#if anyone calls me cringe i will take your kneecaps

[free-pool-trash]

come off it - george weasley

i wrote this because i was bored and in my george feels :) if you know me irl no you dont

word count: 5k

warnings: swearing, y/n absolutely bullying draco 💓😌, angst at the start for 0.2 seconds, mentions of blood, umbridge being a bitch, kissing 😽 slytherin!reader

summary: george wants to break up just until you graduate to keep umbridge off your case but it comes out wrong. eventually you both agree to keep your relationship on the low until you can see each other at graduation <3 (im terrible at summaries)

this is my first time ever writing for hp so please let me know what you think, id love feedback <3 reblogs are so appreciated

let me know if you’d like more hp stuff

masterlist

(also i dont support jkr if i saw her on the street she’d need new kneecaps <3)

The silence was screaming, the room completely devoid of volume, and yet, you’d never heard anything quite so loud.

He never moved from his spot, perched on the arm of an old grandfather chair, his head hung and his hair blocking his eyes from view, hiding any chance you had of reading his expression.

Feeling suffocated by his lack of dialogue, you spoke up again, your voice nothing more than a whisper to be swallowed up by the silence, “So, that’s that then.”

The quiet in the room didn’t bother you so much after you heard the words that had slipped from your lips, you could find solace in the hollow silence. Relating it to your thundering heart, that was beating rapidly, but the thought that you no longer knew what it was beating for left you like the aforementioned silence; hollow.

“I’m sorry, love.” His voice, as smooth as ever, brought your thoughts back to the situation at hand. All you managed was the weak shake of your head, willing your wet eyes to dry out before you lost hold of what little dignity you had left.

How could you possibly cry? You wondered miserably.

If you had only listened to the whispers in the back of your mind, you’d have seen this coming, foolish girl. You scolded yourself mentally.

“Don’t be.” You told him simply. Regaining your composure long enough to make it to the exit of the room, you spared the boy one last glance, he was looking at you then, brown eyes cloudier than you’d ever seen them.

What would he have to be sad about? This had been his choice, after all.

With a steadying breath you left the room, uttering an almost pathetic, “Look after yourself, Georgie.”

Only when he was sure you were truly gone did he allow his tears to fall, he hadn’t wanted to end things with you, not really.

It was for the best though. Tensions were high in Hogwarts at the minute, with Umbridge’s take over of the school putting everyone on edge. George knew well enough that the pink sporting she devil wouldn’t take too kindly to the prestigious, pure-blooded, princess of Slytherin embroiled with the likes of him. A supposedly lowly Weasley. A blood traitor.

Of course, status never mattered to you, or to your family for that matter. But it mattered to the new headmistress and George couldn’t bear the idea of putting you on the wretched witches radar knowing that he and Fred would be leaving you before the end of term.

He hadn’t expected it to be so bloody hard though. He thought he’d breeze through it with the thought process of “it’s only temporary”, as he’d initially intended. His plans for a temporary reprieve were hushed the second he saw your heart shattering right before his eyes.

You should’ve known really, you can’t just break up with the girl you’ve been completely in love with since third year out of nowhere. Merlin, you’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? She must think you’re a right tosser.

He reprimanded, the words trapped in the confines of his muddled mind.

His sadness turned to anger as it dawned on him, he’d just let you go and for what? Merlin, his mother was going to kill him.

Molly Weasley absolutely adored you, George recalled the first time he’d introduced you to his family. You’d been so nervous, it wasn’t every day a Slytherin found themselves in the midst of mostly Gryffindors.

Of course, yourself and George were just friends at the time. Fred had been the one who had begged you to visit the burrow as a matter of fact.

George cringed at the thought of the letter he’d surely be getting from his mother when she got wind of what he’d just done.

Overcome with frustration, George lifted himself from the arm of the chair and began storming through the stone halls in search of you. The conversation, if you could even call it that, hadn’t gone the way he planned.

He’d planned to sit down with you, talk you through his thought process and then hopefully you’d promise each other to rekindle your love in six months after you graduated.

Obviously that’s not how it ended up going. He’d screwed it up completely, he’d frozen on the spot and suddenly he’d forgotten everything he had planned to say.

He spotted you then, sluggishly moving down the corridor, small sniffles emitted from your retreating form and George jogged to reach you.

His large hand grasped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, “Wait. Please.” His voice was strained, pleading.

Inhaling shakily you turned to face him again, the redhead tried his best to ignore your red rimmed eyes as he could already feel his guilt eating him alive as he held your wrist.

You didn’t speak. Just looked at him expectantly.

Carefully, his hand slipped from your wrist to your own hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Can we talk?” You nodded wordlessly, allowing him to lead you wherever he intended to go.

The pair of you didn’t speak until you reached your destination. You found yourself standing in the privacy of the astronomy tower, hugging yourself to lessen the chill you felt when George released your hand, you stared at him expectantly, praying that you wouldn’t cry anymore.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.” He confessed while taking a calculated step closer to you, acutely aware of your habit of simply walking away if you felt as though you were being ridiculed. It was a characteristic that he loved about you, you didn’t take anyone’s shit, including his. Which is why he wanted to keep a close proximity, knowing that there was a very real possibility that he’d say the wrong thing and you’d tell him to shove it.

“First of all, I love you. I don’t want you thinking for a second that I don’t.” He couldn’t quite hold back his grimace as you shuddered and turned your face away, staring out at the view as opposed to at him.

With an aggressive sniff you blinked away the water forming in your eyes before meeting his gaze again, “Then what is this about then?” Your tone was demanding, the cold air making itself comfortable in your bones while you waited for an answer.

George took another step forward, the sound of your shaky voice sending a pang directly to his heart. Throwing caution to the wind, he grabbed hold of your arms, just above your elbows.

“I want to be with you more than anything, honest. But I can’t have you in Umbridge’s bad books because of me, especially when Fred and I will be gone in two weeks.” He tried his best to explain, his grip on you softening when he felt your body become less rigid, although you still shook slightly from the cold.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that in the first place?” You chastised him weakly, your lips turning downward as you realised he was right. Umbridge had been on your case since she had arrived, with being the top student in her house, she didn’t take kindly to your “fraternisation with the likes of them”.

He let out a sigh, tugging you gently to his chest, his long arms wrapped around you tightly. “Because I’m a knobhead.”

His words had obviously been intended to get a laugh out of you and he was pleased to confirm that it had worked when he heard the soft giggle leaving your lips.

You gave his shoulder a halfhearted whack, “Yeah, you are.”

“Are you still breaking up with me?” You asked, voice a whisper, arms tightly around his waist, afraid if you loosened your grip he’d disappear.

George chuckled at that, “I was never breaking up with you, love.” His lips met the top of your head before he continued, “I just think we should keep a low profile for a bit.”

“I hate it when you’re right.” Your grumbled, pulling away from his hold slightly to look into his eyes.

“I know this isn’t ideal… but we’ll get through it. I need you in one piece for our wedding, after all.” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows and causing you to bark out a laugh.

“One minute you’re breaking up with me and the next your banging on about marrying me? I’ll never understand you Weasley.” You reciprocated his teasing, eyes finally dry and shining a little brighter than they had been just a few minutes prior.

George lowered his face close to yours, your noses nudging together ever so slightly as his mouth, formed in a grin, hovered in front of your own. “I’ve got to keep you interested somehow, love.”

With that his lips met yours, his hands sliding up to cup your cheeks when you began to move your lips in unison with his and your own hands tangled in his ginger hair.

All too soon, he removed his lips from yours and rested his forehead on yours. “Maybe we should make up some code words.”

“Like what?” You entertained him, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck as he thought about possible code words.

“Right, how about this? When I say “ Merlin, you’re hard work”” he spoke, his hands leaving your cheeks to make air quotes and you watched him fondly as his hands moved to your hips, “That will mean. You’re bloody incredible and I wish I could snog you right here on the spot.”

Throwing your head back, you laughed, “Perfect.”

Then you paused, thinking for a response and then you bit back a smile, hands sliding to his chest pushing him away ever so slightly, “And when I say “Oh, come off it, Weasley” that will mean You’re a prat but I love you regardless.” A dopey smile crossed his lips.

“I’m choosing to ignore the part where you called me a prat.”

Innocently, you shrugged your shoulders, “You are a prat.” George scoffed at that, pulling you into his chest again, rocking your bodies together and lulling you into a sense of tranquility as your cheek rested against his chest.

He let out a long sigh, tightening his grip around you, muttering cheekily in your ear, “Merlin, you’re hard work.”

A small laugh left your mouth and you looked up at him with a half hearted glare, “Oh, come off it, Weasley.”

*

This ‘keep it on the down low’ plan was to put it plainly: dreadful. Acting as though you and George had broken up didn't do too much to keep Umbridge off your back. What it did do however was have, what seemed like every girl in the entire castle, crowding around your boyfriend in hopes of being the next one to catch his attention.

He entertained them all with charming smiles and false niceties, more often than not passing them over to Fred, who basked in the new found attention.

Not that George was the only one being bombarded with love offers, you had your fair share of Slytherin boys sniffing around you over the last couple of days.

One boy had been particularly persistent though, and it was easy to see it was driving the youngest Weasley twin absolutely mental.

The boy in question was currently sat beside you at the Slytherin table in the great hall, doing his very best to keep you interested in what he was saying.

“I don’t know if I mentioned it earlier, but I’m sorry to hear about you and Weasley.” He told you, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

You supposed you shouldn’t be so curt with him, as far as Slytherin boys went Adrian Pucey was probably the kindest of the lot. With a small sigh you turned to the Slytherin chaser and gave him your best fake sad smile, “Thanks, Adrian.”

The boy cleared his throat and you couldn’t help but notice the flush beginning to form on his cheeks, Merlin he is going to be upset when he realises you're not really available.

“If you ever want to talk about it I’d be more than happy to listen.” He offered up kindly, his kindness wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, the pair of you had always been friendly with each other, but your perception told you that Adrian was definitely hoping for something a little more than friendly to come of this situation.

Giving him another small smile you nodded your head, deciding to cut the poor boy some slack, “I appreciate that. It’s been pretty strange honestly, feels like every girl in school is lining up to take my place…” You trailed off, eyes landing on George who was sat at the Gryffindor table, a fifth year Hufflepuff girl sitting way too close to him for your liking, twirling her hair and you let your eyes roll at the sight.

Adrian followed your gaze before giving you a sympathetic look, “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that left you at that, you returned your gaze to him, giving him an expectant look, “You seem more upset than I am.” You pointed out, trying not to smile at the furrow in his brow.

Adrian looked away from you towards George who was now laughing with Lee, the Hufflepuff girl now long gone, shrugging his shoulders lightly he began to speak his eyes never leaving the red headed Gryffindor, “The pair of you were great together. I just don’t see what he could possibly want that you couldn’t offer… if you ask me he’s a right idiot for letting you go.”

George was looking in your direction now, his jaw set in a tight clench as he watched Pucey playfully bump his shoulder against yours. Why on earth were you smiling at something Adrian Pucey said?

You caught his gaze from across the room, sending him a sad smile then turning back to the Slytherin beside you, keeping in character as you were very aware of Umbridge’s eyes on you and what she would consider an eligible bachelor.

“Yes well, you know how Gryffindors are. Don’t often think before they act.” You told him, pushing yourself away from the table and collecting your things.

Adrian nodded in agreement, quickly standing up too, “Um, I was wondering if you were after a new potions partner?” He asked quickly, voice shaking ever so slightly with nerves.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced towards George- your usual potions partner desperately, turning back to Adrian you reluctantly nodded your head, you’d need a new partner in a week or so anyway. “Sure.”

Seeming pleased with your answer the brown haired boy sat back down and smiled happily as he watched you leave the hall.

The evening was drawing to an end as you found yourself on the balcony of the astronomy tower, eyes set on the sunset, your body leant comfortably on the railing in front of you.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the future Mrs. Pucey.” Came the voice you’d recognise anywhere, his tone teasing.

Without looking away from the view you chided him playfully, “Don’t be jealous, Georgie. Or should I say Hogwarts’ most eligible bachelor?”

You let out a content sigh as George wrapped his arms around you from behind, leaning his chin on your shoulder and placing a delicate kiss to the curve of your jaw, “I quite like that title. But I’d prefer to be known as your future husband.” He shot back cheekily, placing a flurry of kisses against your neck making you giggle joyfully.

As you threw your head back, your laughter was silenced by his lips catching your own in a passionate kiss, his hands moving to your hips to flip you around to face him, your back pressed against the railing now as you looked up into his eyes.

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about all day.” He admitted, his hands sliding up and down your sides gently as you slid your own around his shoulders.

You hummed approvingly, pulling him towards you and placing your lips against his again, tongue moving against his as his hands gripped your hips. When you pulled away, he chased your lips, pressing short kisses to them while simultaneously pressing his body closer to yours.

“Bet Pucey wouldn’t be able to kiss you like that, eh?” George smirked cockily and you let out a breathy laugh.

Matching his energy, your hands slipped up his neck and you let them get tangled in his hair, you raised an eyebrow, “I could always go and find out… how much are you willing to bet, Weasley?” At your challenge, his lips returned your neck, dragging along the sensitive skin and making your stomach flip.

George’s lips paused right at your ear, his voice gruff and low as he whispered, “No amount of galleons would tempt me if it meant you’d be kissing that git, darling.”

“Stop, you’ll make me swoon.” You joked dryly, tugging softly on his long hair causing him to detach from your neck.

His forehead met yours as the sun finally retreated, leaving just you, George and the stars in the darkness of the tower.

“You know, you could always run away with me. Then we could go back to snogging whenever we want and that old cow wouldn’t be able to punish either one of us for too long.” You could tell he wasn’t truly joking despite the tone of his voice, you released a sad sigh, running your hands through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp the way you knew he liked.

“Mm, but imagine how incredible it’ll feel when we reunite at graduation.” He let out a small puff of air against your face, tightening his arms around you.

It was then that a worry crossed your mind, would he and Fred even bother showing up? Ron wasn’t graduating until next year, Ginny in two, so there would be no family members there for them to see. But surely they’d show up to see Lee?

“You’ll come won’t you? To graduation?” You wondered out loud, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your hips as he sensed your nerves.

He pressed his lips to your forehead and hugged you close, “Freddie and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, love.”

“If I don’t see you there I’ll hex you both.” You promised, snuggling into his embrace.

George let out a small chuckle, hand running down your hair with a content smile, “I don’t doubt it.”

*

All too soon, Fred and George disappeared from Hogwarts in a blaze of lights and explosions and you couldn’t have been prouder of them. With the ambition those boys had you sometimes questioned how they weren’t placed in Slytherin.

You’d managed to stay on Umbridge’s good side for the most part, you’d become quite close with Adrian too, but to avoid leading him on you’d fed him a story about how you were still mad about George and that you were sure he’d only broken up with you so it wouldn’t hurt you so much when he left, he accepted it far more gracefully than you’d expected and continued to be a great friend to you despite knowing you weren’t interested in anything romantic.

There was only a week left until you graduated from the school you’d called home for the past seven years and you’d managed to make it this far with no detentions with Umbridge and her favourite quill.

You were so close.

It’d been a long day of classes and you were on your way back to the Slytherin common room, Adrian by your side when you’d come across the scene.

Some of the fifth years were crowding a scared looking fourth year, you let out a low growl as you recognised Ginny to be the girl cornered by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Throwing all your previous caution to the wind you stamped towards the scene, wrapping an arm around the youngest Weasley’s shoulder and pulled her into your side protectively.

“What do you three little demons think you’re doing?” You seethed, checking Ginny over for any injuries only to find she had tears pooling in her eyes.

It was no secret that you adored the Weasleys. You’d visited the burrow six Christmases in a row and Molly has never failed to send you an owl with a present attached on your birthday. It was also no secret to the family, even George, that you’d both kill and die for little Ginny. When she’d been taken to the chamber of secrets in her very first year you’d nearly popped a blood vessel worrying about her and very nearly ended up petrified while looking for her. Your fake break up with George hadn’t changed how you felt about the family.

Malfoy scoffed, turning his nose up to you, “What’s it to you, you’re just as bad as them. Filthy blood traitor you are.” It was then Adrian stepped in, clamping a hand down on the blonde’s shoulder.

“I’d watch your mouth if you’re looking to play in the final game on Saturday.” The chaser spoke lowly, his threat scaring the younger boy only slightly.

“Oh you’re such a big hard man, Draco.” You laughed mockingly, you’d known him since he was in nappies due to the fact that your mother and his were quite close up until recent years.

Pushing Ginny gently into the grasp of Adrian who had again moved to be standing by your side, he gave her a kind smile and you nodded reassuringly and that was all she needed to go willingly to Adrian.

Now that Ginny was out of the line of fire you squared up to the spoiled brat in front of you, you were anything but intimidated by him, it was high time you gave him a little reminder of exactly why you’d been named the Princess of Slytherin for so many years.

You were never mean for no reason. In fact, everyone believed you’d been misplaced at first. That was until half the student body had watched you absolutely verbally obliterate a Ravenclaw two years above you after he’d called you a slut. You had been absolutely ruthless. Nobody dared to speak badly of you or your friends as you proved on several occasions that you’d not hold back in retaliation. It seemed that little Draco needed a reminder of this.

“You’re so cool. Bullying girls…” You told him dryly, smirking wickedly as he swallowed harshly when Crabbe and Goyle had the good sense to take a few steps back, you raised an eyebrow lowering your voice and forming your lips in a pout, “Tell me, Draco, is your daddy proud of you? Or have you yet to catch his attention?”

Draco fumed then, huffing and gritting his teeth, by now there was a small crowd forming and Ginny had retreated into the arms of Ron, another one of George’s siblings that you simply adored.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spat out, venom lacing his words, only egging you on further.

The grin on your lips only widened and your eyebrow rose higher, “Oh? Because the last time I checked” You lowered your voice so only he could hear before going on, “He’s missed your birthday for the last three years.”

His face turned red and he lunged. Shouts came from the crowd and you considered your options, were you really, as a seventeen year old, about to fist fight a fifteen year old prat with daddy issues? You got your answer in the form of Draco connecting his first to your jaw and busting you lip. The fifth year being restrained by Adrian and Ron, both of whom looked like they were going to fight him themselves.

The crowd watched with bated breath as you dabbed a finger under your cut lower lip. Noticing the blood that now painted your finger you let out a humourless laugh and tilted your head to the side.

You were absolutely about to fist fight the fifteen year old with daddy issues.

Just as you realed your fist back, a voice that met your ears like nails on a chalkboard sliced through the jeers of the crowd, “What is going on here?”

Umbridge screamed when she took in the scene. And you’d be the first to admit it looked bad. Draco with his hands being restrained by a seventh year and your fist in the air, there was absolutely no question about what was going on.

“Why Ms.(L/n)! My office this instant!” She seethed but you could tell she was biting back that horrid grin of hers. She’d been waiting for a reason to lock you in detention with her before you left.

You didn’t bother arguing with the women as she glared at Adrian, Ron and Draco.

“Pucey, Weasley let the boy go. I will deal with the three of you later.”

She motioned for you to follow her and you obliged, sighing softly when the voice echoed from behind you, “My father will be hearing about this.” He couldn’t quit could he? Seeing as you were already in trouble, you continued walking but turned your head over your shoulder and gave him a look of agreement, “Yes Draco he’ll be hearing, but will he really be listening?”

*

“You have been soiling the good name of Slytherin for far too long, positively whoring yourself out to that Weasley boy.” Umbridge had been criticising you for what felt that hours, watching intently as your hand bled as you wrote.

Not too bothered you let her go on her little rant as you write out your line: house embarrassment, her words stung far less than the growing wound on your hand.

The women took a deep breath as she continued, “A bright girl like you should be putting her talents to good use not entertaining the likes of blood traitors.”

It took everything in you to bite your tongue and refrain from stabbing her with her own enchanted quill. It was funny how you’d ended up in that position really, not because of George but because of his little sister.

“I had half a mind to hold you back. But you’d only get in my way. Consider yourself lucky.” She shut up after that, obviously growing bored of your lack of response she relieved you after another half an hour.

When you got back to the dungeon Adrian was sat waiting for you, a tired smile on his face, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh how your words injure me.” You jested, flopping onto the sofa, dropping your feet into his lap.

He patted your shin with a chuckle, “How’s the hand?”

You wiggled your bloody hand at him and he winced, “Merlin, (Y/n)...” It looked at lot worse than it felt.

You only shrugged, a dazed smile on your face, “My only regret is not getting a punch in.”

“That Ginny girl is quite worried about you. Kept saying how George was going to prank her so badly for getting you in trouble.” Pucey told you, laughing lightly when you sighed dreamily at the mention of the twin you loved.

“I’ll protect her.” You murmured, thoughts trailing off, “Did I tell you he’s coming to graduation next week?” Adrian nodded, soft smile on his face.

“D’you reckon a reconciliation is on the cards?” He asked teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Mimicking his eyebrow movements you nodded with determination, “No doubt about it, mate.”

He barked out a laugh, pushing your feet off his lap and standing up, “Save me the details, a man’s heart can only take so much.”

With a wicked smile you watched as he walked towards the dorm stairs, “So are you going to tell that Ravenclaw girl you fancy her before the end of the week?” He went rigid then, blushing furiously as you laughed.

“How’d you find out about that?” He whined miserably.

Just like earlier, you wiggled your eyebrows at him, “Saw you snogging at the back of the library.”

Adrian groaned, grabbing a cushion from the armchair by the stairs and chucked it at you, “Why’d you ask if you already knew?”

You placed your uninjured hand over your chest and faked hurt before it morphed into a triumphant grin, “Thought it’d be fun to rile you up considering you didn’t think to tell me.”

Adrian shook his head before finally heading up the stairs, “Don’t stay up too late.”

*

The days until graduation flew by and before you knew it you and the rest of your year were shouting in delight, a few even crying.

“(Y/n)!” Lee’s voice caught your attention and you met him with a bright smile and squeezed him tightly when he pulled you into a hug, “Come on, the twins are here!”

Being Fred and George’s best friend, Lee knew all about your fake split, never shy to tell you how utterly stupid he thought the whole thing was. But it didn’t matter anymore because the jig was about to be up. Finally.

Eagerly, you followed Lee through the crowd, rushing ahead of him when you locked eyes with George.

When the pair of you collided it was as if you’d never been apart. Your hands immediately tangled in his hair as he lifted you from around the waist, spinning you around excitedly before placing you down but keeping his arms around you

“Merlin, I’ve missed you.” He whispered lowly into your ear, you pulled your lip between your teeth, and leaned away to look at him fondly.

“Hi.” You whispered, a huge grin on your face.

“Hello.” He whispered back, the look on his face nothing short of enchanted when he studied you for the first time since he left.

Without another word you used your grip on his hair to bring his lips to yours, kissing him softly through your smile as you heard Ginny giggling from her place beside Molly.

George grumbled at the short length of the kiss, settling for holding you hard and leaning down to whisper, “You’re hard work, my love”

With a laugh you pecked his cheek adoringly, staring deeply into his eyes as you murmured with a shit eating grin, “Come off it, Weasley.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter x reader #weasley twins x reader

[ncitygirls]

together - mark lee x gn reader

fluff, college au

“uh, do you want a drink?” he calls from the other room. it’s muffled by brick and mortar but he still prays you didn’t hear his confidence wane towards the end. ‘why didn’t i ask when i was in there?’ he huffs before he pops his head round the corner, calming at the sight of your smiling face. “water, tea, beer-”

“beer.” you rush, cutting him off. mark just nods, grinning at your embarrassment. “thank you.”

“no worries.”

he can feel his cheeks are warm. he ignores it. instead he busies himself with getting your drink, uming and ahing about getting you a glass when he remembers your lip gloss. it glistened as you spoke, almost blinding him when combined with your pearlescent smile. he’d like to keep it intact. if only he had straws.

he returns to find you eyeing his i.t set up. random notes and post-its pasted around the monitor. he hands you a bottle when you thank him and ask, “is this all for class?”

he cringes at the mess, but settles at the hints of wonder in your gaze. the genuine interest. “ah, no- it’s all for when i part time as tech support.” he mentioned it briefly before. it was sometime between your first and second date. it’s how he can afford to live alone.

“i didn’t realise it was this involved,” you hum. a second inquiry falling from your lips before you can help it. “is that why you’re always so busy?”

“uh- yeah,” he mumbles, hand scratching his neck as he takes a long swig. he’d had to reschedule this date twice. the first time he’d forgotten about his engineering group project session that couldn’t be rearranged. he did consider skipping it before realising jungwoo would probably bite one, if not both, of his kneecaps off. the second time, a guy from work had begged him to switch shifts. both times he had jaemin help plan an extravagant night out. he had money set aside for the whole affair, an outfit, a proper plan to wine and dine you. but his colleague was sick and mark has always had a hard time saying no. “sorry about cancelling again last week. i just got really busy all of a sudden with class and work and- yeah. i know you probably expected more than just hanging out at mine.”

“just hanging out is fine.” mark doesn’t think he’s seen more honest eyes in his life. it’s one of the first things he noticed about you. how round and alert they were, and you. you noticed things about him no one else did. like how his hair parts differently when he’s washed it. how his brows crease when he’s thinking too hard. how content he is just hanging out at home. “i know you don’t get a lot of downtime and i just wanted to spend time with you. i don’t mind where.”

you can see he wants to say something. he begs himself to say anything. instead he just stares at you, a wistful smile on his face. to think he could’ve been doing this weeks ago if life hadn’t gotten in the way. when you tilt your head, he shakes his head, a silent answer to your silent question. “do you want to play scrabble?”

your obvious answer had been yes. you beat mark two games out of three. mark had sworn up and down that his win after the fourth beer renders your first two wins null. you neglect to inform him that you let him win the third time. all in all, it’s exactly how time spent with mark always is. perfect. once the nerves fade away, being with mark is like being with an old friend. one who knows and accepts every part of you. the shrill screech in your cackle. the scars lining your knuckles. the wrinkles framing your grin. and yet, being with mark still feels brand new. be it his shy smile everytime he makes you laugh. the pads of his fingers brushing over the back of your hand. his eyes lingering on your bitten lips.

you’re both about six beers in at this point, but it’s a comfortable drunk. one that allows you both to keep your wits about you, while also numbing the earlier nerves, replacing it with a gentle buzz while filling you with determination.

“so why computer science?” you ask as your laughter dies down, his own still clutching at his abdomen. you couldn’t remember what it was you’d both been laughing at, you just know it made your belly hurt. and that was enough. “i feel like you’re feeding into the peter parker fantasy.”

“you know, i don’t go a week without hearing that from the guys since you said it.” he adds, scowling at you.

“i mean,” you start, tilting your head as he blinks at you. after the fourth game, you both found your way to his couch. he has his feet propped up on the coffee table with the board as you sit cross legged to his right, your fingers gently fiddling with his. mark ignores the sparks passing from his digits, all the way up his arm. instead he focuses on your next words. “i’m still kinda shocked they never thought of it too.”

“really?” he asks, laughing when you nod. “if you say so.”

“well, if they decide they want a korean-canadian spiderman, you’d be doing the world an incredible disservice saying no.” he cackles again at the vim in your voice, gazing back at you incredulously. “i’m serious! plus you’re cute, and that never hurts anyone’s chances.”

“really?” he asks again, a bit breathless this time. as you nod, he slips his hand into yours, relinquishing you of your play thing by pressing your palms together. “who does that make you then?”

“me?” he nods. “i’m just me.” you laugh when he frowns suddenly, disagreement ready on his tongue. “what?”

“you could be gwen.”

“gwen dies.”

“oh. what about m.j then?”

“i think m.j dies too.”

“fine,” he huffs, grinning at your chortle. “well if you’re you, then i’m me.”

“fine.” you agree, gazing sweetly at him. “then what does that make us?”

us. you and he. y/n and mark. mark and y/n. he’s wondered that too. he regrets having left so much time between dates, his schedule never allowing him the time to even think about the two of you as one. he has just enough time to think about you alone. but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about where this could go. where this was going. where this had gone.

“i guess it makes us together.”

“okay,” you say simply, as if he hadn’t just made you his. but more importantly, mark thinks, is that he’d made himself yours. “so that means you’re mine?” he nods firmly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. his teeth catch his lip when your gaze drops. he feels his hand clamming up in your grip. you don’t falter, you only squeeze tighter. “good.”

“good?”

“mhm,” you hum, rising on your knees. “it means i can do this,” you breathe before your lips press to his cheek, lingering for a second before leaning back. you bite back a smirk as his breaths falter, his hand squeezing yours a touch harder. “and this,” you breathe in sudden realisation, your lips pressing to the corner of his mouth. without thinking his do the same, puckering as your lips just miss his. when you retreat, you find his hooded eyes on you. his gaze is a mix of desire and duress, your blatant teasing rendering him near powerless. yet he sits, waits patiently as you have your fun. when you move your hand once holding his to his cheek, fingers tucking his hair behind his ear, you feel his hand loosely grip your thigh, holding you there. you have no intention of leaving, no desire to disappear, nor retreat. but the sudden pressure of his touch has you rising. mark barely allows your lips yo pucker when he leans in, meeting you a good two-thirds of the way as he closes the space.

his lips move with yours like they were made for this. not kissing, but kissing you. mark moves his lips against yours with zero haste but absolute urgency. mark feels himself making up for the lost time. the weeks he has spent in your absence, his insistence on perfecting himself and every moment in your company. he resents every lost opportunity that delayed his moment but appreciates it all the same. because even if he can’t admit it, the anticipation has made this all the more better. every slide of your tongue and press of your lips. every panted breath and nibble on his lip. maybe you just needed to be together. maybe that was enough.

“you can do anything,” the reminder tumbles out of his mouth and into yours, as he reclaims what’s left of his autonomy. “i’m yours.”

“and i’m yours.” and with that, a fifth wall came down as you fell into him, your unfamiliarity vanishing as you closed the sliver of space between you. mark was no longer a maybe, no longer a daydream, he was it. you hadn’t fully figured out what about mark made you swoon so much. the way he laughed with his whole body, or went ruby from some light teasing. how he empathised so wholly, or worked so passionately. maybe it’s because mark never did anything half way. he wanted everything in his life to feel purposeful, loved and complete. much like you made him feel. so maybe it was all those things that made you fall for mark.

maybe it was all those things together.

#ummmm why is this giving sub!mark? #it wasn’t meant to #he’s just desperately in love #nct fluff #nct college au #nct mark #nct mark lee #mark lee #mark x reader #mark fluff #mark lee fluff #mark lee x reader #ncitygirls

[brelione]

Afraid (JJ Maybank X Innocent!Reader)

Warnings:Handjobs,underage drinking,mentions of Topper,Awkwardness.

This is what I call an awkwardly funny smut.

You never really planned on anyone ever finding out about your fear.You were almost sixteen,it shouldnt have been a fear of yours.But unfortunately it was and you couldnt really do much about it.You and JJ sat by the beach taking vodka shots and talking about whatever came to mind.None of it really made sense or was understandable but it was still quite funny. “So,whats your biggest fear?”JJ asked,looking up at you.He was laying on his stomach,head resting on his hands like a pillow.You laughed,not even having to think about it. “If...If you ever-I mean ever ever tell anyone I will shoot-Im gonna shoot you and im gonna shoot you with your gun.”You laughed drunkenly.JJ wasnt nearly as drunk,laughing at the sound of your voice. “Okay.”He agreed.You sighed,working up the nerves. “You cant make fun of me,okay?”You asked.He nodded,sitting up to look at you and give you his full attention.You were sobering up,clearing your throat and laughing at yourself. “Um…..okay…..alright….so im like really really afraid of penises.”You confessed.His eyebrows raised,inhaling quickly and trying not to laugh before realising you were serious.

 “Wait,actually?”He asked.You nodded,avoiding his gaze.He looked away from you,sighing. “So you’re a virgin?”He asked.You hummed,looking up at him. “Cool,cool.So like are you asexual or lesbian then?”He asked.You shook your head. “No,I have like...you know...thoughts but like,penises are gross and theyre scary and I dont understand them and its terrifying.”You explained.He poked your thigh for whatever reason,laughing.You furrowed your eyebrows. “You’re such a weirdo.”You mumbled,flicking his hand.He frowned. “Okay but at least im not afraid of penises.”He answered.You glared up at him. “You agreed that you wouldnt make fun of me.”You grumbled.He apologized quietly. “So like….when was the last time you saw one?”He asked.You thought about it,tracing circles on your thigh. “Um...I was 13 and I got so scared that I cried and threw up.”You answered.He nodded,tapping your kneecap. “So...who’s dick was it?”He asked.You blushed,biting your lip and looking away from him.You didnt even want to think about it.It was emotionally scarring and you couldnt even drink milk for weeks. 

“Topper Thorntons.”You answered,looking back up at him.His jaw dropped,nose scrunching. “Oh,god.Im sorry….most dicks dont look like that.”He told you,pulling his hat off of his head and running a hand through his hair.You gulped,looking down at your hands. “Really?”You asked.He nodded,taking another sip of vodka to calm himself. “He sent a picture to Kie in like 8th grade and I saw it and I wanted to throw up too.Do you know what an average one looks like?”He asked.You mumbled a quiet no.His heart was thumping loud,his face becoming flushed and not just from the amount of alcohol. “Um...do you want to see?”He asked.You blushed,trying to think of what to say.Silence was all that filled the air as he waited for you to say something and wondering if he had gone too far.He flirted with you quite often just as he did with every girl but most girls werent as innocent as you. “Okay.”You spoke softly.

He cleared his throat,taking another sip of vodka.His hands were shaking as he unzipped his pants,glancing up at your nervous expression.Your bottom lip was between your teeth,hands curled into nervous fists that were close to your face in case you needed to cover your eyes.He hissed as the air hit him,pulling back the flaps of his boxers so his dick was completely exposed.You cringed slightly,legs pulling to your chest.You squinted,fists slowly coming unclenched.You blinked,calming down a bit as you sat up straight. “Oh-you know,thats not as bad as I thought it would be.”You let out a small sigh of relief.He chuckled,avoiding your gaze. “Um...you can touch it if you want.”He said awkwardly before cringing at his own words.You leaned forward nervously,pretty much poking the tip with the pad of your index finger before pulling your hand back when a sound ripped through his throat.

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked back at you. “Did that hurt?”You asked.He shook his head,scooting forward so he was pretty much right in front of you.You reached out again,stroking his member lightly.He bit his lip to hold back a moan. “You okay?”You asked.He nodded.You hand moved up and down,eyebrows furrowed as you got used to it.He wasnt sure if you knew what you were doing to him or if you knew how much he wanted to scream curses. “You can-you can go faster.”He managed to squeak out.You nodded,moving your hand at a hellish pace as he let out a string of curses.This went on for a few more minutes or maybe ten you werent too sure.His moans got louder,panting before removing your hand from him.You looked up at him with a confused expression.He didnt look back at you,his eyes rolling back in his head until only the whites were visible as he climaxed.The thick liquid went all over the sand as he let out a loud pornographic moan.He coughed,trying to get his breath back.You scooted away from him,peeling and picking at your cuticles.

 “You still...you still scared?”He asked.You shook your head. “No,not anymore.”You answered,looking up at him.He grinned. “Well you’re very good at touching...did you know that?”He asked.You mumbled something softly that he couldnt quite understand. “What?”He asked,leaning forward with a grin on his face. “No...I didnt.”You answered,glancing back up at him.He chuckled,reaching his arm out to trace swirls and flowers along your thigh. “I dont think this is fair.”He whispered.You raised your eyebrows,poking at his hand. “What?”You asked.He smirked,squeezing your thigh lightly. “You were so good for me….its only fair if I pay you back.”He leaned upwards to place a kiss on your lips.

#jj maybank #jj maybankxreader #jj maybank imagine #jj x you #jj maybank oneshot #rudy pankow #rudy pankow imagine #jj maybank smut #kiara carrera #jj obx #obx kiara #rafe cameron #topper thornton #topper thorton x reader #sarah cameron #sarah cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe x reader #jj maybank sex #jj outer banks #pope heyward #pope outer banks #jj outerbanks

[kafka-ish]

the act of being a boy-friend | r.t.

y/n’s plan to make her crush, or ex crush, jealous backfires when she realizes she’s been the jealous one all along.

word count: 6.7k

warnings/included: fluff, losers aren’t friends anymore, fem!reader

a/n: i just rlly love writing love triangles hgeoigso also fake dating tropes ftw🥳

-

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” Bill sat next to y/n on his worn sofa. The two were watching a movie but he couldn’t put a pin on what was wrong until he noticed y/n wasn’t making her usual commentary. y/n always talked whenever they got together to watch a movie—either letting her petty remarks be known to the rest of the viewers or judging the style choice. And if she wasn’t talking, her face was stuffed full of popcorn or sour candy.

But y/n wasn’t doing either of those things.

She sat in a ball—her bare feet on his couch and her kneecaps digging into her stomach. Her eyes were wide and focused on the screen ahead of them that blared ET. Her nails that were in tip-top condition when she first showed up to Bill’s house, neatly trimmed and polished with a layer of topcoat were now bitten to the bed, ragged and raw.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n said, surprised that she was able to even squeak out the words after zoning out for so long. Something was wrong. But it wasn’t like y/n would tell him. This is what she wanted, right? Just the two of them—Bill’s arm wrapped around her while she pressed into his side while the only light in the room came from his television set.

So why did everything feel so wrong?

Richie and y/n had dated two months prior. Well… ‘dated’. The relationship wasn’t real, but the butterflies whenever Richie called her a dumb pet name or kissed her on the cheek (because kissing on the lips was too far) certainly felt real. And the heartbreak that came from him talking about other girls felt more real than the time y/n got stood up at the eighth-grade dance.

“I don’t wanna be your fuckin’ boyfriend,” Richie protested. His mouth was full of the turkey club sandwich he snagged from a detention buddy and his perfectly straight nose was now scrunched in disgust at the absurd idea his friend had to offer.

“I don’t get why you’re being so pissy about this.” y/n took the sandwich from him, taking a bite of her own and cringing at the taste of mustard that was hidden under the lettuce.

“Grow up.” Richie laughed at y/n who was using a napkin to wipe the tangy aftertaste off her tongue. “You know.” He took another bite. “This sorta shit never ends well.”

“What shit?” y/n prodded. She was still hooked on the idea of getting Richie to play house with her.

“The game where you and I pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend and eventually one of us falls for each other.” Richie was taking an oddly rational approach to y/n’s suggestion. But Richie was logical in a sense where he just knew.

“Who says I’d fall for you?” y/n poked at his shoulder. One of her eyebrows raised because in what world would she let herself catch feelings for Richie Tozier?

In this world. In this lifetime, y/n would let herself fall for one of her best friends, only to be dating her longtime crush.

“How could you not?” Richie smirked but y/n could tell he was just joking. “I’m irresistible, love.” His stupid British-man Voice made yet another appearance and y/n had to refrain from hitting him.

“What about me?” y/n didn’t care whether or not Richie found her attractive, but to say his response never left her mind after that day would be an understatement.

“Well, just look at you.” Richie put the sandwich down. “If it’s anyone, I’ll be having a harder time.”

“So does that mean you’ll go through with it?” A new light hit y/n’s eyes; the sparkle almost blinding Richie who was shaking his head.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this.” He sighed. y/n could tell he was getting annoyed, but y/n was also persistent. If she wanted something, she’d get it; careless about the lengths she’d have to go through for her fantasies to become a truth. Her truth.

“I’m just saying there are benefits for both of us.” y/n’s head tilted to the side, trying to get a better glimpse at Richie now gnawing at his lunch like an animal.

“Benefits?” Richie asked mid-bite.

“Yeah. I can make Bill Denbrough jealous and he’ll fall madly in love with me. Same for you and your ex.”

“Bill Denbrough?” Richie ignored the mention of his ex-girlfriend. He was fifty-percent sure he was already over her, but the other fifty percent of him still stole glances in her direction and kept a copy of her school picture in his wallet. But Bill Denbrough? y/n had a crush on the Bill Denbrough? Richie had to take a moment for his ears to adjust to this staggering news.

Bill Denbrough was a baseball player and Richie’s old childhood friend. Him, Bill, Stan Uris (who was coincidentally also on Derry’s baseball team), Mike Hanlon (who didn’t play baseball but football), Ben Hanscom (he was on the track team), Eddie Kaspbrak, and Beverly Marsh were all a group back in middle school. And Bill and Richie went way back—back to elementary school. It was until the end of freshman year when Stan tried out for baseball (Bill tagged along but made the team anyway) and Mike brought up how he wanted to go out for football next year.

Everyone’s interests started to diverge. Everyone started to diverge. They still went to Mike’s games at the beginning of their sophomore year, but their lunches together only seemed to happen on Wednesday and their afternoon hangouts at the quarry turned into just Richie smoking puffs on the edge; the only company being his portable radio.

Richie befriended y/n sophomore year, around the same time he and his friends fizzed out in January’s crisp air. He met her in his new art class when Derry High released students’ new schedules for the second semester. They’d stayed friends ever since; sharing their lunches and staying after school to finish up on a Social Studies project that wasn’t worth the grade they received. y/n was the one to comfort Richie after his breakup with Vanessa Jennings, but this was the first Richie had ever heard of y/n’s crush on Bill. He didn’t even know she knew Bill.

“You like Bill Denbrough?”

y/n nodded. “So, what do you say? Partner…”

Richie gave in. Although it wasn’t in his interest to get back with Vanessa, he’d still go along with y/n’s scheme.

He’d pick her up at her house before school at seven o’clock sharp—whether it was in his dad’s old Chevy or by foot in his red Converse.

y/n rushed to her front door as soon as she heard a ring. Her hair was half done, and she hadn’t had enough time to do her makeup yet. Luckily, she was already dressed in her school clothes—the denim of her jeans scuffing together when she walked, and her red blouse having to be pulled down every time she rose her arms.

“Morning, sugar.” Richie’s lazy grin and tired eyes never failed to bring a smile on her face even before they started ‘dating’. His hair wasn’t brushed at all, making y/n feel better about her appearance. His body leaned slanted against the doorframe while he waited for her and the white tip of his Converse made its attempt to dig into the porch.

“Sugar?” y/n asked, bemused. She grabbed her keys from the table next to the door, using them to lock the door behind her.

“You look different today.” y/n’s head raised from its once concentrated position from the lock on her door.

“Different how?” She inquired, mostly wondering if this difference was a good or bad thing.

“You look good.” y/n’s cheeks couldn’t help but heat at the compliment. Richie was always calling her cutesy names or saying shit like actually, now that my glasses are on, your ass does look good in those jeans. This should be no different, right?

It only felt different because they were… an item is what y/n convinced herself somewhere along the drive to school. Richie opened the door for her when she got in (and out), but in return, she’d have to let him play his favorite station.

“it’s only courtesy, babe.” Richie shrugged but his eyes kept on the road. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

But two weeks in, y/n found out she liked what this rock ‘n roll guy had to offer. She liked the loud beat of the drum and how the guitar sang in her ears. She liked Richie’s voice that overpowered Elvis’s when he sang along to the lyrics, knowing every word by heart.

“I don’t get why you’re taking me anywhere,” y/n said. She sat in the passenger’s seat of his car like she usually did. “We don’t have to pretend unless we’re, like, in public.” Her voice became small, almost regretting the words that came out of her mouth. Secretly, she hoped Richie wouldn’t turn the 1965 Chevrolet Camaro around.

“It’s not like we aren’t friends.” Richie’s thumb made a tap, tap, tapping sound against the steering wheel. “Friends hang out, right?”

y/n smiled but didn’t answer. It never occurred to her that they weren’t dating. After a while, it just seemed so natural; the hand holding under lunch tables; the way he held her binder for her.

“Is that heavy, sweetheart?” Richie stood next to y/n, intently watching as she struggled with her books in one arm: her other hand turning the combination lock. His gaze never left her figure. He was thoughtful, caring…

“Kind of, but you don’t need to—”

Ignoring y/n, Richie took the books from her hold. He already had books of his own to carry, but he couldn’t let his girlfriend struggle with hers.

“Yeah… friends.” y/n couldn’t seem to face him while uttering the words. Friends. The declaration felt so distant. After all, they had been more than friends—or pretending to be more than friends. But at the end of the day, y/n didn’t know if she wanted to be just friends with Richie Tozier. That was new considering, she never saw Richie as something else. Something that greeted her with flowers before school and held open the door for her. Not until now, no. Richie was always… Richie.

Richie Tozier who was always caught doing his homework last minute in art—because that’s the easiest class, babe. Richie Tozier who liked detention because he could catch up on a few extra minutes of lost beauty sleep. Richie Tozier who stopped bringing his lunch to school because you’re the only sugar I need.

y/n rolled the window down, letting a breeze sweep through her hair and tickle her skin. She needed a distraction because the recent epiphany of the boy next to her being the reason for her heart palpitations was something to need a distraction from.

The sky bled orange and purple—the colors perfectly melted into one another—and y/n wondered if this wasn’t their world after all. Maybe they were being controlled and the puppeteer behind her was playing some sick joke by making her catch feelings for Richie Tozier. y/n didn’t even notice they came to a stop until the click of Richie’s seatbelt grabbed her ears from their trance.

“You comin’?” Richie asked from outside of her side of the car. He was hunched down, his forearm resting on the door to help prop him up.

“Yeah.” y/n swallowed but it hurt. It felt like acid ripped through her esophagus but the only thing she had to drink that day was water. She reached for the door handle, but Richie was faster, already opening the door himself. “Such a gentleman,” y/n snickered.

“Of course.” Richie stayed behind to lock the doors.

“So, you drove me, just a friend, all the way out to the best milkshakes in town?” y/n asked, eyeing the neon-lit sign that read

 Hwy 90

The highway to your stomach.

They served other things, but they specialized in milkshakes—something neither Richie nor y/n would care to pass up. But nothing y/n would drive thirty minutes for just for some glorified ice cream in a glass.

“It’s the least I could do.” Richie opened the door for y/n once again. The entrance door to the diner made a jingling sound as the top corner hit the bells which hung from the ceiling.

“The least you could do?” y/n wondered aloud, but Richie wasn’t given the chance to answer her question when a waitress scurried up to them, a stack of menus in one arm and a bundle of silverware in the other. She was taller than y/n but shorter than Richie and she wore black and white bowling shoes to match the wide-legged jeans and polo underneath her apron. “Is it just you two?” She asked sweetly, hiking the pile of menus up higher on her arm.

“Yeah,” Richie said. He stuffed his hands in his back pocket, not knowing where to put them.

The waitress showed them to a small booth that sat in the corner of the brightly lit restaurant. It was too bright for y/n’s eyes under the red, blue, and pink hues that reflected across the shiny white tile, But the corner table the girl had brought them to would do. There was a certain coziness to it, or maybe it was the thought of sitting so close to Richie in a public setting that settled y/n’s eyes.

“I’m Annie. I’ll be your server today,” the girl said as soon as Richie and y/n slid into their respective sides of the red pleather seats. She was fast-talking and all shades of nervousness as her left hand went to grab the number two pencil that fastened the blonde curls that were pinned in a knot on top of her head. “Can I get you anything?”

“A menu would be nice,” y/n said. In front of them sat a table, salt and pepper shakers, and a half-empty Heinz ketchup bottle. Annie had forgotten to give the two a menu.

“My apologies!” She exclaimed, bashful. She handed them each a menu to sift through.

“Don’t sweat it.” Richie winked in her direction and y/n felt herself grow… what was that? Anger? Annie’s pale skin blushed a bright red and y/n could tell it wasn’t the apron making her feel hot.

It took Richie a full-fledged thirty seconds and two skims through the laminated paper for him to decide what he wanted, and it took y/n at least two minutes. “I’ll have a Cookies n Cream. Extra sweet.” Just like you.

y/n was biting her thumb and still reading over the same three flavors that caught her eye while Annie stood patiently waiting for her response. Richie was messing with the saltshaker. His leg found hers under the table and gave it a quick kick.

“Ouch.” She looked up from the menu, averting her attention to the boy in front of her with a fix glare. “Can I have Vanilla? With a cherry on top?”

Annie scribbled down both of their orders in messy writing before making her way across the floor and to the kitchen.

“Vanilla?” Richie laughed and y/n didn’t know what was so funny. “’Cause you’re vanilla?” He covered his mouth with his hand before another fit of laughter would consume the table.

“Shut up.” Swiftly, y/n’s leg propelled into his which caused Richie’s laughs to die down, replaced by a single yelp.

“So…” Richie’s eyebrows wiggled. His nails, which were painted a shade of deep blue by y/n and already chipped, thumped against the surface of the table. y/n could tell whatever he was beginning to suggest wouldn’t be something she liked just from the tone of his voice.

“So?”

“Why Bill?” Oh.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She knew exactly what he meant.

“Why do you like ole Big Bill?” The nickname had slipped out unconsciously. The nickname Richie hadn’t heard in years. The nickname Richie hadn’t said in years. It felt exotic on his lips, but comforting, like a hug from his mom.

Why did she like Bill? y/n asked herself silently. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek when the question popped up again and the sound of Bill’s voice startled her.

“What’s ruh-ruh-wrong? Juh-juh-hust tell me what I can do, and I’ll ff-fix it.” What was wrong? Seemingly, everything was perfect. The boy y/n had been crushing on for years was finally in her reach—her grasp, even. Bill’s head turned to face y/n, but his arm stayed tightly coiled around her side. It wasn’t the same as Richie’s possessive hold from two months ago. His hand that played with the fabric of her shirt felt cold. Bill felt cold.

It couldn’t be that she missed Richie, no. Richie was busy—probably swapping spit with one Vanessa Jennings. Vanessa with the light brown hair and curls that framed her not-too-big head ever so perfectly. Vanessa who never needed a tan. Vanessa with the long legs that were probably wrapped—

But it didn’t matter. y/n was busy, too. The Bill Denbrough was at her side and she couldn’t have asked for anything else. She didn’t need anything else. Not when his red flannel hugged her torso because are you could? My parents won’t let me turn up the heat, but I can offer you this. Like a gentleman, he proceeded to strip the flannel from his bodice, leaving him in a white baseball tee.

“Why would you think something’s wrong?” y/n looked at Bill then looked down to see the nails she had just painted were now ruined. She looked up again. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured, not all convincingly.

“You just… yo-you ha-haven’t-t s-s-said anything since you cuh-cuh-walked in.”

“I haven’t?” y/n asked, now picking at the tip of her thumb, hoping what had taken two weeks to grow out would magically regrow in seconds. Saving his voice, Bill only shook his head.

“You nuh-know you can tuh-tell me. Ruh-right?” y/n nodded but what could she tell him?

Sorry I’ve been holding a massive crush on you for years like one holds a cleaver over their head but all of a sudden I’m into this guy I met in my art class who never brushes his hair and writes ‘smoking and smoking hot’ on his college resume.

“I think I’m just tired,” she lied while also feigning a yawn. She covered her mouth when it opened, pretending to be sleepy.

“Do-do you want me to tuh-take you home?” Bill asked. He was just as thoughtful as Richie. He was just as handsome as Richie, maybe even more. So why couldn’t y/n bring herself to like him as much as Richie? His arm left from her side and he used it to pick up the remote, turning the tv off. The worst part was, that when Bill’s hand stopped playing with the fabric of the flannel she wore and his arm left her frame, she didn’t feel a coldness that would usually wash over her when Richie’s arm left her. She felt free.

“I don’t want our afternoon to be spoiled,” y/n said. Her eyebrows furrowed and even though she knew she was lying through her teeth, she wanted to make this work. After all these years of pining for her study partner and favorite Derry High baseball player, she needed for this to work. To see the vision she’d created in her head, just a mere two years ago, collapse in front of her very eyes broke her. But at the same time, she was indifferent. Why should she care about the boy in front of her when the boy she actually wanted was a neighborhood away?

“Tr-trust me. It-it’s not.” Bill shrugged. He stood up and offered y/n his hand which she didn’t take. Instead, she sat there, planted in her same seat, waiting for him to continue. “I can tuh-take you home. And wuh-we can hang out to-tomorrow. You nuh-know when you’re well rested.” All of the sudden, this felt very real. Hanging out with Bill felt real. Being at his house felt real. And though his efforts were valiant, y/n couldn’t accept the offer.

A smile graced her lips and Bill mirrored that. “Yeah, okay. Uh, take me home—please.”

y/n stood up and Bill guided her to the door and to Zach Denbrough’s car as if she hadn’t had the place memorized from when she first came over for a History project they’d been assigned to do.

What did she ever see in him?

“I don’t know.” y/n’s shoulders bopped up and down and even though her figure was hunched, Richie still thought she looked graceful.

“Are you just sayin’ that or did you end up falling in love with little ole me and you can’t think of anything?” Just then, their milkshakes arrived. Both in frosted glass and both with a cherry on top. A feeling of relief swallowed the lump in her throat, or maybe that was the taste of vanilla ice cream now that she was given some time, and a reason, to stall. y/n hated how on-the-nose Richie could be. But she also loved that about him. He could be so, so unexpectedly smart about some things. Things that were right in front of her that she’d never even notice until Richie pointed it out. “Oh, come on.” Richie’s words would’ve sliced through the silence in the air if it weren’t for the chatter of other people and jukebox playing in the background. “Seriously, y/n/n, there’s gotta be something that drew you to him.”

“Well… he’s nice.”

“Okay cut the crap.”

“What?” y/n asked, finding herself annoyed that she not only had to reveal her feelings to a boy she may or may not like but also because he’s nice apparently wasn’t a sufficient enough answer.

“I need an actual answer. Not some bullshit response like he’s nice or he’s funny. Anyone can be nice or funny, y/n.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, Bill is nice. He’s genuine, and cares about the people around him… Selfless.”

Richie was upset at her response. Not because y/n countered his argument in a way he was left speechless but because she was right. Bill was the nice guy and Richie… wasn’t. Bill was the one who looked out for others, making sure they were okay. He was the one who made sure no one got left behind. He was the one everyone looked up to—not Richie, Bill. It was always Bill. Whereas Richie’s just the guy who stands in the background making funny noises only to be told to shut up.

“Yeah… Bill is nice.”

“Don’t tell me you’re my competition, Tozier.” y/n laughed at the oddity of fighting with Richie for the chance to be with Bill.

“Nah,” Richie shook his head, his hair flying in any direction possible. “You’re lucky I’m not, though. You wouldn’t have the chance, babe.”

y/n wanted to eat her heart out at the usage of babe in such an informal setting where they didn’t have to pretend, but the maraschino cherry resting on top of the pile of whipped cream would suffice. “Do you still like Vanessa?” The words tumbled from y/n’s mouth like they were nothing. But embarrassment replaced the blood flowing through her veins once she was aware of what she just said.

“It’s… complicated,” Richie said honestly, not caring that y/n might’ve crossed boundaries just then.

“What’s complicated?” y/n cocked her head like a puppy questioning why its master was making weird hand motions.

“You’ll understand when you’re older, kid.” Richie didn’t mean to come off as condescending, but he did.

“I’m the same age as you.” y/n crossed her arms after pushing away the half-empty, frosted glass in front of her.

Ignoring the red straw in his drink, Richie brought the edge of the glass to his lips and swallowed the thick shake. “Here’s the thing. Vanessa and I go way back.”

“How far is way back if you only dated her for four months?” y/n regretted even bringing her up. Maybe it was different back then, back when the two were actually dating. But now, y/n couldn’t remember a time when someone said the name ‘Richie Tozier’ and her heart didn’t feel like it would explode into a collision of fireworks.

“Four and a half,” Richie corrected with a grin breaking out on his lips. “But I dunno. She’s just special.”

“Special as in…?” y/n probed, and she hated herself for her big mouth that wouldn’t stop applying lemon juice to an obviously open wound.

“I love her.” Richie took another drink of Cookies n Cream, which was more cream than cookies, and y/n sat there in shock. She would be silly to think that after all these weeks, Richie would feel the same way about her. After all, he had a life outside of the fake one they’d construed. Or maybe Richie was just less emotionally confined to these sorts of things. He knew better than to get caught up in a fake relationship. Of course he would.

But knowing Richie still loved his ex, struck something in y/n’s core. And the fact that he was able to say it in such a nonchalant manner—such casualty—only dug deeper at the pit in her stomach.

“You love her?” y/n asked, her mouth still full of the sweet treat he’d pay for later in the evening.

“Love. Loved.” Richie shrugged like this was nothing—well, maybe this was nothing. Maybe y/n was the speck of dust on his shirt and him shrugging was the last of her existence from his being leaving. “What’s the difference?”

“There’s a big difference.” y/n wanted to scream. Luckily, she had enough self-perseverance to keep her composure. She swallowed. “One is past tense, and one is present tense.”

“How ‘bout I put it this way.” Richie set aside his drink so now nothing was blocking his view of y/n. He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “I don’t like…” He paused. Revealing that he had no intention in getting back with his once first love would possibly wreck this whole thing. “If Vanessa asked, I’d probably get back with her,” Richie finally said, thinking that must’ve been a suitable way to word the jumble of letters floating around in his head like alphabet soup.

“You would?” y/n asked, feeling like a little kid all over again.

Richie didn’t say anything.

“Do you and her still…”

“Still what?”

“Talk, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” y/n messed with her fingers, pulling at a hangnail she’d know she’d regret doing when it got to later in the night.

“Nah. But don’t worry about it, sweets.” Richie took out his wallet only to be met with a picture of the dreaded girl they’d just been talking about. He gulped. His spit tasted like Oreos and he knew he’d have a stomachache later. Richie thumbed out a ten-dollar bill and five ones to keep Alexander Hamilton company. “Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”

It was what she was wondering.

But she’d never let Richie know that. y/n crossed her arms tighter around her torso because right now it felt like Richie could see right through her.

Richie drove her home in the same way Bill would a month from that night. But Richie had a better taste in music and y/n was actually sad to part from him when he left her at her doorstep.

“I’m really sorry I had to cut our time short,” y/n said. She was sorry.

“It’s ff-fine. I al-already sai—”

“Yeah, but I feel awful, Bill.” y/n finally mucked up the courage to look him in the eye. Those blue eyes that’d been searching for hers all afternoon. “This was probably like… the worst first date in the history of first dates.”

“Ih-it’s not so bad. But that duh-depends on how muh-many first dates you’ve been on.” Bill laughed and y/n was trying to figure out what was funny about what he said.

“You’ve been on worse ones?” y/n asked anxiously.

“Luh-let’s just say th-they duh-didn’t get a second date.”

y/n nodded while her hands started to search for the keys in her purse.

“I’ll ss-see you tuh-tomorrow?”

“Or at my funeral. Whichever comes first.” For a moment, the bad thoughts cleared from the surface of y/n’s head. Laughter was the only thing she was aware of for a moment.

“Bye, y/n/n.”

“Bye, Richie,” y/n said bashfully. Her hands were strewn behind her back because she didn’t know what they would do if they weren’t. He was about to walk off—off into the moonlight. And y/n would have to wait until Monday to see him again. It was one day too long because she knew even though the two of them had nothing better to do tomorrow, he’d see it as just friends whereas y/n would see it… differently. “Richie, wait!”

“What?” Richie turned around. His hands sat inside of his front pockets and his posture was slumped, as always.

“Thanks… for tonight.” Richie nodded, and validation from him served as a sick kind of ego booster that egged y/n to keep going. “They really are the best milkshakes in town.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s scratchy voice soothed y/n under the frosty air that came from winters in Maine. y/n stepped closer, her hands still behind her back.

“Did you have a good time?”

“You know I always have a good time when I’m with you.” Richie nudged y/n’s elbow with his but was taken aback by her hands that now gripped his shoulders and how suddenly close she was against him.

y/n kissed him on the cheek, not daring to go for his lips because who’s ever heard of a kiss goodbye on the cheek? Is probably what Stacy Howards would retort back to her after she’d spill the happenings of Saturday night to Derry High’s favorite cheerleader in study hall.

His cheek tasted like salt and Irish Spring—that is, if she knew what Irish Spring tasted like. Which she definitely didn’t.

She didn’t linger long. Richie wished she stayed longer. The kiss was short and sweet and the taste of vanilla on her lips replaced a fraction of his cheek that tasted like body wash and sodium chloride.

“Goodnight,” y/n said, now finally coming to her senses.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie blinked, an alternative to pinching himself in front of the girl he’d been pretending to date. “Night.” But after pretending for so long, Richie couldn’t help but notice the less it felt like pretending.

y/n closed the door behind her with a slam, making sure to lock it in case intruders were in the neighborhood. Now that Bill was gone, her first instinct was to call up Richie—tell him that the date went well, and how he was such a great friend, and thanks for the help. But there were only so many times she could lie to a boy she felt feelings so deeply for. The first, coincidentally, was when Richie had asked how things were going with Bill.

“Make any progress so far?” Richie asked with a face full of ham. They were eating lunch together, per usual. But this time, unlike the many times before, the hand that wasn’t holding his sandwich was rubbing circles on y/n’s small hand that Richie’s swallowed.

“Comme ci comme ça.” y/n smiled to herself at her basic understanding any French One student would master. “It’s going alright…” y/n had never been a natural liar. Whenever she told her parents she had cleaned her room when she, in fact, didn’t, the hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention and her forearm broke out in an itch she could never quite scratch. But her internal biological workings had given her a break today. There was no itch and her hairs stayed in place from when she styled her hair that morning.

“What’s alright?” Richie questioned, though it sounded more like an interrogation.

“He started talking to me more.”

“He didn’t already talk to you?” Richie’s eyebrow rose because how were you supposed to fall for a guy you barely talked to?

“Well, yeah, he talks to me.” The pad of Richie’s thumb that was drawing slow circles onto y/n’s knuckles turned into lines. Back and forth. Back and forth. “But he used to talk to me about classwork and… you know, like, school.” Richie smiled when she talked. He was happy for his friend. He truly was. But he couldn’t stand the fact that the guy she was talking about wasn’t him—let alone, his former best friend. “And in APUSH, instead of asking about my grade or whatever, he… asked about me.”

“What’d Mister Charming have to say?”

Mister Charming sat two seats away from y/n. But that didn’t stop him from talking to her. Every now and then, Bill would steal glances at the girl from his peripheral vision. Sometimes, if he were feeling bold, he’d turn to face her—but that action only occurred when she was speaking. Today, however, was different. Today he’d talk to her.

Lucky for Bill, the pencil sharpener sat in the back of class—close to where y/n’s seat was.

“Hey.”

y/n looked up from her textbook. She didn’t want to assume the hushed voice was for her—but she had to figure the tap on her shoulder was.

“Hi.” She set her pencil down and folded her arms flat on the desk. “What’s up?” y/n swore she sounded insane. Who says what’s up—

“Th-the sky.” Bill’s smile made cloudy days seem cloudless. “I was wuh-wondering ih—” He swallowed the trail of saliva that gathered in the back of his throat. “If… are yo-you and Ruh-Richie like…”

“No!” y/n said quickly and a little too loudly.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Muh-maybe we cuh-could hang out… This Saturday work?” A stroke of nervousness flitted across his features for a second even though Bill didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The rest of y/n’s words got caught in her throat and she instinctively found herself writing down her number on the scratch piece of paper Mr. Ferguson passed out for notetaking.

“Call me.”

Bill did call. Which was precisely how y/n was stuck frozen in time; her back slanted against the door and her thoughts racing against one another.

She had two options at hand. Call Richie. Find Richie. Or wait it out for tomorrow when Bill’s same car would be in her driveway, waiting for her.

But a third option was already at y/n’s doorstep, contemplating ringing the doorbell.

Richie Tozier stood outside of y/n’s front door, palms sweaty and unusually anxious for confrontation. His pale fingers knotted together. It was their way of stalling from interacting with y/n for as long as possible—or as long as curfew would allow him to.

“Hey.” His stalling attempt was left unsuccessful when y/n opened the door. Ironically, he was just the person she had hoped to run into. “What are… what are you doing?”

“Me?” Richie’s eyebrows stitched together, and he pointed to himself with his index finger.

“You’re the only one here,” y/n deadpanned.

“I was just in the neighborhood, y’know. Doin’ neighborly things.”

“You don’t live in this neighborhood.” Richie feigned laughter but this time y/n didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously, Rich, why are you here? You knew I had my date with Bill and—”

“And what?” His tone grew firm, like it had grabbed her by the hand and urged whatever was eating at her insides out of her.

“And I don’t think you should be here, after I just got done with my date with somebody else!” y/n said with a shaky breath. She could feel her heartbeat almost burning through her chest that rose and fell harshly.

“How was it? Your date?” Richie had calmed down, but y/n didn’t.

“It went bad. Is that what you wanted to hear?” y/n muttered, but it could’ve been mistaken for a yell.

“No, why would you think—hold on. What’s up with you?” Richie’s hands stuffed themselves in his front pocket. His posture was hunched over, and his face now screwed together, trying to understand the girl standing before him.

“I don’t know.” The flame that had once ignited y/n’s lively spirits had died down. “I just. It didn’t go well, that’s all,” y/n said, unable to coax the words she actually wanted to say out of her lips.

“He wasn’t an asshole, was he?” Richie’s tone was protective—nothing y/n would expect from him two months ago when she’d gotten themselves into this mess.

“No! No.” y/n was complicated. First, she’d spew off about how her date was bad and now she was defending said date?

“God, y/n/n, can you just make up your mind?”

She could do that.

“You were right,” y/n declared.

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, but Richie could still make out what she was saying.

“Well, I’m always right, toots. I just need context—”

“About the fake dating thing. How eventually one person’s bound to fall for the other…” Her toes curled from under the white Converse she hadn’t had time to slip off. They were worn and the bottoms were yellowing from the number of times she’d matched them to an outfit. “And you don’t look like you’re on your knees, so.”

“So, what?” y/n didn’t notice the smirk edging on the corners of Richie’s lips.

“Tozier, don’t make me say it.”

“You have to, or God knows how long we’ll be standing on this fuckin’ porch,” Richie said patiently. Patient. Richie was never patient—always the one to urge his friends to hurry the fuck up, always the one to ask are we there yet? But this time he was. His figure stood still and ominous, like Santa on Christmas Eve. His breathing held steady in his lungs that had seen more smoke than his mother’s kitchen and his feet stood planted on the concrete stoop of y/n’s house and they’d stay there until she told him the very damned thing she didn’t want to.

“I like you, okay?” y/n knew if she blinked, the dam of tears in her eyes would finally burst and the last thing she wanted was having Richie Tozier see her cry. Well, second to last thing. The first thing on that list had already happened. “Look, I know you’re still in love with Van-Vanessa.” It hurt to say the girl’s name because she wasn’t just a girl, she was Richie’s ex. “But you asked me to say it and I did. So there.”

y/n was about to turn back. Back into her house and back out of this friendship. It was only because Richie laughed that y/n stopped. His chuckle was like music, not the kind that Richie blasted in his car with the windows down, but like a symphony. And if y/n were any less mortified right now, maybe she’d stop to admire it—him—for one second more.

She was about to ask why. Why are you mocking me when I’m so clearly in a vulnerable state right now? Why are you mocking me after I’d just shared something so deep and personal with the likes of you? About the likes of you? But y/n didn’t get the chance when Richie surged forward and pressed a kiss against her lips. She could feel her heart pick up even more at the taste of him: spearmint and tobacco. She thought it’d stabilize itself once his lips left hers, but it didn’t. His taste lingered and at the time it felt permanent, like a red stain on white furniture.

“Like I said. Ole Vanessa could never get in the way of you.” His breath hit her face, warm and intoxicating, and y/n could only think that kissing Richie on the lips was way better than kissing him on the cheek.

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x reader fluff #richie tozier x reader angst #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier fic #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier angst #richie tozier fluff #it 2017 #it 2019 #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it x reader #it imagine #it fanfic #it fic #losers x reader #losers club x reader

[hlvrai-loving]

Something Lacking

Joshua held his legs as he sat on the grass, silently watching the newly-recovered crow peck at a bowl of raspberries and blueberries. He'd figured it was only fair, giving it something to help it get back on its feet. It was his window the poor thing flew into after all.

"... You know, someone in my class, he used to get a lotta crows at his place..." He spoke softly to the bird, as though it could understand or respond. "I always thought he was pretty lucky, getting all those birds there. I figured they must really like it there, to fly over every day and eat whatever they could find... Must've been a paradise for them..."

The corvid bit back a few more berries, cawing before it went back for more. Joshua sighed, staring up at the cloudy sky. It still felt like it was getting colder, day by day, despite how weather usually was in New Mexico. Even during the winter months, he stood by the fact that it was never this cold before.

"... Anyways, I guess his dad kinda got fed up with them for ruining his lawn or whatever. He set up a bunch of things so they'd fuck off, but... well, they ended up being the neighbors' problem since it was closest to the other house. Neighbors complained to the dad, dad complained back to them. Like, what a big mess for a couple'a birds, am I right?"

The crow stared at him for a few moments, only to caw and flap its wings. Joshie gave a ghost of a smile. "Feeling better? Good enough to fly off yet, lil guy? Heh..." He wouldn't say he was still feeling stressed exactly, not entirely at least, but there was a large part of him that felt... anxious about heading back into his room. About going through more and more messages. About looking through more and more files. About... about finding out things no one should ever know. The words one of the messages spoke seemed to ring through his head endlessly. "Maybe they just stopped existing."

Despite the absurdity of it all, the thought itself sent chills up his spine. Whatever might've happened in that sector all those years ago... was he really ready to see through it all to the end?

Was he really ready for whatever consequences finding the truth might have?

He ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. He was too far in now to give up, wasn't he? If he was going to be watched, tormented, threatened, he might as well make the most of it. Can't be too sure any of it would go back to normal if he suddenly stopped, can he? At least continuing on didn't make all the crap he was going through completely meaningless, right?

"... A lot of problems would be so much easier if I were like you. Could just fly away, maybe to wherever dad is. I'd actually be doing something worthwhile..." The crow stepped over to him as he spoke, eyeing him and letting out a few calls.

Evidently, it was still hungry.

Josh sighed. "I don't have anymore, sorry." The avian bobbed its head a few times, calling out louder and louder, before suddenly running off and taking flight.

"... Hm." He watched it for a bit, pushing himself up to head back inside when it was out of sight.

Josh shut the door of the garage behind him, cringing slightly at how loud it was. After finding the bird dazed and thankfully uninjured, he'd decided it'd need food and energy of some kind to make up for the stress it must've been going through. Seeing as the garage was closer to the kitchen than the front door was, it made sense to him at the time to go through here, even though opening the door to the damn thing probably took the same amount of time it would've taken him just to run through the front and to the kitchen anyways. Would've saved him from having to hear it again, that's for damn sure.

With that done, he turned to head towards the inner door, and that's when he spotted it. On the bottom shelf, nearest to the door, was a metal box, shut tight with a sturdy-looking lock. That... wasn't there before, was it? He's almost positive he would've noticed it before among the rest of the items, it wasn't like this place was used by anyone these days. It didn't even seem to have any dust on it...

Cautiously, Josh reached out and took it. It wasn't particularly heavy, whatever was in it didn't seem to move much when he tilted it. He wasn't exactly dumb enough to try shaking it, whatever's in there could be fragile after all.

"What the hell..." He muttered, looking around the shelves and drawers for a key. Of course, he came up empty. Whatever keys there were in here were old and much less sleek in design than the box itself was. Still, he made sure to try, just in case. Yet, no matter which one he tried, not a single one would fit.

Josh groaned in annoyance, slamming the box back onto the shelf. Another pointless loose end to add to his ever-growing list. Just another pointless item to piss him off when he's already stressed.

However, his anger quickly vanished as he froze, having heard something past the door. It was soft, faint, but repetitive. Footsteps, he realised, and they were getting louder.

The boy's eyes grew wide as he took a quick glance around the room, desperate and trembling as he searched for somewhere to hide. Finally, his eyes settled on a large wooden board propped up against the wall, just the right angle for him to hide behind and still check on whoever entered, hopefully without being seen. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he hid within, figuring he'd take a peek once he was sure they weren't looking.

The door slammed open not even a moment later, causing Josh to silently cower.

He heard them stomp in, rummaging through a toolbox as loudly as they could. Next, they made their way to the center of the room before stopping, perhaps weighing their options. Then, after what felt like an eternity, they spoke.

"... Come on out, fucker! I know you're in here! If you come out now, I'll letcha keep your kneecaps!"

And it was at this moment that Joshua's fears bubbled away into annoyance. You're kidding, he thought, You've gotta be fucking kidding me. It was the absolute furthest possibility from his mind, but his ears couldn't have deceived him. Just to be certain, he took a look.

And there, wielding a large wrench from one of the toolboxes, was Allen. It was nobody but Allen.

"Jesus fucking christ!" The smaller boy exclaimed, exiting his hiding spot. Allen whipped his body towards him as soon as he spoke, the menacing face he wore fading into a jovial smile once he recognized him. "You damn near gave me a heart attack! What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I heard the fuckin, the garage door, loud as shit! I thought somebody broke in!" Allen chuckled. "The fuck you doin' in here?"

"Hiding!" He retorted, "I thought you were-! Wait, why are you in my house?!"

Allen shrugged slightly. "Well, you weren't picking up your phone or answering my texts so I came over to check on you. One of the windows was open so I kindaaa... maybe came in through it?"

Josh gave an incredulous stare. "... You saw I wasn't picking up so you just... broke in?"

"Hey hey hey! It's not breaking in if the window's open, got it? Besides, I made sure to lock it once I was in." The taller boy corrected, the wrench still tightly gripped in his right hand.

"How long have you been in my house for? Were you jus-"

"Look look, you can ask me this later, alright? I came here for two reasons. First was to make sure you weren't, y'know, dead or something. Second was, uh... to ask you something."

He couldn't believe it. His heart was still hammering in his chest, his body still trembling just from this light scare, and what for? Just a question? Just to check in?

But then he noticed. On Allen's back was his schoolbag, seeming full to the brim and holding on with a single strap. His knuckles were scraped, his jeans a mess of dirt and small tears. Al ran a hand through his messy hair, tugging at a few of his crimson streaks, seemingly unconcerned.

"... Man, heh, this is like, wicked embarrassing." The taller teen chuckled, glancing away from Josh. "Could I... y'know, crash at your place for a bit? Not-mom 'n pops are being pretty... eh, unrad right now, so I don't exactly wanna head back while they're still mad, ya feel?"

He didn't know what to respond at first. Sure, this wouldn't be the first time Allen slept at his place, but the circumstances this time, they... They were unfamiliar to him. But, regardless of all that, he found himself fretting over what might happen if he refused. Where Allen might head instead and how he'd feel... He came to Josh first, most likely, and he wasn't close enough with their other friends to ask them for something like this.

Ultimately, it was probably no surprise that, with a gentle smile to his best friend, he said yes.

"Of course, I... I getcha. I'll have to check back in with mom when she returns, but you can stay here until then, alright?"

Allen gave a big smile, his eyes seeming to light up at the confirmation. He pulled Josh into a tight hug, surprising him with the sudden affection. "Thanks. I'll owe it to ya later." Then he pulled away with a playful laugh. "Anyways, let's get the hell outta the garage. Gotta bed to set up, don't we?"

It seemed too sudden, making light of the whole thing as if it were nothing more than a sleepover, but that tended to be how many interactions with Allen went. All Josh could do in response was smile slightly and nod.

"Yeah, you'll have to put that away though. Don't need any rust in my room." He referred to the wrench of course. Al glanced down at it and rolled his eyes.

"Nyeh nyeh, whatever, neerrrd!" He plopped it back into the toolbox with a clang. With that done, he sped over to the door. "Race ya to your room, NERD!"

"Hey! No fair!" Josh called back, chasing after him with a soft laugh.

The locked box on the shelf was already nothing more than a distant memory as he ran.

#jfreeman #joshua freeman #hlvrai joshua #ask joshua freeman #mostly just for my ask blog but i hope you enjoy it anyways #not my best work but itll have to do

[cola-fucking-losers]

as promised heres the stupid thing-

Edd was definitely chubby, he can't deny that. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a lot of times where he feels bad about it, before he starts to get over it. Not until there was an afternoon he and Matt got into a heated debated about the meaning of 'Thicc' and why is it a trend.

Matt of course lost, seeming that he lacked the braincells to really process everything. It brought satisfaction to Edd, but he did start to wonder if he was considered 'Thicc'

No, he wasn't talking about having large hips and an ass so curved you can search for its equation. He was wondering if he, a grown man who probably has diabetes, can look nice wearing tight clothes. Specifically, ones for below that always bring out the curves on people.

Tom pointed this out first, joking about it before Edd's brain started to overanalyze it. So now Edd has to go through a phase where he's angry at Tom for that.

Matt decided to say "Why don't you try some on?" Before shoving some clothes onto the brunette's face. He huffs, and tosses them away, refusing to participate.

He cringes at the shorts he was given, it looked uncomfortably tight. And the stockings were no good either because there's no way in hell he was gonna wear fishnet stockings. He picked up a tight pair of jeans, and he was pretty sure those belonged to Mark, so he tossed them away too. He picks up....he picks up a piece of underwear that he quickly deleted from his memory.

Everything looked either uncomfortably compact, or looked like something you'd find in an adult-themed clothe shop. Edd tossed them all away.

Matt had to pick them up, offended. "Why won't you put them on?"

And before Edd could explain why you can't just suddenly recommend someone to wear something uncomfortably explicit, Mark explained it himself. "Those look like they're for stripping rather than making Edd feel nice."

It's times like these Edd forgives Mark and the times he was rudely sarcastic.

Matt hums, before he dashed back into his room. And once the Red-head returns, he was carrying a smaller stack of clothes. He sets them down, and lets Edd examine.

And finally, he finds some clothes that looked nice and comfortable, without making him look like someone who's about to work in a strip club.

Edd's fingers traced the outside of a piece of shorts. "Well-...I guess I'll try them."

He wasn't really the type to even consider wearing something that even tried to hug his skin. He'd rather wear large clothes that were loose. But trying wouldn't hurt...right?

Actually it did, a bit. He first wanted to try some jeans. They didn't look TOO tight, so he figured he'd try that first on. And he regrets it.

It took what felt like hours to even properly shove his whole left leg in. He had to stop to catch his breath, and then he struggled again just so he can lift up the hem up to his waist.

Though the battle tested his patience, he won. He successfully put on the jeans. He felt like he deserved a price, so he steps out his room. And walking unto the kitchen, he passes Eduardo who was busy cooking and grabs a can of cola from the fridge.

After chugging the whole can down, he hears a curse word. Edd raises an eyebrow. The Hispanic dropped a plate, but it thankfully landed on a rug. He quickly picks it up.

Eduardo to gulps as he forced his eyes to not move. Ironic, because he usually tried to avoid anyone's gaze at all, but right now was a crucial moment for him to not even spare a quick glance at whatever the fuck was hugging Edd's legs so tightly.

He turns back to cooking, And Edd shrugs whatever happened and walks back to his room. And once the door closes, he curses internally. He completely forgot to ask Eduardo if he looked okay.

He ignores the thought, because he's pretty sure Eduardo is just gonna throw an insult at him.

That was proven the next morning when he put on a pair of shorts. They were tight, but with a hoodie on he felt...cute?

Whatever it was, he felt nice, and his legs felt less warm.

He walks in the kitchen that morning, hoping to make some cereal. And as soon as he did, Eduardo drops a plate. "SHIT!"

Edd was thankful he decided to stack up on plastic plates instead, because if that was glass he could've brought wrath on the Hispanic. Eduardo quickly picks up the plate, and frowns. "Damn it- I just washed this-" He curses, before he places it in the sink again.

"You okay?" Edd casually asks, walking up to the Hispanic. The man was stiff. If looks could kill, he's pretty much trying to melt the plate he was holding with that scowl of his as he aggressively scrubs it.

"fine."

That was not fine. He wouldn't even look at him.

"cool- uhm.." Edd fixes his shorts a little "Does this look okay on me?" Eduardo turns, but quickly focuses back on the plate.

"Looks terrible."

Edd frowns, mostly because that's such an Eduardo thing to do, but also, ouch. The confidence he had earlier had long disappeared, so he just throws whatever comeback he had and goes back to his room. He tears the shorts away, and shoves his normal brown pants on.

But still, Edd can get pretty heated too. He didn't spend thirty minutes trying to shove clothes on just to get insulted like that.

So the next morning, he still placed some shorts back on. And while it took him awhile, he forced himself to force doubts away, and puts on some white socks that reached past his knees, just a few inches away from the end of his shorts.

He stomps to the kitchen, and was going to prove that he does NOT look terrible. Edaurdo gives him one short look, before he turns away..again.

Edd almost looked childish when he huffed angrily. "L o s e r."

He whispered loudly. Just to grab Eduardo's attention. And what better way to grab it than calling him that? It always gets on his nerves quickly.

The Hispanic turns back again, fuming. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused." Edd grins. Eduardo just shoots a glare, and turns away again. Nope, nuh uh. Edd ain't taking that.

"losersayshuh" "Huh?"

Edd laughs, while he lets Eduardo slowly process what just happened.

"Motherfucker- how dare you!" He finally got his full attention "That's not fair!" "Yes it was." Edd replies. "No it wasn't! I want a rematch!" Eduardo demands.

"Okay-" The Brit had his chance "Loser doesn't say these shorts looks good on me." The Hispanic stares. Then blinks.

"Are you seriously upset about yesterday." "You were upset for years over a painting."

Eduardo nods, closing his eyes. He lets out a frustrated sigh.

"That's fair."

He finally looks at Edd's legs. The Brit swore, the longer Eduardo looked, the more he begins to look sweaty. Then before staring back into his eyes, "Your shorts looks okay."

It wasn't what Edd exactly wanted, but whatever, he'll take it. "HAH! Not so terrible now huh?"

Eduardo smirks. "I said 'tear-able'. I feel pretty bad for the poor shorts." He crosses his arms. Edd starts pouting again. "It's not my fault I'm Dummy Thick!"

The Hispanic chokes on his spit. "Dummy what now-"

Edd was just joking, but the way Eduardo's face flushed made him want to go further.

 "I'm dummy thick, and you can never achieve the peak physique of having these babies." He slaps his own thigh. Which was like- a bit painful. He can see a light red mark on his pasty skin, but that was his fault.

"How dare you- I might not have an ass but at least I've got legs to make up for it!!" Eduardo kicks up high, causing a plate edging off the counter to get flipped up before landing on the floor loudly. "Geez-" Edd picks it up himself "that's the third plate you dropped this week." Eduardo just grumbles something in another language as he snatches the plate back. Edd simply hummed, and slaps his thigh again.

"Ow-"

Why did he even do that? "Why did you even do that?" Eduardo repeats.

"Good question!" Edd finger-guns "I have no idea."

Eduardo rolls his eyes as he kneels, just so he can inspect the mark on Edd's thighs. The Brit blinks, before he subtly drags his eyes somewhere. Looking down currently gave him...suggestive ideas of how else the view could look.

The Hispanic snickers at the mark. "It looks like what happens if dalmatians were white and red-" He pokes, then he pauses. He pokes again. Edd looks back and gives him an odd look.

The Tan brunette stares a little longer, before full on grabbing Edd's thigh.

"Oh my fucking god?" Eduardo whispered, squishing a bit. Edd squeaks, slapping the hand away. "Holy crap- I knew you were soft- not that soft-....?" Eduardo almost laughs.

"It was like holding a pillow! I was right! You really are just a marshmallow!" Edd flushed pink a little. "What? Were you expecting me to feel like a cracker?"

Eduardo shrugged "It's not easy to have an idea if you barely show skin. All I ever seen you wear are long sleeves and pants. I've only seen you shirtless once." He stands up and pat's the Brit's shoulder. "It's okay, pudgy. Maybe one day you will gain SOME muscles."

Edd slaps the hand away, offended. "At least I'm SOFT and good for cuddling." Eduardo gives a manic grin. "So like..a tEDDy bear?"

The Brit starts hitting Eduardo while he laughs, trying to back away. "That was a pun!!That's my job! I'm gonna break your kneecaps!!" Edd yells. "Oh come on- At least it wasn't an insult."

He stops, and huffs. "I mean..okay. I guess." He sighs "You wanna cuddle my thighs next and call them shitty leg pillows?" Eduardo replies with "Really?"

Which was the least expected thing Edd heard- because as far as he knows, he was just joking.

"...Yeah- sure. If you wanna nap on here, then go crazy." He says. Because who is he to complain? It's free cuddles. Plus he never really had someone place their head down there, so this is a first.

"Okay- but- Breakfast—" "Breakfast can wait. Thigh Snuggles" "that sounds very suggestive." "And comfy." "But the fucking breakfast Eddie-" "It can w a i t."

The Paler brunette was already dragging Eduardo to the living room. Edd sat comfortably on the floor, and pats his lap. Eduardo stared awkwardly before he glares sideways. "Really? Now you're gonna be a tsundere?" "I am NOT-..!"

Eduardo just pouts more. Edd gives a stoic look.

"Just get over here."

The Hispanic grumbles, and reluctantly sits near. All what's left was him lying...his head...down..there.

It just sounded so...something a couple would do. And as far as Eduardo was aware, they aren't one. Edd didn't seem to care though, because he took the liberty to gently pulling Eduardo down, and set his head down on his lap.

Oh god- he's doing it. He's resting his head on someone's thighs, and it's Edd, out of all people. Not that he was complaining, it's just not what he really expected. The Brit starts to play with his hair, humming a little.

Eduardo let's his eyes shut. Edd found It adorable. Not that he's gonna say that out loud.

"Are you fucking humming despacito-" He growls, and starts to rise up. The Brit laughs and tries to keep Eduardo back down. "I didn't notice! I'll just sing something else.." He ponders a bit.

"When you try your best but-" "NO."

Edd laughs as Eduardo tries to scramble away like a cat again. "But It's a good song! Come ooon-" He tried to sound upset, but he just snorts.

"You just wanna sing memes!" "Maybe so- but come on. Is it NOT a good song?"

The Hispanic grunts as he crosses his arms. But he did let his head fall back to Edd's lap again. "Fine- But only sing the other parts." Edd shook his head. "Nuh uh- I can't hit those notes." "You don't even have to- you just have to sing it-" "Says the guy who's been blessed with a good singing voice!"

Eduardo turns to glare at Edd. "Pillsbury- I want you to shut the fuck up and sing. I've heard worse, and It took me years to even speak fluent English, so don't give me that shit." Then he smirks. "Unless...you're too much of a pussy to do it?"

Edd frowns. "You're not helping. I am NOT gonna sing it." "Come on- It's just the other verses." Eduardo reaches up to pinch the Brit's cheeks. "My singing isn't even good...!"

There was pause. Before Eduardo takes a deep breath. "..If you never try you'll never know, Just what you're worth.." "Did you just-" But Edd gets cut off..

"Lights will guide you home.." "I'm not gonna sing Eduardo-" "And ignite your bones.." "You can't make me continue-"

Eduardo just stares up, waiting for Edd to continue the lines. And what seemed to be a good minute, Edd frowns, and sighs, giving in.

"And I will try..to fix you." Eduardo shoots Edd with a grin, and they both continue the song.

"Tears stream down your face, When you lose something you cannot replace-" Edd tries to not laugh, but he did find it a bit ridiculous. Still, they moved forward.

"Tears stream sliding your face, And I--...." Wow- They actually sound pretty good. The Brit watches as Eduardo's eyes shut close again. But he was still smiling, and singing along.

"Tears stream down your face, I promise you I will learn from all my mistakes." The paler brunette also lets his eyes flutter close.

"Tears stream down your face, And I--..." The same line was repeated, but Edd was pretty sure he let himself get carried away, and he tried to be extra while singing that part. But hey- who cares?

"Lights will guide you home, And ignite your bones..."

Edd opens his eyes, and Eduardo does the same.

"..And I will try to fix you.."

They gave each other a small smile, until of course, one of them have to ruin it. Edd noticed this pattern.

"Sappy." "I sang better."

They stare a little longer. Then Edd breaks into a fit of giggles. "Yeah, you did." Eduardo only beamed.

#cola losers #long post #alksdjs #eddedu #one shot thingy is in the read more #edd x eduardo #ew edd #ew eduardo #my art #abs draws #*coughs* chapter 27

[the-entity-down-the-street]

Memory Eater

Since a few of you have expressed interest in reading my terato stories, I’ve decided to start posting a few. This first one is actually from a workshop I did for class back in the spring of 2019. I wrote it when I was going through a bad mental health period, and BPD was kicking my ass. Mental illness is a frequent theme in my work,and I’ll tag accordingly. I’ll the put the story under the cut. if you aren’t interested in my stories, blacklist the tag “entitywrites”

Hope you guys enjoy!

Dahlia woke up in her closet with one hell of a hangover, a hollow void where last night should’ve been, and a sticky note on her chest. She peeled it off to read.

Call me so I know you’re okay, if you could. Thank you, babe! – Love, Gideon

Her questions were caught between a pounding headache and a desperate need to vomit. Dahlia stumbled out of her closet and dashed to the bathroom.

Once her stomach was emptied, Dahlia wobbled over to the mirror and assessed herself. She was still wearing her nightgown, but the front was stained irreparably by something that looked like wine. Old, faded eyeliner wings clung to the skin around her eyes. Her hair looked less like a neat, curly bob and more like a mishappen stormcloud.

Dahlia rubbed her eyes until colorful blotches danced before them. She tried to organize the evidence she had at hand into a cohesive narrative. She had somehow worked up the nerve to go out partying, in skimpy pajamas no less, and in the process found enough charm to get a number. She couldn’t even remember leaving her apartment.

Then again, memory had always been an issue for her. It was easy for things to get lost and liquify into a gray mush, sometimes five minutes after they happened. Dissociative episodes did the worst damage, of course. She blundered through the days half-aware, divided from herself, plagued by a suicidal itch. Those memories were static at best. It was a stress response to the Borderline Blues. But this was different. This was a black hole where the static should be.

Dahlia dug her fingers into her scalp, as if that would squeeze something out of the void in her head. When that didn’t work, she shambled over to her bed, a little nest of unmade sheets in the corner of the apartment. She considered getting breakfast from the kitchenette, but the mere idea made her stomach want to upend itself again. Dahlia wrapped herself in a blanket and thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t have work today.

A glint of light on the nightstand caught her eye. She lifted her head up. There was a glass rose pink liquid sitting next to her lamp. The amorphous shadow it cast over the wood highlighted the second note beside it. Dahlia propped herself up on her elbows and snatched it.

For the hangover you’re going to have! Home-brewed cure. Drink it in steady gulps, don’t stop until the glass is empty. – Love, Gideon

“We add another layer to this fuckery,” she mumbled. So, this Gideon had been in her apartment, huh? Did he walk her back? Did he stay the night and bail before she woke up? If that was the case, why did he offer his phone number? None of these theories got her any closer to why she fell asleep in the closet.

Dahlia rested her head back on the pillow. The world was spinning around her aching brain, as if she were the center of a cramped, painful universe. Thinking was becoming a rigorous exercise. She tried to backtrack and grasp onto something, anything, from the night before.

Nothing. Empty. Null and void.

Dahlia tried going back further, knotting her brows together in concentration. There barely anything in her memory from the day before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Her memories were suddenly spotted with jagged holes of time. Was it the migraine blotting everything out?

Desperate, and a little panicked, Dahlia picked up the mysterious concoction left for her and began to gulp it down as suggested. It was flavorless, like water, but each gulp came with a pulse of gentle, radiating warmth. It calmed the storm in her stomach and suffocated the agony in her head.

When the drink was completely gone, Dahlia set the glass down and sank into the bed with a heavy sigh. The warmth died out and left clarity in its place. She basked in the bliss of clean, painless sobriety for a few minutes. Wow, when Gideon said a cure, he meant a cure.

Dahlia tried backtracking again, hoping for better results. Sometimes pain made her symptoms worse. Yet, when she shuffled through her head, the holes remained. Even going back to the beginning of last semester, there were missing patches of time.

Shit.

This was bad.

She thought of the note Gideon left and grabbed her phone. She clicked contacts. Sure enough, his name was second in her “frequently contacted” list, right below her therapist. That raised a whole new set of questions, but she could only take one mystery at a time. This was the only clue she had, so she figured there was nothing else to lose.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Dahlia sat up and tapped her fingers against the snowy hill of her kneecap.

“Hello?” a drowsy voice answered.

She cringed. Shit, did she wake him up? “Uh, hi, Gideon?”

“Oh, good morning, Dahlia,” Gideon replied. His voice was instantly perky and pleasant. “Are you feeling okay? I hope my cure did its job.”

“Yeah, yeah, worked like a charm. Thanks for that. I’m, uh, much better now.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I figured you’d need it after all that wine.” He laughed, and his voice rang like tinkling bells in her ears. It was oddly familiar, and more oddly relaxing. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dahlia said agreeably. “So, uh, speaking of, what exactly was that?”

Another chuckle. “Memory a bit lacking, I assume?”

Dahlia tensed. “More like completely lacking.”

“…Completely?”

“Uh, yeah. Completely.”

There was a long pause. Painfully long. The silence stretched like a rubber band primed for snapping. Dahlia nibbled at the corner of her lip.

“D-do you know who I am?” His voice cracked under the weight of its own horrified tone.

She shook her head, despite the pointlessness of the gesture in a phone conversation. “No, I’m sorry. That’s kind of why I called. I need answers and your number was my only lead.”

“I see.” Another pause. Some shuffling, a whoosh of sheets being tossed back. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone. Would it be possible for me to come over this evening?”

Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Curiosity bubbled where the headache had been.

“Dahlia?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What time?”

Another pause. “I can come by around nine. Would that work for you?”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright. Nine it is.”

“Do you need me to text you my address?” Dahlia asked, realizing she could’ve just texted him like a normal person instead of calling and waking him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“No, I remember where you are. I’ll text before I knock, okay?”

“Um, okay.” Weird, but okay. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

They hung up. Dahlia hunched over and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Where the nausea had been, unease took its place, plopped into her gut like brick, as she wondered what she’d mixed herself up in.

#

Dahlia had latched onto the stress ball her therapist gave her, but the little smiley face printed on it did nothing to reassure her. She had struggled to pick an outfit. She chewed through a whole pack of gum. She fidgeted and paced and fussed over cleaning the apartment up. Was she nervous about meeting this man she couldn’t remember? Was she nervous about what he knew? Did it matter? Either way, Dahlia was a tense bundle of nerves when the clock struck nine. She sat on the couch as she waited for his text.

A minute passed. Nothing.

Five minutes. Nothing.

Ten. Nothing.

Dahlia tapped her foot impatiently. “Where is this guy?”

Just as she asked, her phone buzzed.

Hey. I’m here. About to knock. Please don’t scream.

Well, that was the creepiest thing anyone had ever texted her. She clenched her stress ball so hard that the little smiley face caved in on itself. She dialed 911, the call button poised for pushing at any time. As she was comparing escape routes and rushing for the kitchen knives, the knock came. From her closet door.

“Good evening,” Gideon said. “Sorry for being late. Things took longer than expected. May I come in?”

Words dissolved on Dahlia’s tongue. She tried and failed to scrounge up logic. The way she saw it, there were two possibilities. Either she was hallucinating, and she had another mental illness to worry about, or something supernatural was going on. She had never prayed before, but she prayed it was door number two.

“Y-yeah, come in.”

Gideon stepped into her living room. A gasp wound down Dahlia’s throat as she took in the sight of him. Two curling horns stuck out of the stringy grey hair that fell to his shoulders. The eyes staring at her were painfully large, painfully blue orbs with reptilian slits in their centers. His skin was bluish grey, corpse skin. Even subtle things, like the number of knuckles in his fingers, and the way his skin stretched over the bones in his face, were unsettling and alien. It was almost comical in comparison to his clean plaid button-up and black slacks. A monster in business casual. She thought she could see something glowing in his pants pocket, but that barely registered when looking at everything else.

“Thank you for not screaming,” he said.

Scream? She could barely listen. The static of her own stressed thoughts made it hard to hear. Was this the onset of schizophrenia? Was this why her brain was full of holes? Was that symptom? Her feet began carrying her across the room in search of an answer. She crossed the span of carpet between them until she had him at arm’s length. Her hand reached out, almost of its own free will, and gently poked Gideon’s cheek. Warm, living flesh greeted her. She nearly collapsed with relief.

“Oh. Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy.”

Gideon chuckled weakly. There was a strange warmth in his eyes that made Dahlia’s stomach flip. “No, love, you’re not crazy. Never crazy.”

He reached up to cup his hand over hers, but Dahlia pulled away and stumbled back before he could. With the worries about her tenuous mental health soothed, Dahlia could now focus on the fact that a very real monster was standing in her living room trying to reassure her of her sanity. Amazingly, that wasn’t an easier pill to swallow. Dahlia plopped onto her couch and grasped at the cushions in leu of a stress ball. It was something solid and normal.  

Gideon looked more than a little hurt. He slowly put his arm down and shrank back. “R-right, you don’t remember me. I’m sorry.”

Dahlia put her head in her hands and pulled at the roots of her hair. “What the fuck,” she said, because it was the only thing her brain would let her say. “I- I don’t… what…”

“Overwhelmed?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia nodded. Thoughts were pouring out of her head and leaking onto her tongue. The overflow made it impossible to get a single coherent question out.

Gideon took a hesitant step forward. “Do you have your stress ball?”

Dahlia shook her head violently. She couldn’t even think about her lost stress ball right now. It was one thing too much.

Gideon chewed on his lip. “I know I’m kind of the reason you’re panicking right now, but I want to help. May I sit with you?”

Would that help? Probably not. Then again, nothing was making sense and there was a clog in her brain and the world was suddenly too bright, so she might as well try something. Dahlia gave him a weak, shaky nod to affirm. He was by her side not a moment later.

“Close your eyes for a moment, deep breaths,” Gideon said. His voice was suddenly much softer, but not exactly quiet. It was a gentle, soothing, like windchimes in a breeze. There was something comforting and familiar about it.

Dahlia closed her eyes. The world went mercifully dark. She laid back against the couch and began to take in slow, controlled breaths.

“Focus on something banal. Think about the texture of the couch. Or the carpet between your toes. I can get something from the kitchen if you want something to taste.”

Dahlia shook her head. “No, no. Just need quiet.”

“Quiet. I can do that.”

They sat together in silence as Dahlia let the static and chaos settle. She absorbed herself in the cool, textured leather of her sofa and sank against its plush backing. Her breathing steadied. Her head lolled to the side, and she relaxed.

“Better?” Gideon asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Now, I know this is a shock to you,” Gideon continued. “You have every right to be shocked. But I promise that everything is alright.”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. She was almost giving herself another headache trying to gaze into the holes where her memories should be. “I find that hard to believe.”

A sigh. “Fair enough. Okay, things aren’t alright yet, but they will be soon. That I definitely promise.”

“How can you promise that?”

“With these,” Gideon said. Dahlia heard the distinct scrape of skin on rough fabric, followed by a clacking noise. It sounded like hard candies knocking against each other. A new source of light danced in front of Dahlia’s closed eyes. Curious, she opened them.

“What the fuck.” The light was coming from a large cluster of glowing, electric blue orbs. They were about the size of marbles. “What are those?”

“Your missing memories.”

“…Okay then. Um, why are they in your hand and not, you know, in my head?”

“They were stolen. Thank the Gods you called when you did, otherwise I might not have been able to track them down.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened painfully. “Stolen? How? When? W-why?”

Gideon closed his fist around the memory orbs and held them close to his chest. His expression grew dark. “There are some people that think our worlds should remain separate. Someone stole every memory you had of our world, and of me, during my house party. Right under my fucking nose.” His voice was knife sharp and angry. Dahlia could tell he was directing it at himself just as much as he was the perpetrator. “It was pure luck and timing that allowed me to get them back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dahlia said. A deep, profound dread crawled up her spine and settled on her shoulders. She imagined a set of spindly fingers reaching into her skull and plucking memories likes grapes from a synaptic vine. The mere thought sickened her to the soul.

“When I saw you’d passed out, I took you home. I thought you just had too much wine. I never suspected…” He lowered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia.”

Dahlia put a comforting hand on his shoulder, almost instictually. Her horror of him had been surpassed and subdued. “No, don’t be. You got them back. Thank you.”

“Of course. You have a right to your memories,” he said. He glanced up at Dahlia, then back down at the memory orbs. There was a noticeable dark flush to his cheeks. “Besides, these are important to me too.”

Before Dahlia could comment, Gideon held out his hand, offering her the orbs. She cupped her hands and let the little balls trickle into her palms. They felt like gumballs. Dahlia estimated there were a hundred of them, if not more. Her vision was taken up by their collective glow.

“How do I…”

“You eat them.”

“What?” Dahlia snapped her head up.

“Eat them. Pop one in your mouth at a time and bite. The memory will come back to you.”

“Do I, like, eat them in chronological order?” Dahlia asked, bemused by the string of words that just came out of her mouth.

“No, no, just eat them as you like. You can’t tell the orbs apart anyways. As long you eat them all, you’ll be fine.”

Dahlia grimaced. “Is this safe?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t make a hobby of eating your own memories, of course, but there’s no harm in taking in information that already belongs to you,” he explained. “But if you ever feel unsafe, I’ll be right here to help.”

Dahlia looked over at him. His hollowed-out face had taken on an inviting, comforting demeanor. There was something very reassuring about the little smile that was playing across his lips.

“Who are you?” she asked. “To me? How do you know what I need to calm down?”

“Take a bite and find out.”

Dahlia turned back to her palm full of orbs. She picked one up from the pile and held it up to her mouth. She snuck a glance at Gideon, who nodded encouragingly. After a heavy, nervous gulp, Dahlia popped the orb into her mouth and maneuvered it between her back molars.

She bit down.

We were sitting next to each other at the counter that separated my kitchenette from the rest of my apartment. “So, where do monsters come from? I mean, aside from closets.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It’s like a pocket dimension. We hide in the nooks and crannies of space-time, only popping out when necessary.”

“Is this necessary?” I teased. I nibbled a cookie from the small plate I’d set out.

“The cookies or your company?”

“Either or.”

He smiled. “Both are absolutely necessary.”  

“Whoa,” Dahlia breathed as the vision faded and settled back into its rightful spot in her head. Remembered happiness spread through her.

“What? What memory was it?”

“I was just talking with you over there.” She pointed to the counter. “You were telling me about where you came from.”

“Ah, yes, that was some time ago. We’d known each other for a few months. I’d just started to trust you,” he explained. His smile brightened. “Go on, have another.”

Dahlia snatched another orb up and bit into it.

#

Our lips met gingerly, hesitantly at first. Amazingly, I made the first move. We’d been passing sidelong glances and lingering hugs like the currency of pining. I needed to cash it in.

While we were watching our usual Friday night movie, I scooched close to him. Closer. Closer. He turned his head away from the screen and towards me. I leaned in. He leaned in.

Ginger, hesitant kisses deepened. His tongue dipped into my mouth. My hands snuck up his back. The movie was forgotten in the haze.

#

“Oh.” The memory nestled into its spot. Dahlia sank back into the couch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so at ease when kissing someone. The slop of saliva and the bumping of teeth didn’t make her self-conscious. It was expected. It was okay. It was natural.  

“What memory was it?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia turned to Gideon like she was seeing him for the first time. In a way, she was. “We were making out while Monsters Inc. played in the background.”

Gideon blushed. “Oh, yes, that night.”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Would you be horrified if I said yes?”

Dahlia opened her mouth to answer. She closed it and knotted her eyebrows. Contextually vacant, the memory of their kiss brought a surge of conflicting feelings. The remembered happiness, and a fresh, squirming discomfort. The emotional paradox of sudden closeness with a stranger.  

She held up a finger in a wait sign and popped another orb into her mouth. Then another. And another. As soon as one memory faded, a new one was already waiting between her teeth. Flashes of dancing and love-making and cuddling and comforting found their spots in her head. Dahlia patched more and more holes, sewed memories to memories, feelings to feelings, creating a mostly cohesive quilt of past events. A few times she had to stop and catch her breath from the overload of information. But, eventually, the pile was reduced to a singular orb. Gideon watched with vigilant, silent eyes as Dahlia bit down on it.

#

We were curled up in my closet. Gideon knew I liked to be somewhere small and quiet after a breakdown. I’d been bashing my fists against my skull over something, though I couldn’t remember what. Reasons blurred together. With no emotional skin, I’m hurt by the slightest provocation. But in here it was safe, we were safe, and everything was okay.

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked. “I don’t even want to put up with me.”

“You’re under the assumption that you’re a burden. You’re not.”

I settled into his chest more. “But I’m sick, Gid. I don’t function right.”

“Maybe you need to change your definition of right, then.”

My lip quivered, and I wrapped my arms around him. “…I love you.”

#

Dahlia blinked. She was surprised to find tears on her cheeks. She looked over at Gideon, who was still waiting for her reply.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t be horrified at all.”

A bright, goofy grin spread across his face. “Then yes, I’m your boyfriend.”

She returned the grin with equal amounts of brightness and goofiness. “Good.”

FIN

#entitywrites #terato love #my writing #mental illness tw #bpd tw #character with bpd #monster boyfriend #romance writing #suicide mention #terato #monster lover #writblr #writeblr

[autobot-scout-riella]

Get To Know Me(me)

NAME: Christina, but if anyone ever actually calls me that online I’ll be stunned. Most people just call me Riella.

STAR SIGN: ..Quick, somebody tell me what star sign early August is.

HEIGHT: 5′1″ and a quarter. The quarter inch is important fight me

WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME? Danger. (Not actually.)

PUT YOUR YOUTUBE PLAYLIST ON SHUFFLE. WHAT ARE THE FIRST 6 SONGS THAT POPPED UP?

Based on shuffle from my music library, not youtube, because youtube would get nothing but history and mythology videos:

To Fight Monsters, We Created Monsters - Pacific Rim OST

Shatter Me - Lindsey Stirling

Go - Pearl Jam

Taking a Stand - Captain America: The Winter Soldier OST

Rage and Serenity - X-Men: First Class OST

Waterfall Fight - Black Panther OST

(I listen to a lot of soundtracks.)

EVER HAD A POEM OR SONG WRITTEN ABOUT YOU? If I have, it’s news to me.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED AIR GUITAR? I don’t actually play air guitar? I could try, I guess, but I’ve never managed to make it feel at all natural.

WHO IS YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH? I...don’t really do celebrity crushes, either.

WHAT’S A SOUND YOU HATE; SOUND YOU LOVE? Hate: Velcro. VELCRO. Even thinking about it draws a full-body cringe. Love: Purring cats.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? Not really, but I haven’t taken a particularly strong position on it either way. It seems unlikely.

HOW ABOUT ALIENS? See above, with a slight tilt toward “it’s somewhat more plausible than ghosts for reasons of it’s a big-ass universe and there’s no way we can possibly say definitively”.

DO YOU DRIVE? Unfortunately, yes. If I lived somewhere with decent public transportation, I’d gladly stop.

IF SO, HAVE YOU EVER CRASHED? Well, I sideswiped a post once with the entire side of my car and it made a loud crash, but the car’s undamaged except for some dents and a streak of neon yellow paint, so...not other than that?

WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? If comic books count, I read the first Lumberjanes volume (Beware the Kitten Holy--seriously, read it, that series is awesome) last night before bed. If they don’t, it was Rick Riordan’s The Throne of Fire on Monday.

DO YOU LIKE THE SMELL OF GASOLINE? I don’t dislike it, I guess?

WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU SAW? Captain Marvel, last Saturday.

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU’VE EVER HAD? It’s a toss-up between the torn Achilles tendon when I was eleven and the probable kneecap dislocation when I was twenty (pretty sure that’s what happened because it spontaneously dislocates every now and then now, but I didn’t actually see a doctor).

DO YOU HAVE ANY OBSESSIONS RIGHT NOW? SHARKS. THE ANSWER TO THIS WILL ALWAYS BE SHARKS. Also Transformers, I guess. And Avatar: The Last Airbender.

DO YOU TEND TO HOLD GRUDGES AGAINST PEOPLE WHO DID YOU WRONG? I would like to say that I don’t. Unfortunately, I remember literally everything, so stuff that the other person has totally forgotten years later, I still remember and still get a little twinge of bitterness when I think about it. Plus, I’m not great at forgiveness. So...yeah,  I kind of hold grudges. For the most part, they’re the benign kind--you stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours, and I won’t go out of my way to make you miserable or anything, just be chilly in conversation if we have to converse.

Except for one person, who I would happily take a full-scale scorched-earth approach to if I could get past the instinctive panic response on seeing women of the right height with that haircut. That’s a one-time real-life thing, though--I’ve never met anyone else, online or off, who went that far out of their way to destroy another person’s life, and I can’t imagine what kind of equivalent behavior it would take to create that level of grudge.

IN A RELATIONSHIP?

Nope, and happily so, thanks.

Tagged by: stolen from @radioactivibee​

Tagging: if you want it, consider yourself tagged

#out of contact #(munday on a friday) #(IC content will resume momentarily)

[writinanon]

Country Skies

With the help of @wafflii I have fallen into another AU. Expect another chapter of Reverberations and possibly Covenants soon. I want to find the right creepy atmosphere music for Covenants before I delve deeper into it. Also I’m not very good with timelines and there’s a bit of confusion for FC5′s timeline so I’m just going to wing it.

Stella belongs to me but Tammy belongs to @wafflii she’s a sweet heart.

  The tender age of 10 was the last time that Stella saw her Dad. He’d just come home with burns on his face and had trouble adjusting. Her mother couldn’t handle it and filed for divorce. An incident with him having night terrors had been all she needed to gain sole custody of Stella. They talked on the phone for a while, her Dad calling almost every night but it slowed to a week, two weeks, a month, once in a few months, and then finally on her 13th birthday was the last call he made to her. Stella had been crushed, had wondered if something was wrong, he didn’t sound well. Her mother wouldn’t let her go and see him. A small part of her hated her mother for that. Stella would never forgive her for completely cutting her Dad out of her life or for forcing another man into it. She never called James ‘Dad’ or ‘Father’ she always called him James. He never really seemed bothered by it but it bothered her mother and they had many fights about it.

  Stella hadn’t thought much of her Dad for a while now, she’d tried to find him, still tried around Father’s Day and his birthday, but she had a life now and couldn’t spend all of it chasing Jacob Seed. She transferred into the Sheriff’s Department of Hope County because they needed a new Anthropologist to figure out if bone remains were human or animal, and once properly identified if they were Native American and for her to go through the proper channels. She was 23 and while she was still working on her master’s degree she had all the necessary skills to identify bones and knew the proper channels to connect to in case it was a disturbed Native American grave site. She was given the title of Junior Deputy Sheriff, which she felt was a little much, Deputy Sheriff would have been fine. She vaguely recalled hearing about a Joseph Seed running a cult but it hadn’t come up in the last few months. Until today. Today a US Marshal had shown up with an arrest warrant for Joseph Seed. And since Stella had no experience running the radio Nancy would be staying back and she would be going with them to arrest him. The Sheriff looked contrite. Stella didn’t really understand why until she walked into the church. Her eyes had scanned over the congregation, looking for weapons, before she skimmed over Joseph Seed. He was shirtless and had many tattoos and what looked like words carved into his skin. But she almost froze in shock. Just behind him to the left was her Dad. His face didn’t hold any recognition.

 “Rook.” The Sheriff said and she glanced at him before looking over at Joseph Seed. His face was determined and he didn’t know who she was either. Why would he? They had never met even though she knew all about Joe and Johnny. Her Uncles that her Dad wanted to find again. She placed the handcuffs on him. She was duty bound, it was her job to arrest him.

  Jacob couldn’t shake that he knew the young Deputy that had handcuffed Joseph. Her eyes had been on him the whole time and he swore he knew them and her face. John was grumbling about her escape from baptism as he looked through the files.

 “Ah here she is. Junior Deputy Stella Jean Rook.” Jacob felt like he had been hit with a brick and he snapped his attention to his youngest brother.

 “Jean.” He stressed the French pronunciation. Because he had wanted to name her after little Johnny but didn’t want to name her Jane. John looked up confused. “It’s supposed to be pronounced like it’s French. Her mom had a thing for French.” He lied easily.

 “Brother?” Joseph asked carefully, looking between him and the photo of the young Deputy, piecing it together.

 “She was born November 15th, 1994. Hell, of a snow storm that day. She was born Stella Jean Seed.” He looked at the picture of her, smiling brightly labeled as Sinner. His daughter was a Deputy Sheriff. His daughter had come to arrest his little brother. His Little Star was Public Enemy Number One against Eden’s Gate. He recalled her eyes back in the church. They hadn’t left him once, until the Sheriff called to her. She looked so shocked and afraid, worried about him.

 “I’m a horrible uncle.” John said and looked crushed. Faith patted his back lightly.

 “Joseph was going to let her die in the helicopter so I think that makes you even.” Jacob rubbed his face reminding himself that not even he had known exactly who she was. He looked back down at her picture. Ellie was doing well for herself. He’d have to pull any remaining information out of that Deputy that his Hunters had snatched up. Staci Pratt.

  Stella huffed and settled into the bushes as she heard a heavy vehicle coming her way. She had stopped a few of the Reaping Trucks now. After checking on Rae-Rae and finding her dead and Boomer alone Dutch had let her think over what she was going to do. She wasn’t sure, she didn’t know what to do. Should she free her companions? Wouldn’t her family think she’s siding with them? Should she side with her Family? She missed her Dad so much. Boomer nudged her side and whined softly. She ran a hand down his back.

 “Thanks boy.” She smiled faintly. Now was not the time to get distracted. She took aim and blew out the front tires of the truck. The Peggies scrambled, calling for bliss bullets but she took them down with a few well-placed kneecap shots and shoulder hits. Once she was finished she opened the truck only to find one frightened looking woman there.

 “Please I wanna go home!” She cried, tear tracks of makeup down her face.

 “Okay. I’ll take you home. Where is home?”

 “You aren’t with them?” The shock and suspicion in her eyes made Stella want to cringe but she stepped up and offered her a hand.

 “Deputy Stella Rook.” She introduced herself. “I’m with the Sheriff’s department.” The woman blinked before launching herself at Stella and hugging her tightly.

 “I thought I was gonna die.” She was rambling about how they would probably have hidden her body and Stella patted her back awkwardly before helping her down out of the truck. The woman was a little over half a foot shorter than her. “Thank you for saving me.”

 “Don’t worry about it.” Stella rubbed the back of her neck and smiled a little more genuinely as they headed down the road. Missing the Peggie recording her escorting her latest rescue. “So, it’s a little dangerous to run around on your own, mind if I walk you home?”

 “Yes, please.” She clung a bit and Stella nodded, patted her head and slipped free of the warm gentle grasp. “Sorry. Oh, right I’m Tamara Zoey Barnes.” The pair shook hands and headed toward Tamara’s house.

  Stella took refuge with Dutch, still afraid to face the people of Hope County knowing her family was causing them so much grief. He shook his head and clicked his tongue at her, treating her small scrapes as she handed over more information and stolen weaponry. Boomer gave a happy bark as she tossed him a scrap of beef jerky.

 “Well kid I gotta say you’re makin’ ‘em scared of grabbing people down here that’s for sure.” He looked at the few Reaping movements that had thinned out considerably. Stella smiled a bit and looked at the map. Her eyes stuck to the top of it. The Whitetail Mountains were her Dad’s Domain. So far, she had slunk around on the fringes of Holland Valley and the Henbane River. Dutch knew about her family, he hadn’t turned her over to them because she told him she wasn’t like them. And she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be part of a Doomsday Cult. But she missed her Dad and she remembered all the stories of her Uncles that he would tell. She didn’t remember him ever mentioning an aunt but maybe she came later? She looked younger than John. Her radio crackled to life and both stilled.

 “Hello Stella!” John sounded cheerful as ever. “I have that new friend of yours, the raven haired one, and we’re going to baptize her! If you’d like to join us for a do over you know where we’ll be.” Usually John tried to talk to her about sins and about how only family understood the plight of duty. He always tried to coax her out and to try and get her to come and see his ranch. She frowned as she tried to remember anyone that had black hair and then she realized he was talking about the girl she’d rescued a few days prior.

  Tammy looked around at the men with guns around her. All she had wanted was to come home from studying, maybe relax for once since she hadn’t been able to afford this trip in a few years. The tall man with intense blue eyes was staring at her with a weird smile on his face. They were standing next to the Henbane and he had been talking about sin and washing things away and honestly Tammy was too freaked out to pay much attention. He had apparently asked her a question though and she blinked at him.

 “What?” He chuckled and waved his hand over the river.

 “I was asking if you’d like to be baptized and begin atonement? No time like the present to pull out all those nasty pervasive sins.”

 “What sins? I don’t have any sins! What are you talking about?”

 “Everyone has sins, even my darling Deputy Niece could stand to atone.” He scanned the horizon as he said this, looking for someone. Tammy hoped it wasn’t that girl that had saved her the other day. “I’m sure you aren’t nearly as aggressive in your sins…” A somewhat familiar dog snatched a gun out of one of the men’s hands. Then two of them were taken down with arrows to the chest.

 “I don’t have any sins I haven’t even had sex.” She muttered still shocked. This caused the man to turn and look at her sharply and allowed the dog to make off and distract more of the men. The man was suddenly pushed away from Tammy and a hand took hold of hers.

 “Run.” It was the girl from the other day and she was half leading half dragging her away while she whistled and the dog came to run along side them. The redhead threw something over her shoulder that caused an explosion and blocked anyone from pursuing them further. They made it to a pick-up truck and the girl shoved her inside, followed by the dog, before climbing into the driver’s seat and peeling out driving off the main road and onto the back roads swiftly. “Gotta get tree coverage, John’s got air support.” She muttered more to herself and Tammy gripped the door handle tightly. To think all she’d wanted to do was come home.

  Stella managed to get them to Rae-Rae’s Farm. She had cleaned up most of the blood and herded the woman so she didn’t see the fresh graves. Boomer settled in his bed that she’d dragged into the living room, sleeping on the couch felt more respectful rather than taking over the bedroom. For the most part that girl, Barnes, didn’t look too beat up. A stray bruise or two but mostly unharmed. Her Uncle hadn’t intended to hurt her much she was just the quickest way to get Stella into the open. John and Joseph seemed to think that she was lost because she’d been told lies about them. They urged her to ‘come home’ and be back wither family. She would probably be struggling with it more, if her Dad was the one delivering those messages.

 “Thanks for saving me. Again.” Barnes said and Stella shrugged. The woman grabbed her in a hug again. “No, I mean it that guy was so weird, and he kept talking about sins and looked at me funny when I said I couldn’t have sins because I’m a virgin and…” She got lost in a tangent and Stella patted at her shoulders to try and calm her down.

 “Don’t mention it.” She said and got her settled on the couch. They’d go see Dutch in the morning. Maybe he could shed some light on things. For both of them.

#Far Cry 5 AU #Jacob would probably have been a decent Dad before the events of the game #At least that's what I'm going with #Timeline? What Timeline?

[kdenbibi]

Endless Chapter 5

Damian Wayne x Reader (x various)

Summary:Some questions are answered, some questions arise.

Warnings: Slight language, war flashbacks to Discowing

Authors Note: Yeet, hope ya like it

Tag List: @mirajanestrauss1999

I walked into the small coffee shop, shaking the snow from my beanie as I trudged towards the very back, my long winter jacket fluttered from the speed I was walking, I silently thanked the Lord they had the heater blasting in here.I peeled off the coat, tossing it in the empty booth in the back I'd been instructed to snag.  I tried my best not to let my nerves show, although to be fair I was meeting a complete stranger all by my lonesome, unfortunately Jon got an urgent call and had to bail, he seemed pretty hesitant to leave but after some reassurance that I'd be okay he dipped. Seconds felt like hours as I waited for the guy to show, my fingers drummed down on the worn down surface to the beat of the Christmas song softly drifting throughout the shop. The cheery atmosphere did nothing to quell the anxiety in my stomach, if the smell of cinnamon in the air and overall warmth the cafe provided couldn't help, then yeah I was definitely nervous. I tugged off my knit beanie, and attempted to smooth out the serious case of hat hair I had going on, thankfully, I braided my hair earlier so the loose curls sticking out looked on purpose, my fingers, now bored with the drumming, toyed with the ends of braid as a means of distraction. I felt my eye wander from the homely decorations hung up and around the walls, to watching the world go by through the window. I took in the sight, the snow had finally started to come down in Gotham so people were bundled up almost comically, and despite it being  below 40° outside, they went about their lives as usual, whenever new folks paid our city a visit, they were always perplexed at Gothamites abilities to ignore the freezing temperatures. I have to admit as sweet as the snow falling was to watch, hands down my favorite thing about this time of year was the city's tradition to string up what looked to be a million Christmas lights above and through downtown, making the usual dim, dark, nights much brighter. I was so in my thoughts I jumped at the sudden body very casually-and very loudly I might add- sliding into the booth across from me, I ended up slamming my knees into the table so hard the salt and pepper shakers knocked over. I whispered a curse under my breath as I rubbed at my newly bruised knee, and before I could roast the unwanted stranger, my head snapped up to see a familiar grin. "Yikes- that sounded like it hurt, you okay kid?" "Besides needing new kneecaps? Yeah just peachy - thanks for asking strange grown man." Said random man gave a warm laugh at my response, I took in his appearance, trying to gage if he was a threat or not, I could tell even sitting down the guy had a few good inches on me, he was wrapped in a brown bomber jacket, underneath was a crisp white shirt just asking to be stained by the grease that came with living here. He simply smiled while I analysed him, familiarity pinged in my head once I laid eyes on him grin. I scanned over his facial features, trying my damnedest to figure out where the hell I knew him from, his eyes were almost the same shade of electrifying  blue as Jon's, his hair fell in tufts of black waves, the few scattered snowflakes atop the waves made the black stand out even more.

All I got from my mini evaluation was this guy was hot, but I wasn't about to lower my defenses because of it.

He broke the silence before I could, suddenly looking confused as he glanced around the building. "Hey I thought you were gonna bring a friend? Or are they just hiding out in a vent waiting to ambush me if things go bad?" He joked, and just like that I remembered why I was even here. "Holy shit you're Ni- you're here." He nodded, the goofy grin ever present.My voice cracked mid sentence, I managed to stop myself from basically screaming 'Well butter my biscuits it's Nightwing! In the flesh!' and cleared my throat trying not to show the heat of embarrassment steadily creeping up my neck. "He uh- had to cancel actually, but don't worry I have a plan in case you turn out to be a weirdo." He laughed again, not taking any offense to my sort of threat. "Smart girl." He leaned back against the booth, thumbing through the menu like we were just two buddies catching up over coffee."I wonder if they serve any food, I'm starving.” He waved over the waitress grabbing himself a coffee, "Want something?" I responded still staring at the man confusion plastered across my face."Coco please." After a few moments of silence he spoke, clearly amused.

"You okay over there?"

"What no, wait I mean yeah why- why wouldn't I be." I internally cringed at my answer, he gave me a look which said he didn't but it, but the conversation dropped there.He filled the time spent waiting for our orders with casual stories about his day job as a police officer and how crazy it could be."Moral of the story, don't try to drive after your eyes have been dilated." I nodded, still, if not more nervous than I was earlier, a part of me felt like I should have been taking notes, he sighed into his palm, a smaller smile on his lips. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?" He picked up the dingy napkin dispenser, attempting to look at himself in the just barely reflective surface. I couldn't help the snort from escaping my mouth. "Nah I'm just trying to wrap my head around," I gestured to him with a wave of my hand. "- all this." He put down the dispenser with a smile. "It's pretty weird huh?" "Just a little." I laughed out pinching my fingers together. "I mean you're so - normal." Just then the waitress brought us our orders,He laughed into the coffee mug, taking a long sip before responding. "Well what did you think we did all day, work on our outfits and plan witty comebacks?" I paused before nodding. He sighed, rubbing his temple, "I can't speak for everyone but I happen to be a very normal guy- mostly." "Well 'normal guy' I gotta get your name cuz’ I'm running out of things to call you." He stuck out his hand,"Richard Grayson at your service, but my friends call me Dick." I took his outstretched palm with a firm shake. "Those don't sound like very good friends,” I joked “ I'm (Y/n) (L/n)." After half my drink was gone and the atmosphere was much lighter than earlier, a question popped up in my mind. "Let me ask you a question Dick." "Shoot." "Why'd you come here- you know, out of your whole 'sparkly' get up." He squinted at me, wiping his face before pointing a finger at my face. "First of all it is not 'sparkly', and let me tell you I know sparkly, one version of the costume had a very, very deep v-neck, I'm talking uncomfortable to look at deep, trust me this is an upgrade." I laughed, nearly chocking on my drink as I pictured him in the world's deepest v-neck, I wiped at my mouth with the back of my sleeve, the nerves finally leaving once I realized he was really just a normal dude.

Well a normal dude who kicks ass in tights at night but that's besides the point.

"Okay well that still doesn't tell me why you showed up all not-clad-in-skin-tight-kevlar. Aren't secret identities kind a big deal for y'all spandex junkies?" "Well yeah, but like I said before, you're a good kid, so I'm not all that worried." He leaned forward, a hopeful smile on his face. "Besides, there's gotta be trust between the people you work with- if you'd like to join us spandex junkies that is." I smiled at the man, a new wave of warmth spread through me as he spoke, I mentally paused, searching for any kind of hesitancy from my gut but all I got was a 50/50 ratio of nerves and excitement. "I'm listening, although I can't promise I'll squeeze myself into anything uncomfortable, even if it looks good." "Duly noted." He laughed. We spent the next hour shooting questions back and forth, most of his were unsurprisingly about what I could and could not do.

Mine were mostly about the tights.

By now the sun had set but there were still plenty of people walking about, apparently the threat of crime wasn't about to deter their Christmas shopping. "So what made you change your mind? About calling me that is?" He asked pulling me from my thoughts. I pulled on the sleeves of my shirt out of habit. "Something happened at the bank the other day-" "Wait, that mysterious hero was you?" "Yes and no," I gave a dry laugh "-anyway something..uh new happened with my powers and I figured if anyone could help me it be a dude who spends all his time around other people like me, can't exactly learn about this in chemistry class ya know?" He nodded with a warm smile, before his face shifted into something more of determination, "Look, I'll be honest here, personally I can't relate to the whole 'ooky spooky abilities' deal but I know a few people who do, and we'd all be willing to help." I gave him a soft smile, a warm feeling of appreciation swelled in my chest. "Thank you- I mean it really, I have no idea where it comes from- or what the full extent of it is." I huffed leaning back into the seat. "It sure be nice not to worry about it any more." "Again, like I said, it's kind of our job to help and protect. So it's not a problem kiddo." 

This felt like a moment from those sappy films where the older sibling figure ruffles the younger ones hair affectionately, but it wasn't.

Because if he tried it, I'd stab his hand with my fork out of reflex.

"So what's the plan here, am I gonna meet up with you in your secret lair and practice?" He chuckled out a no before continuing. "Not exactly, I'll have to finalize things with the big guy and when everything's ready we'll come to you." "Big guy?" He looked at me questioningly, a small smirk curling on his lips, waiting for me to come to my own conclusion. "Oh shit you mean Batman oh. OH." He shushed me with a laugh looking around at the other patrons before turning back to me. "Don't worry he's not at scary as everyone thinks." "Are you shitting me? Hell no." I shook my head with an uneasy laugh."He's on the Babadooks level- He's on that Freddy .vs. Jason level of scary." He barked out a laugh before pulling out the money to cover our bills. "Trust me kid, you'll do fine." "What if he doesn't like me? What if I don't make the cut and he throws me out a six story window?"

"That's oddly specific and-" he looked around for the sake of dramatics and whispered. "You didn't hear this from me, but if it'll make you feel better, you won't be dealing with him much." "Wait- who will I be dealing with then?" He winced out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck."See now I really can't tell you that."I pouted at the older man,"Dude! You said it yourself, there should be trust between people working together, don't contradict yourself Richard." I spoke with grin. "Damnit you got me there." He snapped his fingers together before leaning in "Okay but I'm only telling you because I think you deserve a warning." My brows shot up in concern at that. "Why would I need a warning exactly?" "Well, you remember that kid I had to stop from turning you to mincemeat?" "Yeah sure, I remember the goblin." He said nothing else, calmly sipping his mug, eyes cast away from me, making me realize exactly who he meant. "Shit."

Damian POV

I easily dodged Jon's incoming fist, his stance was wrong and his punches were sloppy, he was distracted by something. I used this to land a firm kick to the back of his exposed knee, bringing him down with a wince worthy thud.My heel pressed into the center of his back as I leaned down to the struggling teenager, the pressure increased on his back the lower I went. After realizing he wasn't getting up any time soon he tapped on the mat twice, signaling his defeat. "You're terrible at this you know." I offered him a hand after he managed to roll onto his back, he scoffed at me but took my offer, pulling himself into a standing position."Well yeah, thats the whole point of you training me." He rolled his shoulders before setting his feet in the proper position. He motioned at me to come at him, I simply walked towards the nearest bench and took a seat. "Aw come on Damian! You told me to come home and train but you won't even-" "You are distracted, in a real fight that would kill you." I spoke before taking a short sip from my water bottle. "Sort yourself out Jonathan." I watched the boy from the corner of my eye, his face was furrowed in frustration, I could tell he was losing his cool, it brought a smirk to my face. "I'm not distracted-" "You and I both know I'm not wrong, so talk, spew your problems like some prepubescent child, if it'll get your mind in the game."He sighed plopping down to sit on the slightly worn down mat, "I'm just a little worried about (y/n)-" "Why is there an update?" I spoke up interrupting him. He shook his head no. "Besides what happened at the bank? Nothing, I would have told you." He spoke that last line with a hint of bitterness, when I first told him to get intel on the girl, he was completely against the idea. My mind flashed to that first initial morning where they walked off together, a plan had came to my head to get the information I needed without doing much of anything. As the week progressed, I'd ask the Kryptonian if anything interesting happened with her, hoping she'd share with the boy, but unfortunately for me, he began to catch on. "Damian, can I ask you something?" "You just did but fine, go ahead." We sat at our usual lunch table, the everyday chaos of high school chatter blended our conversation into the background. "Why are you so curious about (y/n)?" I looked up from my book to meet his suspicious gaze."Is it wrong to be curious, Kent?" His leaned into his hand, the puzzlement in his eyes never faltering."No there's nothing wrong with that! its just, you don't really take interest in, well anything." I stared at him unimpressed. "No offense! I meant normal teenage stuff, like I only ever see you talk to a few people here, and whenever we talk it's about her." I won't lie, his intellect surprised me, but I didn't let it show. "She's seems like a nice person is all." I watched as his suspicion fell and the smile on his face grow into something mischievous. "So would you say she'd make a good friend?" My face scrunched in confusion."What?- sure yes if it'll shut you up." And with that he suddenly rose before making his way across the cafeteria, to my dismay he came back with the girl in question. (Y/n) looked between us, clearly just as confused as I was."Are you gonna tell me what was so urgent or keep me standing here like boo boo the fool?" "Damian wanted to know if you would sit with us for lunch!" Our eyes met, her's skeptical, mines more surprised than angry that the little shit had it in him to do this. I realized she was waiting for my confirmation, obviously not buying what Jon said. "If you want." I spoke after clearing my throat. An uneasy smile made it's way on her face before she sat down across from me, Jon took the seat next to her."Uh thanks? I mean this is uhm, nice of you and all but why?" Jon spoke for me. "Well we were just talking about how Damian here doesn't have many friends-" I kicked his shin hard under the table, but it only hurt my foot, I held back a wince and the urge to rub my now pulsing appendage. 'Boy of steel, right, I forgot.' Jon looked to me with a smirk before continuing."-and I was telling him all about how you're so nice and cool and yeah, here we are." She looked at me with a smirk stretched across her full lips, a perfectly arched brow rose in question, "That's surprising, who wouldn't wanna be friends with someone as charming and kindhearted as pretty boy over here?" The sarcasm was practically dripping from her voice.Jon, either too oblivious to notice or too excited to care, ignored this. "Great to hear! Well how was everyone's day?" Neither of us answered too busy in a stare off, I tried to analyze her, and she stared right back, refusing to step down from this unspoken glare contest. Jon interrupted us with a cough. "Well my day was great thanks for asking." She turned away to look at the taller boy, her expression much more friendly than the look she gave me. "Sorry, his whole 'children of the corn' thing going on is pretty distracting." she pointed her thumb back motioning to me, "-what'd you do today anyway?" He went on to list all the miniscule things he achieved before lunch. I half listened to their conversation, mostly focused on the novel I had, occasionally chiming in whenever I felt it necessary. Just like that the lunch period was over, and it was time to head back to reality.(Y/n) looked to me before she left, a half smile on her face, I was surprised it was directed at me and not the younger boy by my side. "You're not so bad Wayne, when you aren't talking that is." I smirked at the girl, slapping my novel shut with one hand."I'll admit, the brief moments your mouth was shut were rather nice." She laughed off my insult with a wave of her hand, before returning to her group to finish their day.

When the school day crawled to an end, and I was driving Jon and myself back to the manor, it occurred to me the boy in my passenger seat wasn't one to be easily fooled, it also occurred he may already know of her abilities and is acting stupid to throw off my questioning. I decided to sidestep all the bullshit of my original plan and straight out ask him. "Let's not beat around the bush Jonathan, has (y/n) told you anything strange about herself?" He snapped his head up, away from his phone to stare at me. "Pardon me?" I rolled my eyes at his act. "You know? Her powers, what has she told you of them?" "She has powers?" He practically screamed, I resisted the urge to slam the car into the traffic surrounding me and took a deep breath. "I'd appreciate it if you refrained from screaming like a banshee in my car." I spoke with a roll of my eyes, god the more time I spent with this kid the more I saw the inside of my head."You can drop the act, I know of her powers already." "I didn't!" He yelled, deflating in his seat."You're kidding me right?" He didn't answer."I'll take that as a no then, TT." He groaned tossing his hands up in the air, clearly distraught. The rest of the car ride was silent, him no doubt letting the information sink in. It wasn't until days later did we speak again, after he returned home rather late, looking like he'd been kicked down a flight of stairs. I sipped at the tea steaming in my cup as he sat down at the table, rubbing at his neck, exhaustion clear in his body language. "What's up with you?" His tired eyes lifted to meet mine. He hesitated before speaking, having some sort of internal debate on whether or not to tell me. "Something happened today, something with (y/n)." He gave me a very rough explanation, not wanting to delve into the details too much, before trying to head up to bed, I grabbed his arm stopping him in his tracks. "You saw what happened today, it could get worse if she doesn't get help, but she won't listen to me, so you have to do it." "What- me? I don't even know what you're saying." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the kid before speaking again. "You're her friend, it should be easy to get some information about the extent of her abilities and bring it back to me." He scoffed at me, "I wouldn't deceive her like that- I wouldn't deceive anyone like that!" "You wouldn't be deceiving anyone, you'd simply be using your friendship to gain information for the greater good." I responded with a shrug."It would feel wrong, I don't wanna use her." "No one said you'd use her, you can still keep up that happy go lucky friendship shit once you tell me what I need." "That's not how friendships work." He chewed on the nail of his thumb, deep in thought. I continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. "As a hero, it's your responsibility to protect the public from any threats, or any potential threats." I used my Robin voice, the tone I used to talk to civilians, commanding but nonthreatening, trying to get it through his thick head."She's not a threat." He looked conflicted as he spoke. "Any unregistered meta is a threat, hell me and you both are threats. Power in the wrong hands is never a good thing." "Well it's not in the wrong hands, she saved those people today!-" "Prove it to me, show me she's not a threat and I'll drop it." We stared at one another in silence before he nodded, a fire in his eyes.

"Deal."

I was brought back to the present when he moved to stand, stretching out his body."I think I'm good now, you ready for round two?" I placed the water bottle down before rising, I walked until I was an arms reach away from him, "Let's see if Kryptonian's are all their hyped up to be."

After a good two hours of sparring (aka me tossing him on his ass in many different ways) and getting an idea of what he could do and handle, we called it a day. We made our way up from the cave, into the empty kitchen, he grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, tossing one to me before sitting down at the table.I nodded as thanks and pressed the cold bottle against my warm skin, sure the kid couldn't fight for shit but he was resilient as hell. I leaned against the counter, the cold of the marble bringing some relief to my overheated body. "What had you so worked up earlier anyway?" I asked breaking the silence that had fallen over us as we tried to catch our breaths. He finished patting his face with a towel before speaking."Oh it's nothing serious, I was supposed to go with her to meet someone but she texted me everything's going smoothly." "Why would she need you there?"

Thankfully he learned early on not to take my bluntness to heart, so he replied with a smile.

"I mean who wants to meet some hardcore vigilante all by themselves?" My head snapped up so fast it startled the younger boy. "She's doing what?" He grimaced at me, a nervous smile on his lips. "Meeting up with a vigilante to discuss her powers?" He spoke as more of a question than an actual answer.I felt the urge to slam my hand to my forehead, or alternatively his head into the cabinet. "It just occurred to you to share this with me now?" 

My voice was rising, I couldn't believe the amount of stupidity bottled up into one human. "Hey in my defense I thought you knew! I mean it is Nightwing, you guys are cool right? You have nothing to worry about!." His eyes shifted from me to the doorway, as he inched towards it, his voice had gone up a few good octaves in fear. He held up his hands like he expected me to throw something his way, a good chunk of me thought that wouldn't be a bad idea. I paused, racking my brain for answers to all the questions I had, why would Dick go see her? Why didn't I know about it? Why was I not strangling Jon right now? So many questions with no answers. I looked up to ask him for any other withheld information only to see his body quickly disappearing down the hallway.

"I'm sorry I'm running but you're way too freaky to be around when you're mad!" He yelled over his shoulder, it echoed throughout the hallway. I had now two options, call Dick, demand an explanation and hope he'll give it to me, or take my anger out on my housemate and then call dick.

Option two sounded much more fun, and besides, a quick throw off the balcony would test his flight skills.

#Dc imagine #dc reader insert #dc x reader #dc #poc reader #poc reader insert #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #jon kent #jon kent imagine #jon kent x reader #nightwing #dick grayson #Endless #nightwing x reader #various x reader #x reader #reader insert

[silverfootstepswrites]

title Just Enough summary Or too much. Depending on how you look at it. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii (here) | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

“Miso and fish was a terrible idea,” remarked Itachi. He blew into his cupped palm, cringing. Sakura looked up from her wine, almost smiling. Itachi gestured toward the plate of tiramisu sitting between them.

Sakura picked up the fork, carved off a hunk for herself. She took a bite of the soft cake. All the while, Itachi watched her, his chin in his hand."You know, this is the first time I've seen you eat," he remarked.

“Congratulations,” replied Sakura. She wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin. 

“I’m serious. Why have we never eaten together before?” Itachi asked. Sakura let out a sigh. She carved another piece of tiramisu off, balancing it across the fork. Considering him over the cake, she actually thought about his question.

“Why does it even matter?” she questioned right back. Itachi blinked at her.

“...Because it’s normal? For people to share a meal... especially if they’re trying to get to know each other,” he explained. 

Sakura thought back to her late teens, when she applied too much eyeshadow and lip gloss. To her skinned kneecaps and raw knuckles. How Hashirama had found her in the alley behind the karaoke bar, pummeling a man’s face into a bloody pulp. 

“What did he do to deserve that?” Hashirama had asked her.  Smoke rising like a wraith along his mouth and chin. Dark eyes gleaming.

“He tried to get me to blow him in the middle of the club,” she remembered telling him. Laughing, Hashirama had helped her to her feet and taken her out to get dim sum. She recalled him looking at her bloody lip and giving her pointers on how to block a punch for the next time as he dropped her off at her shitty little apartment.

Sakura considered Itachi past the tiramisu again. 

“I guess,” she finally said as she fed him a bite from her fork. Pretending not to notice when his eyes widened.

When the last of the cake was gone, Sakura got to her feet. Draping her coat over her shoulders, she looked toward the window. Stared at the droplets clinging to the opposite side of the glass. Itachi got up too. She could see the words gathering and faltering in the front of his mouth. He followed her to the door. His hand against the frame, leaning over her as she put on her shoes. When she turned back, he was right there, face shadowed and eyes downcast.

She touched her palm to his cheek, just because he looked so pathetic in that moment. 

“Don’t look so sad, daai lou. This was...really nice,” Sakura said, borrowing his words from earlier that night. Graced him with a smile, letting her mouth go soft. He grasped her hand in both of his. Held it tighter to his chest. And she could see the question in his face- the one that he was dreading so much that he couldn’t even ask it.

“You shouldn’t go back to Tokyo yet. Not with Madara’s intentions unclear,” Sakura stated. She almost regretted uttering the words as Itachi’s face lit up. Childish delight expanded everything in his expression. It hurt to look at. 

“Stay for another week. I should know more about Madara’s plan by then,” she added. And somehow the deadline made her feel better. She slipped her hand out of his grasp. 

“Stay in Central. Don’t wander anywhere else. I’ll let my boys know to look out for you. If you need anything, call Tommy. He’s in town too,” Sakura said, her voice suddenly all business. She rested her palm on the doorknob. But waited. For him to say something else. 

“Jin- Sakura,” he called her name so softly. She tilted her head back towards him. He looked so forlorn. She couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“Good night, Kumicho,” Sakura said. Twisting the knob, she slipped out of the room. She couldn’t look back at him as she walked away.

Sakura got a phone call that night. She stood on the balcony of her apartment in North Point, cigarette smoldering idly between her fingers. She almost didn’t notice the ringing over the rain and wind. But when she held it up to her ear, she could hear music and voices in the background.

“Are you at the karaoke bar?” she asked before he could speak.

“Yeah.”

“You want to come over?”

“Yeah.”

She hung up. Sniffed at her clothes and her hair. Laughed a little.

“He was right. Miso and fish was a terrible idea,” she muttered to herself as she got up to take a quick shower. 

Tobirama let himself in without knocking. She heard him take off his shoes before he walked down the hall. Found her on the balcony again, her hair wetting the shoulders of her robe. 

His hands slid around her waist, fingers unraveling the front knot. Lips warm against her neck. Tobacco and booze filling her nose. The metal bar of the railing was cold under her fingers. His hands engulfed her- warm and rough. And all she could see were the blinking lights in Causeway Bay.

It was only much later when they finally spoke. Tobirama on his back, one arm tucked behind his head. His expression was more exhausted than relaxed. She tilted her head to one side as she watched him. 

“What?” he said after a while.

“I heard York Ng is dead,” Sakura stated. Tobirama’s eyebrows rose. He let out a deep sigh.

“Ah. That? I had to hand him over to the Huang Group,” Tobirama replied. Sakura didn’t say anything, but her sharpening expression was more than enough.

“You remember one of their higher-ups had a daughter?” he went on, ignoring her glare. And eventually Sakura nodded.

“Yeah I’ve seen her. She used to go to Ying Wa Girls’ School. Fatboy Huang paid me a lot to keep an eye on her,” Sakura recalled. Not that there had been any issues. Only a fool would go after the Huang Group, herself included.

“Well turns out that York and the daughter had a thing. Convinced her that if she got enough money, they could run away to Bali together,” Tobirama told her. 

“Bali? What’s in Bali?” Sakura wondered. Tobirama snorted, looking up at the ceiling.

“Who knows? Either way, he ran off with her money and she told her father. So the little shit fled to Yokohama,” he went on. As he spoke, he trailed his finger over to her newest tattoo. Brushed his knuckles along its orange body.

“I’m sure Fatboy buried him alive. Or fed his entrails to his dogs or something. He was always a sick fuck,” scoffed Sakura. Tobirama gave her a look.

“Didn’t you used to date him?”

“No. His little brother, Broken Fang,” Sakura corrected. The name had been fitting. He had a chipped front tooth that whistled a little when he spoke too quickly. 

“Wasn’t he killed by the Suns?” Tobirama went on.

“Yeah,” replied Sakura, looking down at her nails. She could feel his eyes on her. Could remember the warm gush of his blood as she stabbed him in the gut.

“Yeah,” he repeated.

Sakura remembered calling Hashirama that night. Hands shaking. The rain pounding against the windows. And she sat slumped against the kitchen island. Refusing to look at the body growing colder and colder with each second. 

It was the day after her 19th birthday. She knew that. Because on her wrist was the diamond bracelet Broken Fang had given her the day before. 

“For my princess,” he had told her. And she had smiled back. Not really understanding how expensive it was. Not really bothered by his tobacco-stained teeth. Because Broken Fang was kind to her. And he put his arm around her when they walked places so that no one would touch her. 

“I’d do anything for you, baby,” he always said.

How terrifying it had been. For that gentle face, that had only ever snarled at other gangsters, had suddenly turned on her. 

Part of her hated Hashirama. Wished he had never given her that knife “for protection”. Wished that she had never agreed to help him out with those little errands. 

But she had taken the knife. And she had been the one to stab Broken Fang with it. Not Hashirama.

She was still sobbing when Hashirama arrived, wingtips clacking against the tile. He stared down at Broken Fang splayed across the kitchen floor. Nudged him. And then rolled him over with a kick. He crouched by the body, eyebrows rising.

“Sihk jo faahn meih a?” asked Hashirama. 

It took Sakura a while to realize that he was speaking to her. She lifted her head, eyes smeared with mascara in sticky clumps. She sniffed.

“Have I eaten?” she repeated, incredulous. “How can you even ask me that right now?” Her voice cracked, trembling on the last syllable. To her surprise, Hashirama threw his head back and laughed. Pushing his weight back on his heels, he rested his forearms on his knees.

“Your Cantonese still isn’t perfect, huh? That’s just how you say hi. Although, that kind of response doesn’t come from a full stomach,” he replied. Sakura didn’t say anything, avoiding his gaze. Still throbbing and twisting deep in her gut as she remembered why he was there in the first place. As her eyes drifted back to the corpse, Hashirama’s did too.

“First time killing someone?” he asked. She nodded, cupping her hands over her face. Clicking his tongue, Hashirama pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. He pulled her hands away from her face to wipe the blood from her fingers.

“Have you told anyone else?” he asked. She shook her head. Sighing, Hashirama tucked the handkerchief into her jacket pocket. Taking her hands in his, he looked her in the eyes.

“Alright. You’re going to go to Broken Fang’s older brother, Fatboy. And this is exactly what you’re going to tell him-” Hashirama said. 

“His name was Edison,” she interjected. And fresh tears welled up in her eyes. Spilling over. Her shoulders trembling as she curled into herself. Pathetic and wilting.

“Edison Chan. His last name wasn’t even Huang,” Sakura whispered. The tears streamed down her cheeks again. Her chest was tearing into tiny, irretrievable little pieces. Just pain, endless pain crashing down on her. 

“He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to be an actor,” Sakura blubbered, burying her face in her hands again. Wheezing and coughing against the mucus that clogged her nose. Cried so hard that her head began to ache. And maybe, just maybe that would drown out the horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

What she remembered clearest of all was Hashirama’s hand patting her head.

“There, there. Everything’s going to be alright,” he murmured.

“Broken Fang Huang, huh,” mused Tobirama. 

Sakura blinked. Pressing both her hands to her stomach, she shrugged. She climbed over his legs to grab the box of cigarettes on the nightstand. She stood, draping the wrinkled sheets around her hips. Tobirama watched her, just a little too perceptive as always. He reached out, running his thumb down the black koi on her back. Its eye shone soullessly. Sakura jerked away from his touch, lifting the cigarette to her mouth.

“What was he like?” he asked.

Sakura took a few steps, hand resting on the door handle.

“I don’t remember,” she replied. Escaped onto the balcony where she swallowed down smoke until she could think again. By the light of the city- brilliant and pulsing like a heartbeat- she glanced down at her right wrist. Wondered why no one ever asked about the tiny lightbulb tattooed between the veins. 

When her cigarette fizzled out, she went back inside. Tobirama was almost asleep. His eyelashes fluttered when she shut the door behind her. The muggy air followed in after her.

Sakura discarded the sheet on the floor, climbing back onto the bed. Her thighs on either side of his legs, she put her hands on his shoulders. Ash echoed in her breaths when she exhaled. When his hands settled on her hips, she didn’t try to push him away. 

Hashirama called in the morning. Tobirama was already gone. He had smoothed down the other side of the bed- like he had never been there in the first place. Sakura placed the phone on her cheek, too groggy to lift her head.

“Wei,” she answered. The room blurred. She blinked a few times.

“Jing-Mei.”

Sakura let out a breath.

“Uncle. What can I do for you?” she replied, slightly less grumpy than before. 

“Come by today,” Hashirama simply ordered. Sakura stifled a yawn. Rubbing the back of her hand to her eyes, she tried to remember her schedule. 

“Yes, Uncle. I’ll stop by later this morning,” she replied.

“Excellent.”

And then the call ended.

Blowing out a deep breath, Sakura rolled onto her back. The phone slid off her, tumbling into the sheets. Sakura rubbed her palms over her face. Her back hurt and the inside of her mouth felt dry. Gathering her strength, she heaved her body out of bed and into the shower. Letting the warm water pour over her shoulders until she could breathe a little easier.

By the time she strode into Hashirama’s office, she was on her second cup of coffee. Lips perfectly red and eyeliner tapered like the edge of a knife, she placed a warm paper bag on the desk. 

“Yes, I know. I’m late,” Sakura said. Hashirama’s gaze lingered on her pointedly. And then, giving a defeated sigh, he opened up the bag. A few fingers of steam wafted up as he pulled out a pineapple bun. There was already a slit cut in the middle. A melting pat of butter was wedged in there. 

She sank into the chair in front of his desk. Out of habit, she glanced over. Tobirama’s usual seat was empty.

“Be honest with me,” Hashirama said, skipping the usual small talk. He didn’t even touch the warm bread. Sensing that he wasn’t in a joking mood, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her black blazer and leaned back. Listening.

“What’re you up to?” he demanded.

“Do you remember Uchiha Madara?” Sakura asked in return. Hashirama’s eyes narrowed.

“Of course I do,” he replied, hands folding in front of him. Sakura shrugged.

“Well he’s involved. Somehow. I don’t know how yet,” Sakura informed him. And then she shifted in her seat to cross one leg over the other.

“I’m also certain that there’s money moving in this gang that shouldn’t be moving. I don’t want to point fingers until I’m absolutely sure, Uncle,” she went on. Hashirama nodded. He reached into his shirt pocket to pull out a cigarette case. Tapping it against the desk, he offered her one. 

“What do you want from me?” he asked. Sakura took a cigarette, lit it up. Hashirama did the same. They leaned back in their seats, exhaling in tandem. Sakura put her elbow up on the armrest.

“Nothing. Yet,” Sakura replied, a smile easing across her face. Hashirama shook his head, chortling.

“I have to tell you, Jing-Mei. Owing you a favor can be a terrifying thing,” he admitted. And Sakura only responded with an outright beam at that. 

“Oh, Uncle. I only learned from the best,” she assured him. Sighing, Hashirama leaned back. His chair creaked under the weight.

“Bring me the evidence first,” he reminded her. And Sakura responded with a nod. Turning toward the window, he added, “You may not have much love for Kabuto, but he’s still a 24k brother. It would break my heart to have to hurt him again.”

Sakura gazed at him through the haze of smoke. Eyes half-lidded. And she didn’t dare say the words. Because to say them would be to make them real. 

He’s becoming soft.

Sakura was still mulling over this later that day. Glaring down at the spreadsheet. The other people in the room didn’t dare make a noise. Not when she was looking over the numbers. The men cast Tenten several pointed looks until she cleared her throat. Sakura didn’t move. Tenten cleared her throat again, louder this time.

“Boss. Do they not add up?” asked Tenten. Sakura’s eyes slowly refocused. She finished scrolling down the page. 

“No. These are good,” Sakura replied. And everyone let out the breath that they had been holding. Pushing the laptop aside, Sakura glanced down at the briefcase. She picked up a wad of bills, flipping through them with her thumb. She did the same to a few more stacks before she closed the briefcase too. 

“You’re short,” she stated, eyes narrowing. Before he could stammer out some excuse, she reached into her blazer to pull out her Desert Eagle. Her finger pulled the trigger. And his lying mouth exploded in a gory firework. Tenten barely had time to dodge out of the way. Sakura turned to the dead man’s partner.

“You have a week to come up with my missing money or it’ll be the same for you,” Sakura threatened, waving her gun in front of him like a condescending finger. She smiled when she saw the color drain out of his face. 

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii (here) | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

#eastern suns #itasaku #tobisaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #writing #triad!au

[abadoodlesss]

Sometimes The Job’s Worth It - Chapter Four!

Read the previous chapters here

Next Chapter

Summary: Castiel comes at the request of Dean to try and rid Jane of her unpleasant memories, much to Sam’s dismay. Family fighting and some poorly chosen words lead to lots of complicated, possibly dangerous, situations.

Jane stared at the man before her. He was an intimidating figure, almost matching the height of the oldest Winchester. He held eye contact with Jane, seemingly staring into her soul with his piercing blue eyes.

“An angel?” Jane repeated, in a bit of disbelief. Castiel looked like a regular man to her, nothing like what she expected angels to be. Where were the flowing white robes? The long hair? The beautiful wings? Then again, she pictured demons to have red skin and horns protruding from their heads. That depiction couldn’t have been further from the truth, so who was she to be deciding what an angel should look like?

“Yes, I am Castiel, an ang-”

“We got that part already, buddy.” Dean said, patting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he walked over to Jane. “Jane, this is a friend of ours.” Dean continued. “He can...uh, help you.”

“With what?”

“We’ve noticed you’ve been acting a little strange.” Sam said, trying to put things lightly, coming to his brother’s side.

Jane mentally kicked herself. Of course they noticed! You’ve been acting like a psycho since you’ve met them! She thought to herself.

“What do you mean?” She asked, feigning ignorance.

“Kid, we know something's up.” Dean said flatly.

“Whatever’s going on, we want to help you.” Sam offered, aggravated with Dean’s lack of sensitivity.

“I appreciate that you’re concerned but really, nothing’s going on.” Jane lied, opening her Snickers as she climbed on the bed to watch whatever was playing on the small television.

Dean sighed. He knew what Jane must be upset about it, it was obvious. She had lost everything she had less than a week ago and all she had gained were the Winchesters. It wasn’t an easy situation to be in, unfamiliar and awkward not even mentioning dangerous. She was also obviously hurting, she lost her parents. Dean knew exactly what it felt like. He wished he had someone to comfort him in those times, but now here was Jane, turning away the help he wished he had gotten.

“If you’re sure.” Sam said, interrupting Dean’s inner monologue before the frustrating thoughts could start pouring out.

“I am.” Jane said, turning to the three men, having forgotten Castiel was even there.

“Jane,” Dean started, taking a seat on the bed by her feet while avoiding Sam’s hand that tried grabbing him away. “We just want to help. Talking things out can-”

“I’m fine.” She said curtly, not bothering to look his way.

“Kid-”

“Dean, I don’t need your help.” She snapped, glaring at him for a moment before returning her attention to the TV.

Dean puffed out his chest, ready to start a real argument but Sam grabbed onto his upper arm, dragging him off the bed.

“So my assistance is no longer necessary?”

Sam opened his mouth to confirm but Dean had other ideas.

“You know, Sammy and I haven’t been to a bar in a while. You wouldn’t mind watching Jane if we head out for a bit, right?”

Castiel looked at Dean slightly confused. He knew enough about Dean Winchester to understand he was plotting, but to what the actual plan was, Cas was oblivious.

Dean grabbed his car keys, whispering to Cas as he passed “Figure out what’s going on with her.” They gave each other a nod before Dean called, “Let’s go Sam.” storming out to the Impala.

“So you’re an angel?” Jane asked, sitting with her legs crossed, staring at Castiel who hasn’t moved since he arrived.

“Yes. I am an angel of the lord.”

After a silent moment, Jane blurted out a burning question. “If you’re an angel….where are your wings?”

She was timid to ask, but her curiosity was much stronger than her fear.

Though Jane’s family had never been particularly religious, she was (almost) positive angels didn’t run around the mortal world in trench coats, so why was Castiel like this? She had heard of fallen angels however, cast out of Heaven for pissing off the big man upstairs. Did they lose their wings when they came crashing down from on high? She shuffled further back on the bed when that idea surfaced.

“They aren’t visible to your human eyes.”

“Now that just sounds like an excuse.” Jane joked, but Castiel didn’t seem to get it. “So how do you know the Winchesters?”

“I was the angel that raised Dean from perdition.”

“What’s perdition?”

“The eternal state of punishment you know as Hell.”  

Jane looked at Castiel wide-eyed. A few thousand questions railed into her mind.

Hell is real? Dean went to Hell? Why? How? When? Again: Hell is real?!

Castiel was able to read Jane’s mind without really using his powers, her confusion was evident on her face. “Dean died many years ago and went to Hell. I brought him back as he was desperately needed.”

“Dean died?”

“Many times. Sam has as well.”

Jane had more questions but they were clouded by this new revelation that Hell was real. She was always hopeful that you went somewhere after you died but the thought that there was a Hell gave her chills. She had heard that a single sin could get you into Hell, which is why you had to go to confession and pray for forgiveness often, neither of which had her parents ever done since she was born. They must have accumulated a fair amount of sins in their lifetime that hadn’t been forgiven. Jane cringed at the idea, going to hug her knees as a chill ran up her spine.

Castiel watched the girl intently. It felt wrong to read the young girl’s mind, especially when he found her thinking of something so personal and heartbreaking, but he had to. Dean asked him to help this girl and if she wasn’t going to say what was wrong verbally, he had to result to an alternate plan.

“You’re thinking about your parents.” Castiel stated bluntly.

Jane’s eyes darted over to his figure without turning her head away as she held her knees to her chest tightly.

“It’s normal to miss them.” He offered when she refused to speak. “You’re allowed to be upset.”

“I wasn’t asking for permission.” She said coldly, instantly regretting it. “I’m sorry it’s just- it’s more than that. You don’t get it.” Jane said, waving him off before things got too sentimental.

“I don't. But you could explain it.” Castiel tried but to little avail. “You’re hurting. It’s natural to want to talk about it.”

Jane hated that he was making these assumptions so easily. She hated the way he said them as though he were reading facts out of a book. She hated that he was right about each one. Still, she remained silent, continuing to bottle up the thoughts threatening to pour out.

Castiel resulted to tapping into her thoughts to try to gain any helpful information but was only met with a swarm of repeated thoughts filling the girl’s mind. He stared at her incredulously, shocked at what he was hearing. “You feel at fault.”

“Aren’t I?” She spoke in a soft voice, unable to look at the angel. “I hid and-” Her voice cracked as she rested her head on her kneecaps, squeezing her eyes shut to trap in her tears.

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“I could have tried. I just hid in the bathroom and prayed for someone else to fix everything.”

“I know.” He said. “Your prayers were heard, but there wasn’t anything anyone could have done.” Castiel offered. Jane’s head perked up at what he had said.

“You heard me praying?” She asked, narrowing her eyes as she stared up at the angel.

“Yes, angels are able to hear all prayers and-”

“All the angels heard me and did nothing?” Jane continued, her voice holding a tone of disgust as she got up and made her way over to Castiel. “You heard me crying and pleading for help and you ignored me? Why? How could you just leave me there like that?”

“You have to understand-” Castiel started, backing away from the girl as she closed in.

“What? That there was nothing an all-powerful being like you could have done to help?”

“There are some matters in which angels cannot interfere.”

“Why? Was it some sort of fate that my entire family had to die?”

“It’s not our place. If direct orders aren’t given-”

As tears welled in her eyes, Jane swung out her hand, slapping the angel across his face. Not bothering to stick around for his reaction, she ran out of the motel room.

Dean downed another shot, slamming the glass down onto the table.

“You want to take it easy there?” Sam asked from across the table, nursing his first bottle of Bud Light.

“I don’t get it Sam. There is something wrong and we just want to help. Why wouldn’t she want that?”

“People have different ways of coping.” Sam said but Dean didn’t accept that answer.

“She shouldn’t have to go through it alone.” Dean grumbled.  

“I agree, but you have to think about it from her perspective.” Sam started, knowing he was asking a lot of his brother to think logically, especially when he was angry. “She lost her family and doesn’t know us very well. Besides, I still don’t think getting Cas involved is a great idea. We can comfort and support Jane but erasing her memories? That’s not how you deal with-”

Dean didn’t care to hear the rest, he was already making his way to the bar to get himself another shot.

He knew Sam was right. He always is. But hearing the truth about the situation is only more frustrating. Dean couldn’t help everyone. It was always hard to accept that not everyone can be 100% fixed but it didn’t make him feel any less shitty.

Dean downed three more shots, letting out a groan as the last one slid down his throat.

“Rough night?” A voice called.

Dean turned to meet a tall Asian woman. She was dressed in a tight red dress and matching heels with her hair in light waves. She was beautiful, charming Dean with her warm eyes.

“That obvious?” Dean asked with a chuckle as the woman sat beside him.

“Well I don’t know how much I can help, but I can at the very least get your next drink.” She said with a seductive smile.

“No objections here.” He said as the woman order the two of them drinks. “I’m Dean.”

“Christine.” She said with a sweet smile.

The two kept chatting, drinking and getting to know each other. She was flirty, Dean dare admit as flirty as he was.

She was in the midst of tying a cherry stem with her tongue when Dean’s phone started ringing. Pulling it out of his pocket and seeing the caller ID.

It was Jane.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Christine joked.

Dean pressed decline and threw his phone down. “No, no she’s- she’s my little sister.”

“What are you guys fighting about?”

“Are you a mind reader or just very good at guessing?” Dean asked with a laugh.

“You hit decline pretty quickly, seemed odd.” She defended. “Whenever I’m avoiding someone, especially that quickly, it’s normally because we’re fighting.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t exactly know I’m- well I’m not really mad at her it’s just-”

“Complicated?” Christine finished for him.

“Exactly.” He said with a smile, keeping eye contact with Christine as they each took a sip of their drinks.

His phone started ringing again.

Jane.

Declined.

“So where were we?” He asked, leaning closer to Christine. A sultry smile tugged at her red painted lips.

His phone started ringing again. He had half the mind to just hit decline a third time but guilt tugged at his gut.

“I should probably answer, just to make sure she’s alright.” Dean said, going for his phone.

Christine grabbed his hand. “She’s sixteen years old, she’s fine to stay home alone.”

Dean ripped his hand away from Christine’s. He never told her Jane’s age or that she was even home alone. Dean quickly accepted the call but Christine slapped the phone out of his hands, letting it fall to the floor. She covered the phone with her foot, driving the heel of her stilettos into the phone’s screen, cracking more than just the glass.

Dean looked up at Christine to see her pitch black eyes.

“Dean!” Sam yelled. He had his phone in hand, talking to someone.

Dean turned to grab onto Christine but she had disappeared. There was no time to care, something was wrong with Jane. He scooped up his broken phone before running with Sam to the Impala.

Jane rubbed her bare arms as she let out a shiver, watching the cloud of her own breath drift up into the starlit sky. Another shiver had her wishing for a jacket, but in her anger induced exit, she forgot to grab one.

She had run out of the hotel room after slapping Castiel. Where she was going, she didn’t know, nor did she care. She needed to clear her head and walking was always the way she had done it.

Her anger was quelled rather quickly, her adrenaline being replaced with nerves. The road she was on was dark, devoid of any cars, of any houses, just open fields that turned into woods further back. She was totally alone, vulnerable, jumping at each slight sound.

Her phone battery was running low as it was wasted on using her flashlight to navigate the maze of streets.

Before her phone could abandon her, found Dean’s name in her contact list. It rang four times before going to voicemail. She was almost glad for didn’t know what she was going to say.

Hey, I got upset, slapped your angel friend and now I’m alone and cold on some dark road in the middle of nowhere. Can you come get me?

It would only annoy Dean and that’s the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to call someone. Sighing, she pressed his name again, and again it went to voicemail. One more time.

Three rings and her phone died, displaying a blinking empty battery.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Her best bet was to turn around and hope she could find her way back, so that’s what she did.

A single street light was lit and in the amber glow stood a man, staring at her.

Maybe wandering around is my best bet. She thought, turning back around to continue walking aimlessly away from the motel when she crashed into someone.

“Hiya Janie.” Called the tall Asian woman in a very skimpy red dress she bumped into. The woman blinked her kind eyes to reveal the black eyes of a demon.

Jane took off sprinting in the direction of the creepy man under the streetlight only to find he wasn’t there, rather right beside her already clutching her arm.

“Let go of me!” Jane cried, trying to rip her arm away to no avail.

“We’re going to need to take you with us. There’s a very special someone who would like to meet you.” The woman said with a wicked smile.

Jane was relentlessly struggling against the demon when a familiar low rumble of a car stilled the group, blinding them with its headlights as the Impala turned onto the road.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked as they sped down the road in the Impala. Sam was on the phone currently, not answering any of Dean’s questions. “Sam?” Dean called. Ignored again, Dean groaned and grabbed the phone away from Sam.

“What’s wrong are you okay?” Dean asked into the phone.

“I am fine, it was only a small slap.” The gravelly voice of Castiel answered.

“Cas? Where’s Jane?”

“She ran out of the hotel room after slapping me across the face.”

“Where is- Why did she slap you?”

“I may have chosen a few incorrect words when trying to provide comfort.”

“Do you know where she is?” Sam called.

“Yes, but I’m afraid she won’t listen to me.”

“You’ll have to go anyways. I think there’s demons after her.”

“She’s on Shaker Road, approximately 2.6 miles away from the motel.”

“Alright, we’ll meet you there Cas.” Dean said, hanging up the phone and tossing to his brother as he slammed on the gas pedal.

We’re coming kiddo.

#ooo cliffhanger! #dun dun dun #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #winchester sister #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #sam and dean #castiel #demons #supernatural

[percabethrulesall]

So I kinda recreated a small portion of the YOI fanfic, https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645131/chapters/21790376, called The Rules For Lovers that comes from chapter 14, where *spoilers* Yuri is nearly killed by a shadow assassin, so this is it. Thank you to the author for writing this wonderful piece of art, I hope their okay with this! @adreamingsongbird

My heart is pounding, my lungs struggling to hold in my breath as the large figure of a heavily armed guard passes me. My chest feels as if it would split open any second as I wait for the guard to take his methodical footsteps farther and farther from the hole I’m hiding in. Finally I let out the breath I had been holding in as silently as possible, thanking all above that I wasn’t caught. After the surprise guard, I know I need to move to a more private area where the guards don’t patrol as readily and finish the job I had been sent here to do. So I gather my courage and move in the shadows, dancing through on the edges of the guard’s vision, moving across the palace, until I come to my final destination, a giant fanciful room where the prince lays, unsuspecting and asleep. Here is where I shall finish the job given to me.

I slip underneath the doors as a shadow and to anyone else I appear as nothing more. I look out at the room which was so lavishly decorated, giving the Crown Prince no want for any luxury. This boy appeared a such a spoiled brat, not even looking at those who were poor, holding his nose up at those below him, swimming in riches many of those people can barely fathom. Now though, he appears as a child, his face young and plump, having barely hit puberty the year before. He still swims in a bed much too large for him and with his icy eyes closed, he can be regarded as innocent. I; however, know differently. This boy can cause the deaths of many and the pain and suffering of so many more. His icy eyes will light up with the fire of a thousand suns on the battlefield, and burn to ashes his enemies, leaving nothing behind. He is someone who is a great enemy to me even if he may soon be considered a great protector to his people. A child born of war and fire may never be someone who is truly loved, for anyone that tries to show love and affection is burned to a crisp and fades away faster than a shadow on a sunless day.

Just as I consider the best way to prevent tragedies in the future and end the Crown Prince and the danger to my country, I see a rustle in the sheets next him. Another boy, almost a man but not quite there yet, is sleeping as well next to him. I recognized him a friend of the Crown Prince, another distinguished prince from a country neighboring his. I do not know him well, but only well enough to know that he is close friends with the Crown Prince, some even speculating something more between them. I remember the man who hired me saying something about someone else to dispose of when I was in the chambers, but my main goal is him and I will never again harm those who were really not a threat to me or my country. I may take money for murders, but I had amassed enough wealth to only take those who were guilty of being threats to me or my country, not the innocent. My employer had given me information that the Crown Prince was supposed to attack my country within months, where he would make Death envelop my country in an embrace that would burn us to nothing. It was something I couldn’t let go of and I still couldn’t, a monster may wear a child’s face, but it was still a monster.

I slid up the bed as a shadow in the dark night, waiting until I was practically on top of him to pull out my knife and manifest myself. Unfortunately the manifestation shifted weight on top of my target and his eyes open wide in fear and aggression and he turns his icy gaze on me as I put the knife away and fade some. At first he scans the room to see what had awoken him and he starts to fade back to sleep, but then in the corner of his eye, he catches me and shouts and jumps out of bed. I immediately spring into action, lunging at him with my blade out, but he manages to dodge backwards out of the way of my poisoned blade. However his yell woke up his companion and his companion charges at me and my promise floats to the forefront of my mind and I cringe, but I slip into the shadows again. While the Crown Prince turns on the lights, I slither into the shadow of his companion. We may always suspect ourselves, but we never doubt those who support us.

As the Crown Prince checks his own shadow, I lunge out of his friend’s, knocking his friend aside, so he wouldn’t interfere, damn me and my stupid moral code, I think as I force the brat down on the bed, choking him. He still manages to catch me in the stomach with his foot and I reel back and hiss at the pain. He tries to get back up; however I slam my fist into his kneecap, hard. As he loses whatever breath he had regained, I put a neat little dart in his arm for his troubles. I then back off, leaving him alive for a very short time. He can say a quick goodbye to his friend before the poison takes ahold of him and leaves him dead, never a threat to my country again.

His death leaves a horrible feeling the pit of my stomach, and I want to leave this foul country immediately, so I head straight to my employer who is currently in his office.

“I have done the deed,” I say gravely, appearing straight out of the shadows in my mortal form. My employer doesn’t look the slightest bit ruffled when he smiles and gestures for me to sit down.

“Sit, please,” he says with the grace that can only come with being a politician. This man worked with the Crown Prince in his and the King’s parliament and I don’t know what motivation he had for the assassination, but he gave me plenty reason to want to kill the Crown Prince. I still stay standing though, I am anxious to leave this place of dangerous political motives.

“No, thank you, I will remain standing,” I say quietly, “now please give me my money and I will take my leave.” I do not enjoy him or his politics but I would do anything to protect the people of my country.

“That is very rude of you you know,” the man chuckles as if he were my grandfather, lightly scolding me, “Sit down, we have plenty to discuss.” He smiles again, like a shark and I am suspicious enough to evaluate the exits.

“I do not wish to sit,” I say with my voice as cold and barren as a tundra, “I believe we have nothing to discuss, I have done my job and he is dead. You will honor your payment or risk having all shadow guilds gunning for you and from what I take of you, you are no fool, so pay up and let me take my leave.” I give him a hard glare as I prepare for an attack, throwing a shield up in my mind. I knew a philologist when I saw one and he had enough mental blocks up to have something. Sure enough I feel one try to invade my mind, but the guild taught me better than to let me be controlled by some dissatisfied employer.

“Stop those silly antics, “ I say, unbothered by the attack, “Let us talk like adults about matters you are clearly dissatisfied with.”

“Oh, dear,” he says with the usual slimeball attitude of a  politician, “this is awkward. I actually am not dissatisfied with your work, I just need to tie up loose ends. Guards!” In storm half a dozen guards, armed to the teeth and with high quality armor. I am definitely in a situation.

“See what I wanted was for you to confess your crimes, in order for us to have a war with your country; however since you are uncooperative, I guess we’ll just have to use your dead body as proof enough,” the man says nonchalantly as if he wasn’t talking about the murder of thousands.

“Never, you bastard, I will not let the innocent die because of me!” I say as I try to fade into shadow; however, a light mage works his magic, making it impossible for me to go anywhere. The man then has the nerve to laugh at me.

“It may be too late then,” he says, wheezing, “since that boy you killed was never going to be used as a weapon. I just wanted an excuse to make you kill him; after all, you are one of the best, and you now don’t fight without cause, so I created something.”

“You bastard,” I say as I run towards the window, but a blade stops me from reaching it in time, taking some blood and skin with it. I look for other ways out, but I see none. To try to take on all of these guards at once would be suicide and give my ‘employer’ exactly what he wants, so I use the only option still viable to me.

I reach into my coat and pull out a vial of fire magic, it leaves behind only ashes and nothing that can lead me back to my country. I say a quick prayer and hear him yell as I swallow the burning potion and I live long enough to feel myself implode before the darkness of the shadow embraces me forever.

#yoi #shadow assassin #adventure #fanfiction based on fanfiction? #idk man #i was inspired

[sickfic-with-kiko]

My first Haikyuu sickfic, whoo! I’ve never written anything like this until now, so I’m so sorry if it’s absolute trash!

Warning: Contains descriptions of vomit under the cut 

Read the warning 

READ WARNING 

Okay, you’ve been warned! 

Bokuto having to be babysat by his underclassman was nothing new, at this point.

In fact, it was what made Bokuto “Bokuto” and nobody else. Akaashi had learned how to deal with each and every Bokuto problem at this stage. He didn’t even know how Bokuto could get his hand stuck in a Pringles can until he managed to do it three consecutive times.

Bokuto could always manage to irk Akaashi, in that sense, but one day had really taken the cake.

A hot afternoon left everyone soaking with sweat during practice, and most of the players just wanted to sit down and have a popsicle.

Well, all of them, because Bokuto’s usual enthusiasm was nowhere to be seen.

“Akaaashiii! The gym’s too bright!” Bokuto whined for the seventh time that hour, leaning forward and gripping his kneecaps. Everyone expected Akaashi to do something about the troublesome captain, which was only piling onto the vice captain’s stress.

“Well, maybe it’s because it’s daytime, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi replied, irritation apparent in his tone.

Bokuto had gone into dejected mode twenty minutes into practice, and nothing Akaashi said or did helped. Everything seemed to set Bokuto off, and it was driving Akaashi mad.

Everyone’s shoe soles squeaked too loudly, the gym was too hot, the ball was too hard to spike. Akaashi was baffled at some of Bokuto’s complaints, but his annoyance prevented him from pondering any further. He was tired too, and Bokuto wasn’t helping.

“Akaashi-” “Bokuto-san, we need to talk.”

When Bokuto realised that Akaashi was done with all his complaining, it was too late. Akaashi pulled Bokuto over to the sidelines, ignoring his weak attempts to apologize.

Akaashi stared hard at Bokuto before opening his mouth. The captain seemed to shrink where he sat, bracing himself for a lecture.

“Bokuto-san. I’ve had about enough of your complaining for the day.” Akaashi warned sternly, speaking in an almost threatening manner. Bokuto didn’t answer, and Akaashi saw fit to continue with his rant.

“What do you expect me to do, Bokuto-san? Do you think I exist just for you? Would it kill you to give me a break?” Akaashi blurted out, expecting Bokuto to at least reply instead of sitting there with his head bowed. He looked almost pitiful, and the last thing Akaashi wanted to do was to pity him.

Akaashi was just about to demand an answer from Bokuto, but upon leaning forward to catch a glimpse of his expression, he discovered, to his utter disbelief, that Bokuto was crying.

The rest of the team had been watching the two of them ever since Akaashi had started using stern words at Bokuto, marvelling at the unusual event, but their faces turned white once they, too, saw their captain’s tears.

Only then it occurred to Akaashi that from his teammates’ point of view, it would have seemed like Akaashi had made Bokuto cry. That could have been true, but Bokuto had taken much harsher words from many figures of authority. Surely he didn’t take Akaashi’s words as a personal attack.

“Akaashiiii…”

Bokuto buried his head into his palms, his face flushed a light crimson. As much as Akaashi didn’t want to admit it, it hurt to see Bokuto in such a sorry state.

Upon reaching over to touch Bokuto’s shoulder, Akaashi felt his hand become significantly warmer. As he opened his mouth to speak, Konoha had dropped out of practice and stepped beside him.

“Akaashi, what’s up with you guys?” Konoha squinted, taking glances at the now concerned Akaashi and Bokuto that still looked a wreck.

“I think he is sick.” Akaashi replied, touching his captain’s cheek with the back of his hand. Konoha didn’t need to be told who “he” was. Akaashi’s hand was promptly grabbed by Bokuto, who rubbed his flushed cheek into it while muttering inaudibly.

“You’re right.” Konoha rolled his eyes at Bokuto’s gesture, beckoning at the other players that were now making their way over to the three. With Bokuto still sniffing pitifully, Akaashi knew that it was going to be a long ride.

Taking Bokuto away from practice was surprisingly easy, which was only worrying for Akaashi. He had even dared to ask why he was so cooperative, to which Bokuto answered only with a groan.

Akaashi’s anger had been replaced with guilt by the time he had taken his captain to the infirmary with the combined efforts with himself and Konoha.

Bokuto’s dejected mode had been activated for a good reason, after all. Of course, he was running a fever of 101°F, and Akaashi couldn’t notice the fact that he was probably strugging not to collapse during practice.

“Now get some rest, Bokuto-san. Konoha-san is going to try and contact your family, so you can go home.” Akaashi reassured Bokuto as best as he could, deciding that perhaps it wasn’t too late to show that he was feeling bad about what he said earlier.

“Sorry, ‘Kaashi..” Bokuto muttered through gritted teeth, turning to the other side of the bed restlessly for the sixth time since he had been carried into the infirmary.

“Don’t apologize.“ Akaashi stated, leaving no room for further discussion. "If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.” He muttered, placing an ice pack wrapped in a towel on Bokuto’s forehead.

 Bokuto muttered a thanks, his expression softening for a moment when the towel came into contact with his flushed skin. However, he was soon back to grimacing again, a hand placed on his chest. 

 Akaashi hadn’t let anything slip past his eyes after what had happened in the gymnasium, and had been observing Bokuto’s actions to check if he was in pain anywhere.

 "Bokuto-san, does it hurt somewhere?“ Akaashi asked, placing a hand on top of Bokuto’s arm. The captain shook his head, but his eyebrows were knitted together tightly.

��"It doesn’t hurt, but..” Bokuto’s breaths were ragged and uneven, worrying Akaashi even further. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on what it was, until Bokuto’s throat moved upwards dangerously.

 "Bokuto-san.“ Akaashi grabbed a trash can from beside the desk, fearing for the worst. "Are you going to be sick?" 

 Bokuto immediately shook his head, despite the fact that a line of saliva was trailing down from the corner of his lip. Akaashi sighed and lifted Bokuto upwards, pushing the trash can towards him. 

 "Akaashi, ’m fi-ULP!” Bokuto’s unfinished sentence was enough to turn Akaashi’s suspicion into an uncomfortable truth. 

 "No, you’re not.“ Akaashi was amazed at how Bokuto thought he could fool anyone at this point. His hand instinctively shifted over to Bokuto’s bent back, that was too warm for Akaashi’s liking. A wet burp slipped past Bokuto’s lips as he tried to speak, leaving Akaashi startled for a moment. 

 "I, uh-” Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut, leaning closer to the trash can and gripping the sides of it until his knuckles turned white. Akaashi could only imagine how bad Bokuto was feeling, although he hated even thinking about his captain in pain.

 Tears welled up in Bokuto’s eyes as he tried not to vomit, and Akaashi couldn’t bear to sit by and just let it happen anymore. “Bokuto-san,” Akaashi decided to take matters into his own hands.

 "Akaashi.. I can’t-hic, I really don’t want to throw up,“ Bokuto’s weak protests were cast aside by Akaashi, who placed a slightly larger force on his hand on top of Bokuto’s back, moving it slowly in a circular motion. 

 "It’s all right, Bokuto-san. You’re all right.” Akaashi whispered in an attempt to soothe his sick upperclassman, who soon made a choked sound at the back of his throat. 

 "Aka-UUURP!“ Bokuto’s sentence was cut off by a harsh retch, that had brought up his stomach contents with it into the trash can. Ignoring the fact that his name had turned into something that didn’t sound Japanese, Akaashi continued to rub Bokuto’s back while trying not to cringe in sympathy.

 "It’s all right, just let it up.” Akaashi’s sentence could barely be heard over Bokuto heaving up what could have only been everything he had eaten within the past three days, although the captain seemed to appreciate Akaashi’s efforts to help nonetheless.

 By the time the waves of nausea had passed and the trash can had been cleaned out by Akaashi, Bokuto’s dejected mode had reached an entirely new level.

 Bokuto had an immune system he could boast about, which had failed him in the worst possible way. Akaashi observing him in his lowest state- vomiting and crying at the same time, had taken a lot out of his stamina that had already seemingly hit rock-bottom. 

 "I managed to- shit, Bokuto, did you throw up?“ Konoha had come back from contacting Bokuto’s family so that they could come collect him. However, he didn’t expect to walk in on Akaashi wiping off the remains of vomit on Bokuto’s chin. 

 Of course, Konoha’s comment didn’t make Bokuto feel any better. The captain had been bursting into tears for no reason at all for the past few minutes, while babbling on about how uncool he looks as a captain. 

 "Konoha-san, did you manage to call Bokuto-san’s guardian?” Akaashi asked, wondering if it would cheer Bokuto up if he knew that he could go home soon. Konoha nodded, leaving Akaashi sighing with relief. Bokuto’s sweat-soaked hand was gripping Akaashi’s, pleading him not to leave just yet. 

Akaashi remided himself that he was dealing with a sick Bokuto, and he did feel extremely sorry for him. Despite that, Bokuto’s almost peaceful expression was quite pleasing to look at. “Get well soon and come to practice, Bokuto-san.”

#akaashi keiji #sickfic #tw vomit #emeto #vomiting #bokuto koutarou #haikyuu!! #sick bokuto #bokuaka

[nico-meridius]

Afternoon Fic - Angel AU (Part - 12)

Happy Valentines Day!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Part Eleven

Quick question to my followers - I’ve heard there are some problems with ‘keep reading’ basically that if you’re on mobile it looks as if text just ends, and doesn’t give you the link to the rest of the story.

As these sections are long - I usually keep a portion of them under a ‘keep reading’ link ... can everyone see the full chapter?  Please let me know.

***

"We need to get to hallowed ground."  Brian shot two demons, as they exited the building and into the open.  

"Like a church?"  Fusco asked, making sure to keep Harold between him and Shaw.  "Isn't St. Patrick's a few blocks up on 5th Avenue?"

"A blessing indeed."  Brian nodded, his brogue once again more pronounced.  "You're weapons will not destroy the Demons as they are not blessed, but they will slow them down.  No kneecaps."

"Wasn't planning on it!"  Shaw shot two in the head.  "Can you bless them?"

"I am many things, but I am not a priest."  

They continued their way across the square towards Park Ave, coming to a halt when a half dozen snarling Demons blocked their way.  Harold wondered where John was, he had said if he was to ever call out for him he would be there.

"Be gone Demon!"  Brian yelled. "Your kind is not welcome here."

They cringed, but continued forward.

A howl echoed off the buildings, sending shivers down everyone's spines.  Brian braced himself, preparing for the attack.   Hell Hounds were unholy of creatures, and the hardest to kill.  

"What was that?"  Fusco asked, become more concerned with each moment.

"Hell Hound."  Brian answered, sending prayers to his own. "Uriel I need you."

"A what?" Shaw demanded.

"It's not a Hell Hound…"  Harold hesitated when the three looked at him. "Well it is, but …"

A flash of brown and red slammed into the first Demon, ripping out its throat with a vicious shake of the head.  The dog dropped the body, looked at the small group, then turned to face the rest of the Demons.  His hair was raised across it's spine, blood dripped off its snout, eyes flashed red with intent.

"It's Bear," Harold finished.

Shaw stared at the dog, then at Harold, then at the dog, watching in gleeful horror as it shredded two more Demons.  "We need to talk about keeping secrets Harold."

"You have a Hell Hound?"  Brian asked, eyes widening slightly.

"John got him for me."  He shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it.

"John has a Hell Hound?"  Shaw demanded.  "And didn't get me one?"

"Can we leave now?"  Fusco asked in the middle of the argument.  "Bear is doing a good job ripping these guys to shred but more our coming."

With the Hell Hound destroying the Demons behind the, the small party quickly made their way across Park Ave, and up 52nd Street until they got to 5th Avenue, turning left they quickly made it to the steps of the famed Cathedral.

Saint Patrick's Cathedral was built in the mid 1850's, but even it was affected by the Civil War and wasn't finished until 1865.  It is the seat of the Archdiocese of New York, and one of the most famous iconic structures in New York.  The front steps face the Rockefeller center, and as they ran by they could see the Atlas bronze statue, standing silently.

They moved up the five smaller steps, then followed by three more leading up to the large wooden doors.  There was a time when all church doors would be unlocked and welcoming to any who seek sanctuary, but over time the doors began to close to those in need.

As Brian reached the heavy doors, he was prepared to use what force he needed to get them open. They were safer settled into the enclaves as the land up to the street is hallowed ground, but he would prefer to get Harold inside the safety of the Cathedral.

The large oak doors opened from the inside.  "I would suggest getting inside, there are demons outside."

"No shit!" Shaw growled, pushing Harold inside the building.  She wasn't religious, never saw the use of it, but at this moment she'll take all the help she could get to make sure Harold stayed safe.

Brian walked into the building, instantly went down on his right knee and crossed himself. He then took Harold's arm, pulling him further down the aisle, making him sit in one of the pews.  "There is a St. Michael Altar here in the Cathedral."

"I've called to him…"

"Aye." Brian frowned worried now that neither Michael nor Uriel had answered.  "I have called upon my own.  Since neither have shown, it tells me they're dealing with something far worse than we feared."

"Why is Bear still outside?"  Shaw demanded.

"He's a Hell Hound."  Brian answered, giving her a look.  "Even if he is working for Michael, he still can't come on Sacred ground."

"But what if he needs help?"  She glared at him.  "He's part of our team."

"Hell Hounds are the hardest things in the underworld to kill."  Brian shook his head, after this was over, he would need to meet this 'Bear'.  "Unless Lucifer himself rises, he'll be safe."

"Is that an option?"  Fusco asked concerned.  "The big cheese of hell coming after us."

"We survived Samaritan, we can take Lucy."  Shaw smirked at the detective.

Lionel couldn't help the snort.  "Anyone want to explain Carter?"

"Well someone had to keep an eye on you."  

Fusco turned on his heel, coming face to face with his partner.  He gave her a smile, and didn't care about pretense, walked up and wrapped his arms around her.  She held him onto him just as tightly.

"I'm not the brightest one in this group, so please explain?"  Lionel stepped back hand waving at the large white wings.

"We're guardians."  She gestured towards Nathan who had made his way next to Harold, pulling him into his arms wrapping the large wings around the smaller man.  "Michael requested once I came to terms with myself to step in and watch over you, Fusco.  He knew you had a lot to face, and wanted a guardian who could keep up."

"So, what you die and become an angel?"  Shaw frowned, it didn't sound like anything she remembered.

"It is slightly more complicated than that, my dear."  They all turned to see an older man, with long white hair, and matching beard.  He wasn't wearing the typical black suit of a priest, instead jeans and a wool sweater. The two young men behind him, stood out in such a holy place.  One was dark the other light, tattoos visible on their hands and necks.  Their heavy black peacoats were open showing double holstered weapons.  "Boys go help the hound with the demons."

"Aye Father."  They moved past the gentleman, they gave a nod to the Angels and continued to the doors. Their strides were in sync, matched each other perfectly.  As they opened the doors, they pulled their weapons.  "And Shepherds we shall be. For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand.  Our feet may swiftly carry out thy commands.  So we shall flow a river forth to thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be …" And as the doors closed.  "… In Nomeni Patri, Et Fili, Spiritus Sancti."

"Who was that?"  Shaw stared at the closed doors, not sure if she wanted to join in or run away.

"Holy Warriors."  The older man answered.

"John mentioned them."  Harold pulled himself out of Nathan's arms.  "I never got an explanation.  He stated that Saints walk among us, but nothing about Holy Warriors."

"Saints gain their title after their death."  He smiled softly at Harold. "Holy Warriors are men and women who see the spiritual fight on earth and are called to serve.  Some become priests, nuns, monks others take up the fight on a physical level.  My two boys, Connor and Murphy are two of them. They have my blessings."

"And you are?" Shaw asked.

"Patrick and welcome to my church."

Continued

#rinch #harold finch #john reese #person of interest #afternoon fic #angel au #archangels #st michael

[trash-trashaf]

Nobody Quite Like This Ch. 4

Fandom: Voltron

Summary: The Paladins of Voltron have discovered a prisoner Galra ship. Hoping to find Pidge’s brother and father, they decide to sneak onto the ship and look for them. What they don’t expect to find is this: a mysterious human boy and girl, passed out behind bars

Word Count: 1795

Relationships: Matt/Shiro, others to come

Characters: Shiro, Keith, Lance, Pidge/Katie, Hunk, Coran, Allura, Original Characters, Matt(mentioned)

Warnings: Language

A/N: Chapter four. First voltron fanfic. Way too excited to be writing this :D

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10326254/chapters/22829777

Thank you for reading and feedback is welcome!

Chapter Four: The Pilot and the Sniper

“That should do it!” Roaron says excitedly as he pulls back away from the panel and wipes sweat off his brow.

“Incredible.” Coran comments as he looks over his work on the escape pod from the Galra ship. It no longer looks like a regular wimpy pod: it has several boosters and a thicker frame so it’s not as easily damaged. Within the walls are several guns, controlled by a panel facing opposite of the steering panel. The two seats inside sit back to back. Coran looks over to Roaron and smiles. “You did a fantastic job.”

“I hope so, but I won’t know anything until I test it out.” he cracks his back and stretches. “Do you want me to test out the firing power with you?” Coran asks. Roaron shakes his head. “No. I’ll test it out with Skylar. Wherever she is.” he turns to him. “It’d be nice if you could turn the castle’s defenses on us so we can see how she holds up against an attack though.”

“Sounds good. I’ll head down to the main control room and wait for you to appear on the scanners.” Coran walks out of the room. Roaron is quick to follow after and searches for Skylar.

***

“Alright Coran, we’re ready.” Roaron says into the mic on his helmet, hands resting on the controls on both sides of him. He’s decked out in his Galra suit and helmet while Skylar had borrowed a suit from the castle. It was nice that it formatted to her body type.

“Okay. All defenses, up!” Roaron sees the particle barrier turn on the castle and tightens his hold as lasers start to shoot at them.

He immediately starts to avoid the lasers, doing everything from shifting to the left to barrel rolling away from a barrage of them. Skylar’s fingers start to move across the panel, firing back at the castle, hitting the particle barrier. She curses as one of the castle’s lasers strike the weapon she’s using. “Gun one down.” she hisses as she shifts to one with more power and once again firing.

“Shit sorry.” Roaron grits out as he nose dives and flies under the castle, just escaping another barrage of attacks. He pushes the lever forward to speed up, managing to give Skylar time to fire back. Her aim is practically perfect, always hitting the barrier.

“Go ahead and up the attack Coran.” Roaron speaks.

“Are you sure?” his concerned voice comes over the speakers.

“Positive.”

Before long there’s more lasers and they’re more accurately aiming towards them. “Fuck!” Skylar snaps as her second gun breaks off from a direct hit, causing the ship to shudder. She glances over her shoulder. “You’ve lost two guns: it’s time to stop testing and repair.” “Yeah, o-” the ship shudders to a stop and all the lights go dim, leaving them in darkness.

“Coran! St-” he’s cut short as a laser hits the ship, causing it to start flipping over and over through space. Skylar grits her teeth, hands digging into the seat to keep herself steady despite having a belt on. The ship stops upside down and Roaron can see that the castle defenses are down from the window.

“Roaron! Skylar! Are you alright?” Coran’s voice comes through the helmets. “Y-Yeah we’re fine. The power source must have gotten  hit. We’re just stranded in space.” Roaron replies, clicking various buttons to see if he can possibly get it going again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send someone to get you.” the static in the helmet shuts off, indicating he’s cut the radio between helmets off. Skylar huffs a bit and grasps the seat before undoing her belt and dropping from the floor that has now become the ceiling. “Little rusty, are we?”

“Shut up. You were allowed a gun with the Galra: I wasn’t allowed to fly.” he undoes his belt as well and drops to stand beside her. “We still have it though.” he grins, causing her to grin back. “Yeah we do.”

Roaron looks away from her, back to the castle. “..I wonder what’s taking so long. They could just send a lion out.” he looks in alarm back at Skylar as she lets out a groan and doubles over. “Skylar??” he kneels beside her, hand resting lightly on her back.

She groans back in response and rolls onto her side. Her eyes are squeezed closed tightly and her breath comes out in short pants. Roaron feels the panic rising in him and he presses the button on his helmet. “Coran? Allura? Anyone! Come in! Skylar needs help!” he cringes as he hears the sound of bones snapping and looks over her as her whole body shudders and curls into a ball. He looks desperately out the window and breathes a sigh of relief as he sees a ship coming towards them.

Once it gets close a metal net snaps out and wraps around their ship. It starts to drag them back to the castle. Once they’re back in the hanger the net drops and Roaron is quick to open the door to the pod before hooking his arms under Skylar’s and dragging her the few feet to the opening. He knows he won’t be able to do this on his own: she’s way too heavy. He sees Keith jump out of the ship that brought them back.

“Keith! You gotta help me.” he calls, stopping the red paladin from walking through the door. He turns and his eyes widen as he sees the now unconscious Skylar. He pauses before jogging back over. “What the hell happened?” he asks as both of them shove their shoulders under each of hers, pulling her up into an almost standing position.

“I’m not sure...she just collapsed when we were waiting to be rescued.” they start to trudge towards the door. Keith grunts a bit as they get through the opening and start heading down the hall.

“Is it just me or is she getting heavier?” he grits out. Roaron pants slightly, repositioning her arm so he has a better grip. “Most likely just getting tired.”

Keith huffs and gently drops her, causing Roaron to do the same. “The quickest way she’s gonna get help is if one of us run ahead to get more man power, since someone didn’t contact the ship before coming in.”

Roaron glares at him. “Our power went out and Coran turned off the radio, what the hell was I supposed to do?”

Keith opens his mouth to retort but his gaze travels to Skylar as there’s more snapping of bone. His look of annoyance turns into one of alarm and he glances to Roaron, who’s in a similar state of panic. “Look, I’ll run ahead since I know the castle better. I wouldn’t leave her alone.” Keith says and without waiting for a reply, runs off down the hall and out of sight. Roaron looks after him before kneeling beside Skylar.

She shifts slightly and her eyes open to slits. “No...worry….happening.” she flinches and squeezes her eyes shut. “....all week.” her body spasms and Roaron flinches, empathetic. He hears a ripping noise and looks along her body to see a tear has formed in the suit along her side. A whole body shiver goes through her and she suddenly goes still. Her breathing slows down, but her eyes are still shut. He presses his fingers to her neck to find her pulse steadying.

Several steps are heard down the hall and are rushing towards him. Roaron stands up and takes a step back as Lance and Hunk appear with Keith. “I think she’s stable.” he says at their approach. “Her breathing went back to normal about a minute ago.”

“I still think we should bring her to a healing pod, just in case.” Hunk says, looking over her before back to Roaron. “Or at the very least let Coran put her through a scanner, see what’s going on with her.”

Lance nods in agreement. “Yeah, wouldn’t want a pretty girl like her to die or anything.” Keith and Hunk both look at him at the same time, giving him unamused looks. He shrugs. “What?”

Roaron rolls his eyes. “You aren’t really her type.” he mutters under his breath before looking to Hunk. “So...to the scanning room?”

“To the scanning room.”

***

“Well, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with her.” Coran says as he looks at the screen in front of him, showing the skeleton of Skylar. The healing pods doubled as scanners, so Skylar was resting inside of one while Coran looked at the data. Allura and Roaron stand close behind him, Roaron chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Are you positive?”

“Quite. Here, come have a look for yourself.” he beckons Roaron closer and his eyes look over the screen. He squints slightly and presses a fingertip near her knee, causing the image to enlarge. “What’s that?” there’s a small hairline crack right under her kneecap.

Coran frowns and looks closer to it. With a swipe he looks at the other knee to find a similar crack. “I’m...not sure...but I know they’re not harming her.”

Allura steps forward and leans in close to Roaron to observe the screen. “That bone almost looks like it’s new. It’s quite weaker looking then the rest of her structure.” she comments before pulling back slightly.

“I think you’re on the right track, Allura.” Coran says as he exits out of the screen and turns the healing pod on. He looks to Roaron. “I believe she’s just going through a grow spurt.”

“A grow spurt doesn’t happen that fast! At best it’d take a year to grow that much, not in a half hour.” Roaron exclaims, crossing his arms. “Also, it’s not painful like that.”

Allura sighs and looks to him. “It’s the best diagnosis we can give you for now. We’ll keep an eye on her, even after she wakes up. It’ll be best if you work on your ship and repair it so it doesn’t go down as easy.”

He frowns slightly at her before giving a long sigh and nodding in agreement. He turns and starts towards the door.

“Roaron?”

He turns to her. “Yes?”

“I’ll meet up with you in a couple of minutes and help.” he stares at her for a minute before nodding slightly and walking out the door. It shuts behind him. Allura turns her gaze to Coran worriedly, his face reflecting her worry.

“She said she was experimented on to increase her strength...do you think this is a side effect?” she questions softly.

Coran’s gaze trails back to the girl in the healing pod.

“I wish I knew Princess. I wish I knew.”

#voltron fanfic #voltron #original character