medicine. He’s in his bed when you come back, laying straight and facing the ceiling like Snow White.

“Here, take these,” you say gently, bending down to help him up with one hand. You feel a bit bad, to have made him lay down only to get back up. Handing him the painkillers, you watch as he washes them down with a gulp of water. “Gosh, one minute we’re arguing and the next, I’m your mother…”

Handing you back the glass without a word, he slides back down under the covers. Having placed the glass down on his bedside table, you stay there for a while and look at the pictures he had hung on the wall. You recognised some people - Hyunjin, for one, and another boy with fox-like eyes that you had seen once or twice. You recognised some of the seniors in school too - the ones who had been in a band with Seungmin.

At the sound of rustling, you look over to see that Seungmin had turned onto his side and was looking at you.

“Amazed that I have friends?”

“I- no, I never thought that you were a friendless loner. I just… I mean, I guess it’s my fault,” you admit sheepishly. “I just never really considered your social circle to seem so… wholesome?”

He laughs lightly, keeping his eyes on you. He looked tired, and his hair fell across his forehead. Cute, you thought, and then quickly snap your head around to look at the photos again.

Cute? Well, you had never considered him ugly before. He wasn’t - he was fairly good looking, and it used to annoy you when the kids at school wouldn’t stop talking about the honey-vocaled Seungmin… But he did have a good voice, you has to admit. And he was fairly smart and very passionate about music. But he was annoying. Yes, he was annoying. Too annoying. He wakes up too early, you could never deal with that.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak up again.

“You know, I read a story once.”

You hesitate, having only just settled your mind. Was this an invitation to engage in conversation? To stay? Or just an attempt at breaking the awkward silence? Instead of replying, you take a seat on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. Seungmin takes the silence as a sign to continue.

“There was a prince, and he was sick, and the servant girl never left his side even though he had been a cruel prince. She tended to him night after night, prepared his bath, changed his sweat-drenched sheets.” you crinkle your nose at that, and Seungmin laughs. “But when he was better, everything went back to normal.”

“Did he ever thank her?”

Seungmin shook his head. “He was a prince, afterall. No need for him to thank a servant for doing what they were supposed to do.” He sees you tense. “Don’t worry, y/n, I’m no prince, and you’re no servant.”

“Then you better do your own dishes tomorrow morning,” you joke.

“Ah, no sympathy for the sick?” He pouts weakly. His eyes are closed and his voice is softer. You become conscious of your movements. Subtle, nothing too quick or too loud.

The room is dimly lit. The cool moonlight came from the window, and on the opposite end came the kitchen light, slipping past the door left ajar.

Seungmin speaks up after a while of silence. “You know you can go, right? I don’t need your presence to bore me to sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a smile at his words - an effort to be himself, you realise, but there seemed no real annoyance behind the words.

“Well, you might not need the boredom, but you need to sleep.”

“Touche.”

It takes a while, and you find yourself nodding in and out of sleep. When your head suddenly hits the edge of his mattress, you decide it was finally time to reutnr to your own room.

Your legs are numb, jumping with pins and needles, but you hobble out of Seungmin’s bedroom with only one look back at him, who was sleeping soundly.

It was strange to find yourself the first one awake. The flat seemed oddly empty, and you kind of missed the smell of fried eggs and cooked rice. You open the curtains in the main living area, letting sunlight flood into the flat.

It was Monday. A new morning, a new week, a new beginning.

You look around the flat - things really have changed since Seungmin moved in. Signs of his occupance were everywhere - a guitar pick laying on the coffee table, a hoodie on the couch. His bowl of ramyun, unwashed and left in the sink.

Ah, right. Last night.

Butterflies seemed trapped inside your body as you walked towards Seungmin’s room. Why were you nervous? Surem you don’t normally go to his room to wake him up, but he was sick, right? It was just… a friendly gesture, right?

Friendly. The word struck an odd chord within you.

Knocking tentatively on his door with one hand, you lean in close.

“Seungmin, are you up?”

There’s a hum, muffled by the wooden door. You turn the knob and peer in. It’s dark, sunlight peeking out from behind a closed curtain. You can see Seungmin, curled up under his blanket. It was pulled up to his chin.

“How’re you feeling?”

He lets out a positive sounding hum. You don’t push him further.

“Well, I’m going to make breakfast… do you want any?”

Seungmin sits up, his eyes still closed. You watch as he takes a deep breath. “Yes, please.”

As he starts to pull the covers off himself, you close the door.

Quickly scanning the fridge, you take out some fish and green leaves. It doesn’t take long to cook up a simple meal of pan fried fish and boiled greens. Instant rice is out fresh from the microwave and you’re doing the dishes when Seungmin emerges from his room.

“What happened to me having to do my own dishes?” He asks, as he takes a seat behind the counter. He eyes the fish and boiled vegetables, taking in a deep breath.

“Sympathy for the sick, or something like that,” you say with a shrug. “Half of these were from cooking just then, anyways.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You glance over at Seungmin as he turns his eyes to the clock. He did look better - his cheeks were still a little flushed, but he seemed better. He was moving better too, not as sluggish as yesterday. He looked like he had attempted to brush down his hair, but a tuft at the back still stood up. You hide your smile, turning back to the dishes.

“Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“For last night. Taking care of me.”

With warm cheeks, you stack the last of the dishes aside to dry. “Again, sympathy for the sick or whatever.”

“Y/n.”

Turning at your name, you find him looking very intently at you.

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

You gulp, and the only thing that calms you a little is the realisation that his cheeks aren’t pink from feeling unwell anymore.

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly.

He looks up at you, and you awkwardly fiddle with the towel hanging off the cupboard doors under the sink. It was undeniable that something had changed after last night - the dyanmic between the two of you were different now, and you weren’t too sure how you felt about it.

“Okay. Cool. Can I eat?”

The question catches you off guard, strangely, but you nod and take out plates. “I- I was going to just fry an egg for you, but i decided you probably need a change after last night.” part of your brain was panicking - but why? “We had fish, so I thought hey, why not, right? This probably isn’t much of a better meal, but-”

“It looks great, y/n. Thanks.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “By the way, you don’t…” Seungmin clears his throat. “Do you actually have Hyunjin’s number?”

You give him a sweet smile, clasping your hands behind your back. “You’ll never know, will you?”

You don’t, but the slight twitch of his eye and subtle pout are worth it.

Shaking his head, he looks back at his food. He seemed very concentrated on separating a single grain of rice. “I’m just asking, jeesh. It’s an innocent question.”

“Innocent. Right. Anyways, I need to get ready to go. Class starts in a bit.”

You make your way to your room and change, gathering laptop and notebooks. When you exit, Seungmin’s at the sink, washing his plate.

“Don’t strain yourself while I’m gone, okay? Actually, just sleep while I’m gone,” you say from the hallway as you put your shoes on.

Seungmin’s head pops around the corner suddenly, and you see him take a deep breath.

“What time do you finish?”

“... 12:30, why?”

Having finished with your shoes, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Do you- Can I-” He cuts off and swallows thickly. “Lunch? Can I treat you to lunch?”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze.

“As a thank you, obviously,” he adds, but it’s only half convincing.

“I told you, it’s fine. Sympathy for the sick, right?” You joke, trying to ease your nerves.

He manages a small quirk of the lips. “C’mon, let me treat you. And don’t say yes out of sympathy.”

Well, things were different now, right?

“Sure, why not.”

You could see his shoulder relax, a strand of hair falling into his face as he exhales. “Great. I’ll… I’ll meet you at the front of your building then?”

When you give him a nod, you can see him trying to keep in a smile.

“See you later, then.” He pops back behind the wall, and you hear from the kitchen, “Have a good day!”

Letting out a small laugh, you ignore the buzz in your veins as you open the door.

“It’s a date, Kim Seungmin!”

#kim seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin angst #kim seungmin imagines #kim seungmin drabbles #stray kids angst #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fluff #strat kids angst #stray kids #stray kids imagines

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eddie-spaghettis-bifocals · 4 years

Text

Seed part 2

read part 1 here :)

For years now, Eddie has told Myra he wants a garden.

The first time he told her was a year into their marriage. She went along with it, probably assuming he had some semblance of botanical knowledge to suggest it at all, and then he killed everything he planted, and it had upset him in such a deeply personal way. She could never understand it. Not that he fucking understood it either, but rather than take the time to try and figure that out, he stubbornly tried it again, and again, and again, and again, and again.

Of course, at some point, Myra just begged him to stop. To stop doing this, to stop making himself so angry over something so trivial. “Why does it matter?” she’d ask. Ha! As if Eddie had any fucking clue, himself.

And he thought he never would. He thought it’d just be another one of those weird inexplicable things about him. He thought he’d spend the rest of his strange, spotty life miserably failing to garden every single summer and getting upset about it until he stumbled upon whatever the hell this midlife crisis symptom was trying to fucking tell him.

Ha.

You suppressed the weirdest childhood trauma known to man, it told him the second he came back to Derry. Then, when he saw all the losers: You used to have a real family that made you happy.

Your sickness isn’t real and you kind of always knew, he remembers shortly after Mr. Keene’s pharmacy basement nightmare. You’re gay actually, he accepts in the hours before going down into the sewers and very nearly dying.

You fell in love once a long time ago, he thought as he lie bleeding out in his best friend’s arms in the place he feared the most. He shut his eyes on accident and opened them back up in a hospital room, where he sees all the losers in various states of exhaustion. Richie is asleep, leaned halfway over onto his hospital bed, head on Eddie’s tubed up arm. And you never really fell out.

He was sure, at the time, that that was about the last of the suppressed Derry revelations about himself he could take, but that was then. This is now, at their final stop before meeting Mike at the airport and leaving Derry forever. Richie’s hand supports Eddie’s bandaged arm again as they stand in the Barrens, as if he thinks Eddie might lose his balance and topple right into the fucking creek—as if he doesn’t have a brand new cane to help prevent things of exactly that nature. He joins Eddie in staring up and up and endlessly up at what Eddie thinks may have been the lamest, most confusing grand gesture of his entire life:

A tree.

It definitely wasn’t here the last time he was, but he knows it innately, all the same. And judging by the look on Richie’s face, he knows it, too.

He wants to slap himself.

For years now, he’s told Myra he wants a fucking garden to his own bewilderment when all along, it’s been because of some stupid tree—and every embarrassingly intimate thing it accidentally represented—that he grew with comedian Richie fucking Tozier back when he was a nobody twenty-seven years ago. Back when they were both at their most honest and vulnerable. When Eddie was at his most unabashedly infatuated—uninhibited in a way he’s never been since, determined and emboldened, freshly thirteen and endlessly stupid—

“Well, whaddayaknow, huh?” Richie whistles. Eddie slides his nervous eyes over to see Richie still looking up like he’s afraid to stop. “Tall and shady. Just like you said. There’s some birds up top, I see. For Stan,” he says, and his lips tilt up at the sides.

There had been, it appears, some sort of magic involved in Eddie’s survival. Bill told him that by the time they got him to the hospital, the bleeding had stopped. Combine that with the fact that the scars on their palms are now completely gone, and the fact that Stan’s wife called Beverly back before Eddie woke up to tell her that Stan had pulled through somehow—it’s so strange we were sure he was gone—Eddie is inclined to think that, too.

And of course, they’re all overjoyed about it, but Eddie thinks Richie’s probably the happiest, since Stan was his best friend. Eddie likes to think that he was too, but there hasn’t been a good time over the last couple of days to ask. Or a good reason. Or a mature reason.

He knows that Richie, Bev, and Ben have made quiet plans to go to Georgia together after Richie finally leaves Derry to visit Stan in the hospital and stay for his recovery. Meet Patty. Obviously, they’re all invited, but they’re all acting like they don’t expect to see Eddie there for a while. At least not as immediately as Richie, Bev, and Ben will be there. He figures they all think he’s got his divorce to deal with and don’t realize that he’d rather do anything but.

“No squirrels though,” Richie hums. He looks at Eddie, eyes suddenly full of mischief as he pinches his lips to hide a smile. Just like he used to. “Just you, Rocky…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut up, don’t fucking call me Rocky, that’s not even funny, are you kidding me?” He kind of hates the way he knows he’s doing exactly what Richie wants, just like back then. Richie watches him explode just like then, too, like there’s nothing else he’d rather be watching. Eddie’s heart thrums like a hummingbird’s. “Like, now I have to call you Bullwinkle, you fucking gargantuan moose-headed motherfucker and that’s not any more original than you still calling me Rocky twenty-seven years later.”

“What was it you said that day?” Richie grins. He’s not even hiding the way they both know he just likes to rile Eddie up. Eddie wishes he were really as annoyed with him as they both know he pretends to be. “Something about carving your name at the very top with my buckteeth?”

“Well what were you doing with them aside from taunting the bullies?” Eddie laughs out, surprised, but now he definitely remembers saying it. Worse, he remembers imagining later, after he and Richie had gone their separate ways, coming back here and carving Richie’s name instead. God.

“Ouch, and you called me a dickhead?”

Eddie snorts, can feel his smile matching Richie’s. “Yeah, you were being a dickhead.”

“You were being short.”

“Well—” Eddie stares and blinks and bolsters himself up for another round but finds himself laughing instead, isn’t all that surprised when he can’t make himself stop. He wants to say it’s a belated release of all the leftover adrenaline he’s probably still got pent up inside, but he’s getting tired of lying to himself. He can feel his smile stretching and stretching, and knows he hasn’t smiled like this in years, hasn’t laughed at something stupid like this in longer. The laughing kind of hurts, what with the violent ripping open, then rapid mending shut of his chest cavity, but he thinks for the first time in his life that this is a good pain.

Richie reaches to steady him, again as if he doesn’t have a cane for this very thing. Richie hasn’t even left yet, and Eddie misses him. Ridiculously, he thinks he’ll miss him for the rest of his whole life.

“You’re not funny,” Eddie deadpans once he stops laughing, once he's caught his breath, but he fails terribly, still grinning. He sees the way Richie is smiling back at him. He is just as afraid to look too much into it as he is to look away.

“You sound just like my critics,” Richie laughs. “You should come to my shows,” he offers like a second thought, but Eddie thinks his cheeks look a little pink, then that he’s losing his mind. “You could heckle me—that’s always good publicity. You’ve always been the best at roasting me. You know all the embarrassing stuff. You know exactly how much of a fucking joke my life is.”

Eddie scoffs. He would say he’s always been the worst at roasting Richie because he never means a word of it. “My life’s a joke,” he rolls his eyes. “On top of everything Derry did to us, I think this fucking tree kind of haunted me.” He says, as a joke, but he thinks there’s a part of himself that means it. Which is even more ridiculous. “I spent the better part of like fifteen years trying to garden for no apparent fucking reason because apparently this tree was that big a fucking deal to me. Do you remember wanting anything the way we wanted this tree to grow?”

Richie doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sighs, meets Eddie’s gaze, then drops a bombshell. “Eds, dude, you gotta know I, like, barely cared about this thing.”

“What?” Eddie reacts with so much shock, it must show on his face because Richie winces. “You… what?” Eddie says slowly, waiting for Richie to crack but be doesn’t. Only shakes his head, sucks in air through his teeth and keeps wincing.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m not mad, just—” He’s a little embarrassed. He could deal with this if they had both trauma bonded to this stupid fucking tree. He could chock that down to more Derry bullshit—he already had, but he couldn’t handle it if he were the crazy one and Richie had just been, what, humoring him? He shakes his head. “No, I am mad,” he decides, and Richie chortles and that only makes him madder. “What do you mean you didn’t care? That doesn’t make sense, you woke up at like five a.m. to come do this with me!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you cornered me in the clubhouse all alone and said you needed me.” Richie looks over at him, then seems to immediately regret it, drops his eyes onto the grass. “I mean, I barely even knew what you needed me for when you said it, but I thought if I didn’t do it, you might ask one of the others, so I woke up to come do this really fucking depressing thing with you—”

“Fuck you, man,” Eddie snaps, flustered. “It was supposed to be hopeful!”

“Well it was fucking depressing,” Richie tells him with an easy smile. He finally looks at Eddie as he does, but his expression is nervous. Pensive. “But that’s okay. Because it was you.” Again, Eddie’s heart thrums like a hummingbird. “And if you were gonna make anyone wake up at the ass crack of dawn to try your hand at desperately redefining the word ‘burial’ just to prove something to the universe, then I fucking wanted it to be with me.”

Eddie stares at him, speechless. Richie stares right back, shoulders kind of slumped, like he doesn’t know how to hold himself. There’s this feeling like a deep breath, a feeling of relief—finally it’s out there.

And Eddie supposes, now that he has to face it, that he knew. Maybe even back then he knew. Maybe he always knew, deep, deep down, that it wasn’t always just him. He was just afraid, and wasn’t that always the thing about him? He had been too afraid to hope then, and he almost wants to be now, but he looks at Richie and thinks they’ve wasted enough time.

“I always used to hope it was something like that,” Eddie admits. When Richie looks over at him, he stares back head-on, tells himself to be uninhibited, and determined, and emboldened, and endlessly stupid, just like he was all those years ago. Just like the last time they were here together. “That you did… stupid things just for me like I did stupid things just for you.”

Richie watches him like he’s afraid to hope, and frankly, Eddie kind of is, too. Irrationally, despite everything, he imagines Richie possibly having someone back in LA—possibly having a hundred someones on reserve, but something unhinged inside him thinks if even the jaws of fucking death couldn’t keep him from Richie, then good luck to Richie’s imaginary side piece in LA.

Richie laughs loosely, looking uncertain. “If you’re trying to tell me that this was one of those stupid things and not just some weirdly morose growth allegory, then—”

“Yeah, okay, growth allegory,” Eddie rolls his eyes, “whatever—whatever, but also you.” They’re close, Richie still hovering like something might happen, but Eddie doubts he planned for this. For Eddie to release his cane in favor of Richie’s hands. To tug him even closer like he knows what he’s doing. To reach up and pull his face toward him so he’ll stop looking wildly between Eddie’s hands and the cane on the ground he traded for them. “Like, mostly you.”

“Oh,” Richie blinks, eyes wide and owlish like they always looked when they were kids. He looks at Eddie, back and forth between his eyes like they’ll tell him the truth more than words could. He smiles and proceeds to nearly ruin it. “Cool, what the fuck am I supposed to do with this? I’m not good under pressure.”

Eddie scoffs, says, “Pressure,” and kisses him.

Richie kisses him back, startled and laughing a little, but he kisses back like it’s nature. Like it’s innate and organic and unchangeable. Something that Eddie’s certain has been trying to grow between them for decades.

They won’t forget it this time.

#reddie #seed #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing #prompt fill #it's a metaphor hazel grace

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Note

I didn’t get all the way through the list, but I already couldn’t choose, so 55. “Sorry doesn’t fix everything.” or 75. “What are you talking about? You’re married!” or 80. “But you promised..”

Written for: “Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

- -

“Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much, he died every night to let her breathe.”

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, that’s what Ms. Morrell told Stiles to think about. He sat across from her just like he had nearly two years ago and picked at the hem of his shirt instead of his lacrosse stick. He hadn’t played lacrosse in a long time; not since the Nogitsune. Not since the return of Kate 2.0.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to look on the positive side of things. He was told that by everyone else, at least. Certain other people remained elusive. Certain other people who made Stiles so mad, he stopped going to counseling for an entire three months until his nightmares started waking him up in screaming fits and night-sweats again.

When Derek first left Beacon Hills, Stiles was told to think about the sun and the moon. And he was so fed up with everything sometimes.

He was so fed up with everything.

Like what they faced after Derek left. So many things. Stiles learned what it was like to be considered untrustworthy. He learned what it was like to be considered a real murder. To have blood on his actual hands.

He did this… thing when no one else was around. He didn’t tell Morrell about it and he didn’t tell his father. He most certainly didn’t tell Scott, but they hadn’t been talking that much lately anyway.

And if Stiles’s dad was to snoop around his bedroom one day, he might find a neat stack of letters. Ones that were never sent out, but always slipped in clean envelopes. Ones that were all addressed to the same initials, but there was never an address. Stiles didn’t think he’d send them even if he got an address; but it was a lot like the instance with Derek Hale’s number currently in his phone. He’d stared at it for hours before, debating making a call. A text. Something.

He never did though. Stiles thought he’d have a lot less control with the texts. So he wrote letters instead.

When Derek Hale first left Beacon Hills, the words; “Tell me a story about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe” had circled through Stiles’s mind so often, he thought he was going crazy.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

When Stiles had gone into high school, he’d never expected to come out of it surprised he’d survived. They all made jokes years and years ago, yeah. But Stiles still couldn’t believe sometimes that he’d survived.

When he graduated as a senior, he’d stopped going to the counseling sessions. His dad had tried to bring up actual therapy but Stiles was at the point where he realized how Derek had felt when he first returned to Beacon Hills years ago. Once upon a time, when Stiles had been an idiot sixteen-year-old kid and Derek was nothing but tired and sad.

For the first time, Stiles kind of wished he could go back in time and apologize.

Because hell, Stiles was tired. He was sad. He was tired like when Derek had buried himself in his childhood house and attempted to ignore the world. He was sad in that sometimes, he felt like he’d lived and died a dozen lives, and maybe he was just going through the motions these days.

He might have looked for Derek in the crowd the day they’d graduated. Because if Derek Hale was ever going to return to Beacon Hills, it would be then. When most of the danger had passed, when most of them had survived.

Most of them. Not all.

Stiles attempted to organize a vigil for those who hadn’t made it to graduation. A little ceremony. Something, anything, to remember that they all weren’t so lucky.

No one except for Lydia, Melissa, and Stiles’s dad had shown up.

They’d lit candles, murmured a few quiet words, looked over the graves, and Stiles wondered how much it had hurt Derek to lose so many of his pack. Peter had called it like losing a limb. Stiles sometimes wondered if the pain he’d felt when Derek had left was similar to that.

He hadn’t just felt like he’d lost a limb though. He’d felt like he’d lost so much more.

Stiles liked to believe Derek would have come to the vigil if he would have known. Maybe he would’ve taken a candle and stood by Stiles’s side as they overlooked Boyd and Erica’s graves. Surrounded by wolfsbane, because Stiles didn’t know if that was an actual thing, but he remembered seeing it around Laura Hale’s grave so many years ago.

He’d nearly gotten caught when he snuck out one night months ago to plant it. But there was over a handful of purple flowers growing now. Dancing across each grave. Crawling up the stones. Not in the perfect circle like it had been for Laura but… maybe it was enough.

Though, Stiles didn’t know how that could be enough if he hadn’t been.

He’d told himself he was going to leave Beacon Hills after high school. For good, maybe. Or at least for a few years. And Stiles had managed to stay gone for a solid semester, but then his dad had been shot in the line of duty.

Nothing fatal; a shoulder wound that put him in the hospital for six days and took him out of duty for another three months after that. But Stiles had driven straight back to Beacon Hills and hadn’t looked over his shoulder since.

Two years had passed and Stiles sometimes still wrote the letters.

He kind of thought it was stupid.

Hey, Sourwolf, remember that one time you left Beacon Hills without telling anyone? Yeah, well, I do too. And I’m so fucking pissed at you for it, I would literally kill to say that to your face. Which, funny story, wouldn’t be my first murder. Remember that time you said I’d be alright? That everything would be alright?

Yeah, well, that’s a bunch of bull.

Stupid question, but would you pick the sun or the moon? That doesn’t make sense right now and I know, I’d be getting the ‘Seriously Stiles?” growly brows right now. But I’d really like to know. For… scientific reasons. Shut up, I’m probably not going to send this anyway.

By the way, of the sun and the moon, which one of us is dying here?

You think I would have had enough riddles to last me a lifetime at this point, but Morrell doesn’t seem to think so. Both her and Deaton get under my skin sometimes, you know? Like, is a straight answer really so damn hard?

It sure as hell seems like it.

I’m supposed to be graduating and living my life pretty soon. I still can’t make a proper boiled egg and sometimes, I forget not everyone wants to hurt my friends or family. Funny, right? I’m fucking hilarious.

I swear to god, I love you.

Stiles took this one class that talked about poetry and all the questions of the universe. He wasn’t sure why he took it exactly, but there was one thing that caught his attention from the beginning. One story about the moon and the sun; and the constant chase, the constant sacrifice that they made for each other. Over and over again.

He hated that class for all he was worth. He didn't think that was much anymore.

Stiles went to college for another year with no official degree in mind, but maybe he could be a history major or something? But then he got the call that his dad was planning to retire soon and Stiles found himself taking a few steps back. Turning away from the morning classes, the late-night parties, and all of those normal things, and applying to the police academy instead.

For some reason, he always thought Derek would’ve made a good deputy.

Stiles still looked for him sometimes.

He looked for grey-green.

I think I could track you down if I wanted to. You know, talk some sense into your little werewolf-y brain. I’d probably say something about ‘Having a plan B’. Because there has to be something else. We were always supposed to have a plan B, weren’t we? Maybe yours was leaving. Maybe it was not looking back.

I just wish I could’ve left too.

When Derek Hale first returned back to Beacon Hills, Stiles had friends at the local coffee shop, friends at the Sheriff’s station, and even a few friends from his old Uni days. He had them scattered here and there. He hadn’t written a letter in ages.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles didn’t actually know it until he ran into the man while grocery shopping. Derek had gone stock-still down the aisle, a basket held loosely in his hand, and Stiles’s milk had gone splattering to the floor.

When Derek Hale first returned to Beacon Hills, Stiles was told it was ‘a second chance’. He thought that sounded painfully familiar. He also thought, for a moment, he was going crazy again.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Sometimes, he thought he could leave it all behind. Scott had long since followed the rest of his pack to New York City and Stiles had lost touch long ago. There was still the occasional supernatural baddie in Beacon Hills; but Stiles had a little bit more than a baseball bat now.

There was this… misfit group. Those that had been left behind. Stiles; when he’d become a Deputy. Lydia; when she returned back to start her own online company from the ground up. The few who had never left. Or never stayed gone.

Then there was Derek.

Stiles hadn’t planned on speaking to him ever again, thank you very much. He’d made a beeline from the grocery store and either Derek hadn’t followed, or he’d been too preoccupied with the newly spilled milk to give chase.

Stiles saw him later at the coffee shop. He turned right back around and suffered the station’s coffee for the rest of the week.

He saw him running in the early mornings when he left for work.

He saw the man in his sleep.

It had been so long since Stiles had woken up with the memory of blazing red eyes, or sharp electric blue underneath the moonlight, or the simple green-grey that gave him the saddest look before turning away.

It had been so long.

Stiles made a bonfire in the preserve one night with a pile of his own kindling; a little stack of papers. But then he never went through with it.

One morning, there was a man in his apartment building.

Stiles had never thought his ‘fight or flight’ instincts would kick in when he was facing Derek Hale. But then the man was standing in front of him in nothing but sweatpants and an old t-shirt. He held a bag of bagels in one hand and his mail in the other and it took Stiles one second too long to realize the bastard was living in his building.

It took Stiles one minute too long to realize he was crying.

See, Stiles had imagined their future meeting over and over again in his mind. When Derek had first left and Stiles was still raw, he imagined he might scream a little bit. Maybe curse the man out.

Or maybe just beg him to stay.

Then as the months had stretched on, Stiles thought maybe he’d just give him a hug. That maybe, maybe if he could prove to Derek Hale that there was something left for him in Beacon Hills, he would consider staying around for a little longer.

Jump to three years later and Stiles was just standing here like an idiot, silent tears spilling down his cheeks. And it took him far too long to realize he was crying.

Derek was only a few feet away by the time Stiles snapped back to reality.

Some part of his mind was tempted to punch the man. Some part was tempted to turn and storm off. Stiles thought he could only be more pathetic if he dropped to his knees along with the tears.

Derek looked utterly torn. Stiles hated how little he hated him for a moment.

“Stiles—”

“Do you remember the day you left?”

Derek’s mouth snapped closed and Stiles’s words were trembling. The man made an abortive move forward as if he was going to reach out, but then he promptly drew back. Stiles’s heart twisted in his chest.

“Huh, Derek? Do you remember the day you left?”

“It was… a long time ago.”

“Yeah, asshole, it was. But I just want to know one thing,” Stiles said, and he hated himself for how pitiful he sounded. Because right now, he was pretty sure he hated himself more than he hated Derek Hale. If he even ever had. “Did you ever look back?”

Derek’s jaw ticked and he didn’t say a word. Stiles felt like his stomach had dropped.

“Did you ever think about returning?”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

And that wasn’t the answer Stiles had been looking for, but maybe it was the one he should have expected. Silently, he nodded, turning back away. He wasn’t trembling so hard anymore but he still felt like his world was falling apart at the seams.

“Wait, Stiles.”

Despite himself, he froze. Despite everything, despite knowing better. Derek looked shattered when Stiles glanced back and for the first time, he wondered if the man had possibly missed Stiles and much as he’d missed him.

But then Derek just ducked his head again and Stiles knew he was an idiot. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

Though turning away, eyes burning, Stiles sure as hell wished it did.

I swear to god, I hate you.

Stiles never asked to fall in love, alright? He never asked to look into grey-green eyes and find himself rendered useless. If someone had told his teenage self that one day, he’d been spending his life thinking about a certain leather-jacketed asshole, Stiles would have laughed them off.

If his life was a movie, Stiles thought Derek would have shown up on Stiles’s doorstep. Maybe with flowers, maybe with just an apology.

Stiles would have been careful, cautious. But he would have let Derek in. There would have been soft conversations, possible tears, maybe even a love confession. And then Stiles would have been alright again.

Derek Hale never showed up on his doorstep. Stiles still dreamed of grey-green eyes.

There was this part of him that sometimes still came to the shocking realization that Derek was back in town. When one of the deputies introduced Stiles to his new ‘good friend’ and Stiles had nearly had a panic attack at the sight of Derek’s face. When he went to the farmer’s market for the first time since he was a child and turned the corner to run face-first into a soft henley and firm chest.

Sometimes, Stiles had to stop and take a breath.

And then like the snap of two fingers, suddenly Stiles nearly stopped breathing altogether.

He’d survived his teenage years. He’d survived psychotic werewolves and bloodthirsty alpha packs. He’d survived demon possession and being forgotten by all those he loved. Stiles had survived one thing after another. All of those dozen lives that he’d lived.

He took a bullet to the chest on a Tuesday morning. And Stiles was pretty sure he was finally going to die.

But when he came-to, it was in a hospital room.

Stiles felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his brain. There was the faint sound of a beeping machine and someone was hunched over where he laid. Stiles managed to blink once, twice, a low groan leaving his lips, and then the person was jerking like they’d been shot.

Derek Hale made an abortive move to stand, looking like he’d been caught red-handed doing something illegal. Stiles focused in on his face slowly, confused for a second, and then he was pretty sure his heart stopped.

Slowly, Derek sank back into the chair at his side. “Stiles?”

“You’re not really here.”

The man’s face did something strange and Stiles was almost tempted to reach out and touch it. But he still felt like he was floating outside of his body, ears ringing, and this wasn’t real. Either he really was dead or they’d put him on enough drugs to make him see what Stiles usually tried to pretend was a bad dream.

Derek looked terrified. Which was funny, because usually their roles were reversed.

“Stiles, how are you feeling?”

“You’re not really here,” Stiles said again. God, why did his brain hate him? The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and Stiles thought that up close, his face looked a little less hardened than it used to. His eyes were a little less sad.

“Stiles, you’re in the hospital. You were shot.”

“I know that,” Stiles said, huffing despite himself. “But you’re not here.”

“I am.”

“No,” he said softly. “No, because this is all a dream. Or a hallucination. Or a nightmare. You’re not here because that’s not allowed. We’re not allowed. Someone told me and I’ve spent three years thinking so.”

Derek flinched. Stiles managed a weak chuckle.

“We’re not allowed, Sourwolf.”

And then Derek Hale took his hand.

Stiles’s brain logged offline for a moment. His heart skipped a beat. Because Derek Hale— dream Derek Hale, hallucination Derek Hale, whatever— had his hand. And Stiles could feel the warmth of his skin. The steady beat of his heart. The callouses that lined his palm.

Derek took his hand, squeezing gently, and for a moment, Stiles just stared.

Then he yanked back like he’d been burned.

“No, Derek. No, Derek, no Derek, no! You’re not here! You can’t be here! Get out. Get your furry ass out right now or I swear to god, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

The words were asked gently. Derek raised a brow, glancing down at Stiles’s chest, and his features tightened a little as he looked back up.

“You’ll what, Stiles? Nearly die again?”

“Fuck you.”

“I…” the man's voice wavered. “I’m sorry, Stiles. But I’m not going anywhere.”

And wouldn’t Stiles have loved to have heard that years ago? Derek would have come back or maybe he would have never left. He wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t supposed to have gone anywhere from the start.

“Why?” Stiles asked. “Why now?”

Derek dropped his gaze, starting to pull his hand back. But Stiles latched on as if it was a lifeline. Grey-green eyes snapped back upward and Derek nodded, gripping his hand tight again. “I… I heard what happened.”

“Yeah, so I nearly died. I’ve nearly died plenty of times before, you know. You never showed up then.”

Stiles was pretty sure he was hitting every single point of pain. Because Derek looked more and more stricken with every word and if Stiles was a better person, he would stop. But suddenly, it was all spilling out of him. Because yeah, he could hate the man silently all he wanted, but that had never done him any good.

“Why did you leave, Derek? Goddammit, why did you leave?”

“I had to.”

“You had to leave Beacon Hills?”

“Stiles—”

“Or what, Derek? You had to leave the pack? You had to leave me? You had to scurry off into the night and never so much as call? I wanted so bad to hate you, dammit! How could you let me try and hate you?”

“Because that’s what you were supposed to do!”

Stiles froze. At some point, Derek had drawn away. He just looked at Stiles now, eyes blurry and jaw clenched. For a moment, Stiles was pretty sure he was going to get up and leave. But then the man just ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“That’s what you were supposed to do, Stiles.”

“Why did you leave me, Derek?”

“Why would you ever want me to stay?”

There was this one letter Stiles had written asking himself the same thing. Why did he want Derek back? Why did he even care whether or not the man decided to suddenly up and leave?

Why Derek Hale? Why would he ever care about Derek Hale?

“Because when you left,” Stiles said shakily. “It felt like losing a limb.”

Derek made a soft noise at the back of his throat, shaking hands clasped together in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the floor and Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen the ex big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills so fragile. But he was pretty sure right now, if he said the wrong thing, Derek would shatter.

“Because you were gone,” Stiles said. “Before you were even mine.”

Some part of him thought Ms. Morrell was wrong. There was no moon or sun. There was no chase, there was no sacrifice. Unless it was on both sides. Because dammit, Derek looked like Stiles had just said everything he’d experienced. The man breathed out shakily and nodded once more glancing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

“I know.”

“Are you staying?”

“... Yes.”

“For good?”

For a moment, Derek stared. Then he nodded. Stiles smiled a little and for the first time in a while, felt like he really meant it. He shifted, pulling himself into a sitting position and wincing a little at the stretch of his injury. Derek straightened and Stiles just waved a hand through the air, managing a small laugh.

Slowly, the man relaxed back.

“Then me too,” Stiles said softly. “I'm sorry for trying so hard to hate you.”

Derek huffed, eyes shining. And it had been so long since Stiles had hoped he’d actually ever get to see that. He reached out and Derek took his hand, squeezing tightly. And it was all so real. The pulse point beneath his fingertips. The long fingers intertwined with his own.

It was all so real.

“I’m not leaving again, Stiles.”

And beneath Stiles’s fingertips, the heartbeat of the man stayed steady.

There’s this thing about the sun and the moon, Sourwolf. One can’t survive without the other. And it’s always been about survival between us, right? Sometimes, I’d love for that to all be a lie. I really would. But I need you to survive, remember? I need you to survive, which is why I haven’t let you go.

Which is why I might never let you go.

- -

I should really know better than to write at night bc nothing but angst ever ensues. Thank you so much for the prompt, Matt! I had fun with it <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#teen wolf #sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #derek x stiles #prompts #all the angst and hurt/comfort #ice-mage #ficlet

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