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sleepysnk · 3 years

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hey hey! i'm back with some stuff for Eren because tbh i really liked this scenario. this kind of makes me happy because i feel like this happens often, and ngl, i see Eren kind of like this? not exactly sure, but i hope you guys enjoy! 🖤

Ditched

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, fluff at the end

A sigh came from Eren's mouth as he leaned up against the wall at the party he was currently at.

He got invited to this party that Reiner was hosting, of course Eren wasn't going to say no to a party, and Reiner being his friend he couldn't necessarily deny it would be bad. Reiner always threw some bangers and knew how to get all kinds of people to come. It was no lie to say Reiner was like a damn celebrity.

Eren on the other hand, wasn't having the greatest time.

He was waiting for someone. More specifically, Mina Carolina.

Eren and Mina had been talking for a few weeks and the two were starting to get to a point where they could reach a serious relationship, and Eren figured he'd invite her to the party. He genuinely liked her, but recently she started acting way different towards Eren. She became more dry and only interested in what Eren had to... offer. His friends explained that maybe she was just going through something, but something in his gut told him that things weren't right.

Here he was now, waiting for about 30 minutes or so. She still hadn't replied, nor showed up. It slightly made Eren's heart feel heavy, he felt like he had his time wasted.

He looked down at his phone, going to her messages.

8:28 <-Eren: hey i'm here

8:35 <-Eren: did you get the address?

8:47 <-Eren: Mina? where are you?

8:51 <-Eren: are you even coming?

9:01 <-Eren: hello??

Read: 9:05 P.M.

Eren clicked his phone off, placing it in his pocket after realizing she most likely wasn't showing up. Another disappointment in a talking stage, he was certain Mina was a nice girl. She was introduced to him Sasha, she never said anything bad about Mina. For one, Sasha always talked Mina up to Eren, but he guessed she wasn't into it anymore.

"Hey Eren! Did she show up?" Connie yelled over the loud music. "We've got some sick jello shots!" he said, smiling excitedly at him.

Eren didn't even feel excitement anymore, he just felt upset. His whole mood just crashed and he wanted nothing but to go home and sleep, maybe a nap would do him some good, or maybe some McDonald's.

"I think I'm gonna head home!" Eren shouted back, looking at Connie.

Connie nodded. "Are you sure?! Did she ditch you or something?!" he asked, looking around to find the black-haired girl who was no where to be seen.

"I guess so!" he yelled, looking at the time on his phone.

Eren felt the fullness of his bladder from the alcohol he consumed. He needed to pee before he leaves or he'll explode.

"Hey where's the bathroom!?" Eren asked, shouting at Connie.

He rubbed the back of his head. "Upstairs! Third door on the left!" he yelled, turning to walk away. "Drive safe by the way!" he added, walking away.

Eren shoved his phone back in his pocket and made his way up the long stairs to find the bathroom, his ears having a slight ring from going further away from the loud music that blasted below him.

As he made his way up the steps, he passed different people drunkenly falling down the stairs, or couples who were eating each other's faces. Making him cringe as he passed by as he heard the soft kissing noises coming from them. Gross.

He passed the multiple doors, hearing soft moans from girls who decided that hooking up with college guys was a good idea, or he heard different people yelling at those who were taking shots or hanging around in those usual smoke circles with marijuana.

"Third door on the left.." Eren said to himself as he stopped in front of the bathroom door which was shut.

The light was on and someone was clearly using it, so he decided to just wait for whoever was in there to come out. Eren kept looking at his phone as he waited, a few people passing by him and heading into the bedrooms. He assumed they were going in there to do the usual.

After about 10 minutes of waiting, Eren was starting to get antsy. Why the hell was someone in the bathroom for this long? He thought the person could be sick or maybe two people decided to go and hookup in the bathroom.

He decided to just knock, approaching the door he used his finger to knock on the door.

"Yo! Open the door! I gotta pee," he said, leaning against it so whoever was in there could hear him.

No response.

He sighed, whoever was in there clearly heard him, because he heard shifting behind the door.

"Look, just open the damn door. A line is going to form soon," Eren said, knocking once again on the door.

No response once again.

Eren decided to just say fuck it and open the door. He hesitated a bit and put his hand on the knob, nobody was really around to see him. He looked around and turned the knob which was unlocked, pushing it open he was faced with a girl.

She was leaning against the sink, a red solo cup next to her. Eren took in her features noticing dark mascara smudged around her eyes, along with tears going down her face.

The girls head snapped towards him. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry... um, I was just in here. Were you trying to come in?" she asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Eren stood there for a moment taking in her appearance. "No don't worry.. um my bad for slamming the door open. I just needed to pee," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you crying? If you don't mind me asking," he asked, looking at her puffy eyes.

She sniffed. "Um.. it's really stupid, especially telling a stranger. I'm sorry, also don't apologize for coming in. I didn't hear you, I'm gonna go now." she said, grabbing her items.

Eren felt guilt washing over him noticing how sad she looked, she had nobody around her. Usually when he found girls crying at parties they were surrounded by their friends, but she was alone. Something about it didn't sit right with Eren, and he wanted to know what was up with her.

"Wait!" Eren said, stopping the girl in her tracks.

She looked back with her brows furrowed. "Huh?" she said.

He looked away and then back at her. "Look I know I may not know you, but you seem really upset right now, and I know how it feels to be alone. If I can, I'd like to know why you're crying in a bathroom." he replied, crossing his arms.

The girl stopped and stood, looking down at the floor. "Um.. well, it's a lot and I feel like it'd just bother you really. I need to call an Uber anyway," she said, going onto her phone. "Thank you really but it'd just burden you," she added.

Eren leaned against the door frame. "You had a shitty night and so did I, least I can do is help you out. Of course no force," he said, shrugging.

She thought for a second. Maybe he was just trying to be nice? He didn't seem like a creep, considering he didn't seem dressed to impress anybody.

"Um sure I guess..." she replied, putting her phone away.

Eren was surprised at her answer. "I need to pee first if you don't mind," he said, smiling a bit.

She felt a small smile grow onto her lips as she moved outside the bathroom. "Take your time," she replied, leaning against the wall outside the bathroom.

Eren finished his business and exited the bathroom. He saw the girl standing outside, she seemed to be in deep thought.

"Let's go," Eren said, taking his keys out of his pocket and heading down the stairs.

The girl slowly followed behind him as he made his way outside, she felt the cooler air hit her skin causing her to shiver. She totally forgot how chilly the air was, rubbing her arms for warmth she stopped noticing the car he walked up to. He had a nice car, tinted windows, freshly clean, he seemed to know how take care of it.

"Hop in," he said, unlocking the passenger side door.

She got in and shut the door, feeling the cool leather of his seats go up against her skin. Making her shiver and goosebumps litter onto her skin.

Eren couldn't help but notice how nervous she seemed, he wasn't a creep. He didn't have bad intentions with her at all, she just seemed to be having a bad night, so he wanted to be of some help. Even if she didn't ever speak to him again.

"I know you're nervous and I know what you're thinking, but trust me I'm not going to do anything bad to you. I just wanted to be a cool person and help you out, since you were crying and you were by yourself." Eren said, breaking the silence between them.

She nodded, swallowing thickly. "I see.. what's your name?" she asked, nodding.

"Eren.. and you?" he asked, turning on the car to heat it up.

"(Y/N)," she replied, putting her seatbelt on as he began to drive his car away from the house.

Her name was pretty to Eren.

"Do you want to get some McDonald's? I don't know about you but food makes me feel better," he said, throwing a smile her way.

(Y/N) looked his way and smiled a bit. "Yeah.. sure, um I can pay for myself," she said, searching through her small purse she had with her.

Eren looked over. "Nah don't worry about it. I can pay for ya," he replied, turning into the McDonald's. "What do you want?" he asked, looking into her (e/c) eyes.

She pondered for a moment on what she wanted. "Chicken nuggets," she replied, giggling a bit.

Eren shot her a toothy smile. "Those are my favorite so I'm gonna get the same," he said, turning to the drive-thru.

He ordered their food and gave the bag to her as he drove to one of the empty parking spaces. She felt a bit more comfortable with him now, he seemed chill. She was starting to trust him, she felt relieved knowing he wasn't trying to do anything weird or dangerous.

Eren looked at her before putting the car in park. "Alright, let's get snacking." he said, removing his seatbelt.

(Y/N) gave the bag to him, moving her body so she was against the door. She removed her seatbelt and watched as Eren tossed her chicken nuggets. She put it on the armrest between them, and watched as he started eating.

"Thank you... for the food," she said, looking up at him.

Eren looked up and nodded. "Oh yeah, no problem! Party food was the worst, I drank too so I wanted something to eat." he replied, taking a sip of his drink.

(Y/N) started to eat her food and the two chatted about things. Getting to know each other, which made her feel a little more comfortable. They actually went to colleges that were close by, and they knew a few of the same people.

"Then this one time I almost poured the chemicals down the drain, and the teacher almost killed me!" Eren said, laughing at the memory. "I never saw a teacher more pissed off than ever," he added, rolling his eyes playfully.

She giggled a bit, looking down at her food. "Duh! That's like, one of the first things you learn in chemistry!" she replied, laughing even more.

He rolled his eyes once again, adjusting his bun. "So what? Sometimes you gotta live on the edge or whatever," he said, looking at the different cars driving past on the road. "Oh! By the way, what's your address? I'm sure you'll want to be home after this," he asked, taking his phone to open Maps.

(Y/N) looked over at him. "Oh! Um.. let me put it in," she replied, taking his phone from him. She felt a bit sad that it had to end, she kind of liked his vibe. He seemed chill and like a cool dude.

She handed his phone back to him after putting her address in. "Alright, you don't live too far. Let's get going," he said, putting his seatbelt on and starting the car.

"Wait!" she said, looking at him.

Eren stopped and furrowed his brows. "What's up? Did I do something?" he asked, nodding at her.

She looked away for a second. "Um.. Eren, do you have to drop me off right now?" she asked, avoiding his gaze.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. "I just figured you wanted to be home since it was late, why?" he asked.

(Y/N) sighed. "I just... um, would it be weird if we hung out a little longer? Of course we don't have to," she asked, nodding.

Eren smiled. "No that's not weird at all, just tell me where you wanna go," he said, looking at her.

She felt heat rush onto her cheeks seeing his smile, Eren was charming to (Y/N) and even though they just met, she enjoyed talking to him.

"Um.. just take me wherever! We can go anywhere," she replied, putting her seatbelt on.

Eren smirked. "Alright! I know where to go," he replied, putting the car in reverse and driving out of the parking lot.

The rest of the car ride was so much fun. Eren and (Y/N) jammed to music, cracked jokes, stopped for ice cream, and even told each other funny stories.

Eren pulled into this clearing on a hill, showing a view of the city and the highway. The lights in the distance gave a perfect view of everything. (Y/N) was surprised seeing such a pretty view, she never knew something like this ever existed. If she knew she'd come up here often, she was always a fan of views, and so was Eren.

"Let's go," Eren said, opening his car door and exiting his car.

(Y/N) followed and stood next to the hood of his car, which Eren was sitting on. She felt a bit awkward and shy in the moment.

"Oh.. my bad, my ass takes a lot of space. You don't have to sit," he said, giving a weak smile.

(Y/N) laughed a bit, climbing to sit next to him. She felt the metal on the back of her legs, causing her to shiver, as well as the cooler air that surrounded her.

"You cold?" Eren asked, looking at the way she was shivering.

She giggled a bit and nodded her head. "Y-Yeah.. my fault for wearing this," she replied, adjusting the skirt she was wearing.

Eren got off the hood of the car and went to the backseat, he grabbed a black cotton blanket he always kept back there. Sometimes before classes he would take a snooze in his car, and he used the blanket for warmth.

"Here.. I uh, take naps before class." he said, handing the blanket to (Y/N).

She reached for it, feeling his fingertips brush against hers, making small sparks come from his touch. His fingers felt.. warm. She wrapped the blanket around her frame, feeling the warmth surrounding her made her feel cozy.

"Thank you.. really, you didn't have to do this." she said, looking over at Eren.

He stared at the city lights. "It's no problem, you looked like you needed some cheering up anyway," he said, bumping his elbow into her arm.

(Y/N) looked into his green eyes which were twinkling in the light. "You never mentioned why your night was shitty," she said, nodding her head at him.

Eren felt the disappointment coming back to him about Mina. "O-Oh! Yeah, uh.. it's a lot really," he said, looking towards the girl. "I can tell you," he added.

She smiled. "I have time," she replied, adjusting herself a bit and wrapping the blanket around her a bit tighter.

Eren sighed, staring at the ground. "I got ditched tonight by a girl who I thought liked me. I was kind of stupid to ignore how she was acting, I guess in a way I should have taken the signs, but I liked her too much. She was supposed to join me tonight at the party but she never showed, so I guess that's the end of that," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

(Y/N) felt bad for him, nobody deserves to have that happen to them. Eren seemed like a nice guy to her as well, she couldn't exactly see why a girl would pass up on him.

"That's really mean... I couldn't imagine being ditched by a guy. I'd probably feel so embarrassed," she said, looking towards him. "How long have you guys been talking?" she asked.

"Three weeks? Almost maybe a month? I was planning on asking her out tonight too but I guess she had other plans," Eren replied, leaning on his elbows.

(Y/N) nodded, staring at the ground.

"Say... you never told me why you were crying, do you wanna talk about it? No force," he asked, leaning up to look at her face.

A frown formed onto her lips thinking about the events that occurred. "Yeah I feel like I need to vent," she replied, putting her knees to her chest.

Eren turned to face her. "Ready when you are," he said, giving her a reassuring smile.

Her smile grew as he looked at her. "Well um, my boyfriend- well now ex-boyfriend cheated on me a few weeks ago, he hooked up with someone I was close with. My friends brought me to that party to sort of 'let loose' in a way, then they ended up ditching me. I didn't know anybody there, so I just went to the bathroom and broke down." she explained, feeling a few tears well into her eyes.

Eren felt a tug at his heart hearing what she had to say. He couldn't imagine what she was going through right now, especially with her ex.

"I'm so sorry (Y/N), those people aren't your friends for sure. You should honestly stop talking to them," he said, crossing his arms.

She laughed a bit, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "It's just been hard you know? None of them seemed to care when he cheated on me, and they sort of just brushed my problems away." she said, shrugging her shoulders. "It sucks telling you this," she added.

Eren placed his hand on her wrist. "I get it, what you're going through is so difficult. Having people around who don't care are the worst and it sucks seeing you this way, you seem like a really cool girl! Well, from what I've seen anyway. That's besides the point, you're really cool and those people don't deserve you. Your ex is also an asshole too," he said, rolling his eyes.

She smiled a bit at his words. Nobody really said that kind of stuff to her before.

"Same goes to you, you seem like a nice guy, and whoever that girl was who ditched you, she's missing out." (Y/N) said, smiling at him.

Eren chuckled a bit. "I guess in a way we both had a shitty night, but it ended pretty great." he said, looking at the sky.

"Eren... thank you for everything. If you didn't find me in that bathroom I probably would be eating ice cream and sobbing to Twilight right now," she said, laughing a bit.

He smiled. "No problem (Y/N), if I didn't find you I'd probably be at home watching some stupid sports compilation," he said, laughing along with her.

(Y/N) leaned against the windshield. "Do you want to head back?" she asked, looking towards him.

He sat up, stretching a bit. "Yeah sure," he replied, standing up and heading towards the drivers seat of the car.

The two hopped in and drove back to (Y/N)'s apartment, the drive felt long, but their company kept each other in good moods.

Eren pulled into the parking area and looked towards (Y/N). "Tonight was fun," she said, smiling at him.

A smile grew onto his lips. "Yeah it was, you made tonight great." he replied, putting his car in park.

(Y/N) grabbed her stuff. "Well... thank you really, you made me feel a bit better. I appreciate you a ton," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt.

"Yeah, no problem at all," he replied, looking towards the front of the building.

He unlocked the car and watched her get out.

"Wait!" Eren said, stopping her in her tracks.

(Y/N) looked back at him. "What's up?" she asked, nodding a bit

Eren grabbed his phone from his pocket and handed it to her. "May I.. get your number?" he asked, smiling a bit at her as a blush formed onto his face.

She felt heat rush onto her cheeks, taking his phone in her hands. "Of course," she said, smiling as she entered her number into his phone. "Text me tonight, we should facetime." she added, handing his phone back to him.

Eren smiled, taking his phone back. "I'd love that," he replied, smiling again at her.

"See you then, and drive safe!" she said, closing his car door.

He watched as she entered her apartment building, Eren smiled to himself thinking about what happened tonight.

Who knew being ditched would lead to this?

#anime #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot fanfiction #aot imagines #snk x y/n #snk x reader #snk fanfiction #snk imagines #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #anime fanfic

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beybeezle · 3 years

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LOVESTRUCK

1.6 - Bestest day eva // Just shut it Jake (partly written)

Serieslist

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"Niki, I know it's hard for you, but you need to hold it back."

Niki focused his attention on you. He can feel his anger slowly decreasing, being replaced by the sudden anxiety that looms over him.

Not again, he prayed.

"I notice that there's something more personal than what is visible to the eye, so I think it'll be best if you talk about it separately. Not right now, at least. As you can see, right now is not the best of time either."

"But-"

"You're unstable right now." You insisted. "All of you are, actually. I'm just afraid that you will say things that you didn't mean, since you can't think straight because of the anger. I'm afraid that you will regret this later." You finally explain yourself, eyes softened at the boy.

Regret, Niki thought to himself.

He hate to admit this, but he agrees with what you said. People say things that they didn't mean when they're fuming with anger, and the matter he wants to sort out here is too precious to be risked with such thing.

Find your reasoning logic, Niki sighed. Taking that as a sign of him finally give in, you glanced at Sunoo to help calm him down. Sunoo catch your signal immediately and respond with a nod.

"Listen, Chaeri? Am I correct?" Having Chaeri's attention confirmed that you got her name right. "I honestly couldn't care less if you want to cry a river, but it's good to see you seem to have calmed yourself down."

"Not so harsh, I said." Jay stated firmly, but you did not budge an inch.

"You might have all day to continue this, or even a life time as well, but I'm not. With that being said, I'm going to the point, so you better listen carefully." You look straight to Chaeri's pupil when you continue. "First, your acting is good, but your drama is shitty."

"Are you even listening to me? I said-"

Jay haven't finished his line, but you haven't finished talking either. "Second, if you think everyone like you, no they don't. They're just being nice."

"Hey-"

"And last but not least, I can see what you're doing." You took some time to grin at the girl's annoyed face. "So if you think you're sly, then you must have realized how stupid of you to ever think so by now. Congrats!"

"ENOUGH!" Jay shouted, finally reached his limit.

Sunoo and Niki are visibly thunderstruck, Chaeri even jumped. Not only gaining everyone involved's attention, but also from others, strangers started looking at all of you weirdly. Some even started to recording with their phone, assuming that something fun is about to happen.

Too bad Chaeri is already ran out of tears, you sneered.

All eyes are on Jay who seem to have totally lost his mind right now, none of them see this coming.

Jay's anger is hardly can be triggered, truth be told. Sunoo and Niki even barely ever see Jay gritted his teeth, let alone raising his voice like this.

As for you, all that you can see right now is nothing but a sight of a helpless and pathetic Jay. He is so painfully clueless to the point that you, a complete stranger, feel concerned about the boy.

Done examining your surrounding, you finally open up your voice. "I actually don't really have a say to you, but in case you had no idea—you messed up pretty bad."

Jay halted at your remark.

The thing that everyone have been saying to him, the question that has been filling his head lately. How can she said it so carelessly?

Jay can hear Chaeri calling out for his name, but the voices inside his head is just too loud. Way too loud. But- is it all true then? That I messed up? So it's true? No- wait, ah, he doesn't know anymore.

"I- is it true?" Jay mumbled. Almost under his breath that even Chaeri who is next to him is struggling to hear what he said, eyes looking straight at yours.

Taking some moment scanning the look in his eyes, you're certain that he is eager to find out about the truth. You actually feel like you're not in the place to meddle any further since as you said earlier, there might be something more personal, something more serious than it might seen.

Everything that had happened up until now, might be just the tip of the iceberg. Sure you can be wrong, but after learning the reaction and all, there's just no way that this matter is simply about the girlfriend thingy.

Oh how you wish you can just turn away and leave. But at the same time, you also cannot deny that it's bothering you of how complex whatever is this turned out to be.

So, you decided that you at least need to finish what you've started. The truth is what you're asking, right?

Then I'll give you that.

"No,"

With one condition.

"—you actually fucked it up."

That you don't do sugarcoating.

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Synopsis :

It's probably the bizarre new fascinating feelings of how different yet similar you both are, but something definitely struck when your and his gaze meet each other. What could it be?

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ayellowcurtain · 3 years

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I just read something about younes getting a bit jealous about Yasmina and Aicha’s brother, and now I can’t stop thinking about that! it could be a good idea for a fic... do you think you could maybe write something about it?

They walk in silence, a good meter between them and Younes hates it. Everything about this afternoon feels off and he’s feeling raw and on edge, tired of this lack of understanding of each other. The distance that he can feel growing all of a sudden. They were so comfortable before and now Yasmina is shutting him out completely. Doesn’t matter how many times he already told her nothing happened with Aïsha.

“I didn’t know you would be that jealous or I wouldn’t-” He tries to explain again, justify his line of thought to ask another girl out.

“You think I’m jealous?!” She asks in disbelief, and starts walking a little faster, and Younes rushes to catch up to her, touching Yasmina’s elbow carefully so he can stop her just enough for him to be able to stand in front of her.

“You are! And I am too! You were just on a date with that guy!” Younes points back to the coffee shop where he found Yasmina talking to a guy while waiting to get her coffee. The stranger introduced himself, Aïsha’s brother of all people, and Younes couldn’t care less. It’s not common for him to feel this type of way, jealous, he assumes, and he can’t even put into his own thoughts how it feels.

“What?! It wasn’t a date! We ran into each other!”

“It wasn’t on a date with Aïsha either! I told you!”

“I wasn’t touching him! Wasn’t letting him touch me! Wasn’t laughing my heart out, whispering in his ear!” Yasmina sighs, stepping to the side to continue on her walk. She didn’t invite Younes to walk with her after they all grabbed their coffees, teas, all of them standing there in the heavy, weird silence, but he did it anyway because this is stupid and unbearable.

“What can I do?”

Yasmina stops again suddenly, her sneakers even make a sound against the concrete. She looks tired, and Younes wishes he could make things easier, she just needs to tell him how.

“Just go be with her. I won’t stand in the way, I’m happy that you guys are happy. I just don’t want any more drama. I have many, many other problems to deal with already. I can’t have another one right now.”

Younes can’t believe she doesn’t see it, or pretends to not see it. And he can’t believe she would think he would be that guy that leads a bunch of girls on. He sighs, feeling stupid for having to say it flat like this.

“Yasmina. I like you. Just you. I don’t want to be an issue, ever. We were having a good time until you saw things weirdly and you won’t believe me no matter what I tell you.”

They start walking again, in no rush but Younes is getting anxious. It bothers him to stay like this with Yasmina even when they’re talking. It feels like it always goes in circles. Even if she dumped him completely, they would still be friends. Being strangers while still knowing their feelings is frustrating. He lets them cool down for some time, get their thoughts and words straight, connected to their brains and feelings.

"We can play basketball for as long as you want. We can talk, and walk around and just do nothing. I'm in no rush but I'm also not kidding about my feelings for you."

Yasmina sighs, relaxing her tense shoulders, opening and closing her mouths a few times, searching for the right words.

"Aïsha likes you too. She can play cool but she likes you or she wouldn't ask me about what I feel."

Yasmina vents like she’s not talking about him, about them. The crease that almost connects her eyebrows and the little pout she makes when she’s pissed dissipate a little bit.

Younes bites the inside of his lip not to smile. He should not get too stuck in one word but he can’t really contain himself from doing so. Not with this shitty grey situation Yasmina is leaving him on. "You said she likes me too."

Yasmina doesn’t answer, and she only stares back at him for a second, moving on to looking around right afterwards. It’s starting to get colder, the wind getting wet and Younes wonders if they’ll get anywhere before the rain. With this talk and/or their walk.

“You’ll have to admit it at some point if you want us...to get married and have kids, you know?” He tries to make it light, and playful like they used to be.

At least she laughs at that, and Younes is happy to help her release some of the tension.

“I’m good at reading your mind sometimes.” Younes looks at the path they’re going, nobody else around, and they start walking faster to escape the coldness that’s coming quickly. “But I can’t continue assuming things based on what you tell me telepathically.”

“You’re so dumb.” She whispers, never meeting his eyes again, making herself smaller to keep some warmth inside her puff jacket.

“And you and the guy...?” Younes asks carefully, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

“I said: I ran into him and we said hi.” He smiles, hearing the annoyance in her voice.

“Okay.”

“So no feelings.” Younes checks one more time to make sure.

"No."

He nods his head more to himself than to anyone else. The guy seemed pretty interested but Younes would like to keep his hope that what he and Yasmina have is different from what anyone else can offer any of them.

"Just talk to me. Tell me what you need and I'll do it."

"I am talking, Younes! I'm telling everyone everything and people choose not to understand."

He holds himself back from stopping her again to look at her, see what this is all about, all the other drama she says she has going on. He wants to help with that too but he knows Yasmina won’t open up to one more thing to him this afternoon. She’s already letting him in, just a little bit so he should respect her boundaries about the other things.

"So let's play a game, you and me. Just yes or no questions and answers. Okay?" "...Okay."

He should start easy but the words slip out of him like they were desperate to be used, to clear the air already.

"Do you like me?"

"Yes." She doesn’t think about it, her voice doesn’t shake. She’s certain of it, and Younes can’t believe it. He laughs, lifting his eyebrows when she doesn’t keep the game going and uses it in her favor. "Your turn to ask."

"Do you like Aïsha?" She looks at him, lifting her eyebrows like it would be a really negative and surprising point if he said anything positive to that question. Younes sighs, looking at her and her inquisitive eyes. "No. Never."

"Just yes or no. You taught me the game." Yasmina shrugs and Younes laughs because she has more game than anyone else.

"So annoying." Younes sighs, looking up at the very sad sky with heavy and grey clouds sprinkling on them."My answer is still no." He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. "Is it possible for us to date?"

"Yes..." She’s not sure this time. He can barely hear it, it’s like she was caught thinking out loud.

"In the future...?"

"Yes." Yasmina pulls her hands out of her pockets to rub them together to see if it warms up. “Is it possible for you to be muslim again?”

“For you and the 6 future kids? Yes!” Younes tries to make a joke again, smiling when she looks at him and laughs a second later.

“You’re going too far. And I’m asking you about your personal beliefs. I would never want someone to be muslim for me. Do you think about being muslim again?”

Younes sighs, really thinking about it for the first time in a long time. He can be honest with her, and he wants her to know everything. More than anyone else that meets him is allowed to know at least.

“Sometimes. It’s a possibility, I won’t deny that. It’s a big part of my life and my family’s, religion, I mean. With you or without you. It’s just that right now I can’t understand it, and I need time to think about it, to study and think if that’s really a thing I want to follow again.”

Yasmina nods her head, and Younes lets himself look at her for longer, turning right, seeing her house down the street.

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” She finally starts again.

“It’s okay. I get it, shit was happening.” Younes lifts his eyebrows. “See? I can be a nice guy, someone you can lean on…”

She sighs, pretending that she’s annoyed at him. “I’m finding out you can be really annoying during this walk.”

“It’s sucks because I feel like I’m falling in love during this walk.”

She blushes, which doesn’t happen often, but Younes doesn’t feel bad for saying it. She wants an open, honest game and he’s trying to give it to her.

“Thank you for walking with me.” She stops a few meters from home, and Younes gets the clear hint that this is where the line is drawn.

“No problem. We should do it more often.”

“We will see...but thank you, really. The tea was very nice too.”

“Better than drinking while walking with that guy I bet.” Yasmina rolls her eyes all the way back, turning on her heels to go home and Younes watches until she’s safe inside.

#wtfock #yasmina ait omar #younes el amrani #yousmina #yasmina x younes #youmina #maybe when the season is over I’ll learn the right ship name

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parvuls · 3 years

Text

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

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The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

#omgcp #zimbits #zimbits fic #omgcheckplease #pavfics #ooof. finally done. i'm sure i'll edit again in the morning BUT

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notanacousticsetcal · 3 years

Text

don’t be an asshole - luke hemmings

summary - a boy you had always written off as annoying and hostile comes to your aid in a time of need and you come to find... maybe he was never as bad as he seemed.

warnings - alcohol, abusive ex, minor injuries and mentions of blood

word count - 2.4k ish

a/n - here’s the luke fic i mentioned, as promised :) i was honestly just day dreaming about this and so i thought i’d write it into existence. it’s really not my best work just something fun so please don’t judge it too harshly 😳

Your party dress was so tight you could barely breathe, but they always say “beauty is pain”. So you tugged the dress down around your thighs and took a deep breath. You were ready to get absolutely shitfaced and to forget about Caden and the skinny blonde you found in his bed with him. This wasn’t the first time you’d been cheated on, but you would make certain it would be the last.

You weren’t even sad anymore. Just fucking angry.

You waste a year of your life on a person and they throw it away in a second. Going through pictures was hard not because you missed him but because of how much you wished you could reach through the screen and strangle him.

You stepped into the house — some friend of a friend of a friends, you thought — and immediately headed for the alcohol. You desperately needed to blow off steam and this seemed like the perfect way.

You wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. You needed the distraction.

You breezed past your second least favorite blondie at the moment who gave you a smirk and you flipped him off. He rolled his eyes, turning back to the little red head next to him and shoving a hand in his pocket.

Luke had always been an asshole. He’d teased you since grade school, but you always fought him back. You think that’s probably why he kept doing it but your temper made it difficult to hold your tongue whenever he was around. He’d never tease your friends, it was always you and he always pushed the right buttons to get you all riled up.

You would do your best to ignore him tonight - this was about letting anger go, not reigniting it.

A fun night dancing with your friends ensued. You stood on tables and requested songs to the DJ and you felt yourself forgetting about Caden. Forgetting about his shitty apologies and thoughtless anniversary gifts and how he cared more about his car than you.

All that mattered right now was this moment.

Until his green eyes locked with yours and you felt that fiery pit of rage reignite in your stomach. Now he was here to ruin your night just when you were finally forgetting about his dumb face. Your jaw clenched, you were seething just at the sight of him.

Without a second thought, you moved away from his line of sight and made a beeline for the kitchen to make yourself another drink. That second of eye contact had sobered you up more than you were comfortable with and you felt the strongest urge to go find him and whoop his ass.

The tequila was only just making it into your red solo cup when a hand found a spot on your lower back.

You turned around quickly and to your surprise, Caden stared back at you, a look of fake sincerity on his face.

“You look sexy.” He reached up to stroke your cheek and you almost let him, frozen in pure astonishment, but you quickly came to your senses and slapped his hand so hard it must’ve left a mark. He winced, “what the fuck?”

You could smell the alcohol on his breath. By the slurring in his words, you figured he’d had a lot.

You wiggled out of his grip, hissing “stay the fuck away from me,” and stalking off.

Before you could get very far, Caden grabbed your wrist tightly, sending a wave of pain up your arm. “Watch it!” You tried to pull away again but to no avail.

He grabbed your jaw, pulling you forward so you could feel his hot breath on your cheek. “Don’t fucking walk away from me.”

“Let. Me. Go.” You writhed in his grip but it only tightened. You felt his hand press firmer against your airway. You could barely breathe. You tried to look around, the kitchen was empty.

He forced your face closer to his, attempting to kiss you. “What the fuck are you doing, Caden?” You managed to get out. The only thing you could think to do was stomp hard on his toes with your heel and he immediately doubled over, groaning in pain, but his grip on your left wrist didn’t loosen. He stood again with an even more intense anger in his eyes.

“You’re gonna regret that.”

Before he could act on that statement, a forceful punch sent him stumbling backwards, hunching over the sink with a hand pressed against his cheek.

You gasped in shock and looked back to see none other than Luke fucking Hemmings standing there, wringing out his wring clad fingers. “I mean, the dude has always been an asshole. You really don’t know how to pick ‘em do you, (y/n/n)?”

You scoffed, but before you could even process what was happening, Caden sent a hard punch right into Luke’s jaw. Luke winced, falling back a few steps but quickly regaining his composure.

Caden turned his head and spat, leaving blood on the wood floor. “This doesn’t concern you, asshole.”

Luke smiled and ran his hands through his hair. “You don’t choke a girl and get away with it, Caden.” Luke stepped forward, punching Caden once in the cheek and while he was down, again in the stomach. You winced. Not for Caden, but for Luke’s hand.

Caden collapsed onto the floor with some melodramatic groans and you felt absolutely zero sympathy.

Taking one more look at Caden’s pathetic, crumpled up body, and holding back some name calling, you grabbed Luke’s arm and began to tug him upstairs. “Come on.” Luke mumbled something you didn’t catch to a guy with colored hair and the guy began to lift Caden off the floor, dragging him toward the back door.

Luke let you pull him towards the stairs. “Hey, (y/n), at least buy me a drink first,” Luke laughed and you shook your head, already regretting this.

You pulled him into the bathroom and instructed him to sit on the counter so you could bandage up his hand.

His rings made the punches more painful for Caden but also left his fingers pretty battered. You winced once you got a glance at the bruises and cuts that already littered his hand. He had a busted lip too that was causing a trail of blood to form down to his jaw and then drip off his chin.

You grabbed a towel and began wiping at his face and then instructed him to hold it over his mouth.

He began to protest but you shushed him. His blue eyes were sparkling in the overhead light of the bathroom and you tried not to stare.

Bottles clattered as you shuffled around the medicine cabinet before pulling out an ACE bandage and some gauze.

You began lightly washing off his hand with some cool water and a little bit of soap. He watched you silently and you couldn’t quite read the expression on his face.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up. “You really don’t have to do this, you know,” though it was muffled by the towel still positioned over his lower lip.

You didn’t look up. “It’s the least I can do. You saved my ass.”

Luke scoffed. “You and I both know you would’ve gotten out of that just fine without my help.”

That made you smile. You looked up at him to find he was already staring back. A light flush took over your cheeks and you hoped he didn’t notice. By the subtle smirk on his face that followed, you could assume he probably did.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, but it was nice to see him curled up on the ground like a little baby.” Luke laughed heartily and your heart fluttered at the sound.

“That was pretty great, wasn’t it?” Luke pulled the towel from his lip and it looked like the bleeding had stopped. You began to wrap the bandage around his knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to deck that asshole. I always kind of wondered why you stayed with him. He didn’t treat you very well.”

You stayed silent. Luke was right, but it was embarrassing. You had wondered yourself why you stayed with him.

Luke took your silence as a cue to change the subject. “Thanks for this.”

You smiled up at him and sealed the bandage. “My pleasure.”

Luke’s eyes softened as he looked down at you. “Maybe I should not be an asshole to you more often.”

You smiled and shook your head in playful annoyance. “Yeah, maybe you should.” You lightly hit his shoulder and he smiled.

You turned around and sat on the edge of the bathtub, feeling a wave of exhaustion hit you.

“You alright?” Luke asked, his features turning concerned.

You nodded, a little dazed, and then yawned. “Tired.” You let yourself slip back into the tub.

Luke laughed at your childish actions and hopped off the counter. “What are you doing, (y/n)?” He said fondly.

“I said I was tired, didn’t I?” You shut your eyes, thinking the bathtub would be a perfect place to take a nap.

You heard Luke sigh, figuring he would just leave, but instead, you felt a pair of strong arms slide underneath you, pulling you out of the bathtub without any warning.

You squealed. “Luke!”

“Relax.”

“Where are you taking me? I'm capable of walking you know.” You kicked your legs back and forth stubbornly and Luke just looked down at you, clearly amused.

“I'm just taking you somewhere you can sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep in a stranger's bed,” you protested.

“You won’t be.” You looked up at Luke in an attempt to read his expression but before you could ask any more questions, he kicked a door open to your left.

“Luke—” you started.

“It’s alright. It’s just my room, I don’t mind.” Luke dropped you onto his navy sheets and you froze, unsure how to respond.

“This… this is your house?”

He nodded, his brow quirking upward as if to say “and what about it?” You probably wouldn’t have come to the party if you knew. Your feelings towards Luke at the beginning of the party were drastically different than what you felt now.

Before tonight, when you looked at Luke you saw a smug asshole that always had a new girl under his arm and a bottle of beer in his hand. The Luke that chased you around the playground and tossed wood chips at your head at recess.

Now when you looked at Luke your stomach twisted up into knots and your pulse sped up in anticipation and nerves. What was he doing to you?

You swallowed. “As long as you're alright with it.”

He shrugged, giving you a casual smile and you settled into his sheets.

He sat down beside you and pulled the comforter up to your chin. You stared at him with curiosity.

“Don’t let me sleep more than an hour, alright?” You turned onto your side, now facing Luke.

He smiled and nodded, reaching out unexpectedly to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

You felt blood rush to your cheeks. “I won’t. Sleep tight, (y/n).”

Luke got up and left the room, leaving you with no chance of getting any sleep at all.

As soon as Luke stepped foot out of the door, you regretted letting him go.

You contemplated getting up and finding him for a minute, letting yourself ponder the possibilities.

After some intense contemplation, you threw the covers to the side and tiptoed towards the door, nearly face planting a few times trying to navigate in the dark.

Finally, your hands found the doorknob, turning it quickly and throwing the door open — only to be faced with the same pair of blue eyes that left the room a few minutes ago.

Luke cleared his throat, his face flushing a violent pink, and without another word, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into the dark room with you.

You didn’t know where a relationship with Luke might take you or if he was even interested in that, but you did know that when you were with Luke, you felt safe.

And you had a gut feeling he would never hurt you.

Through a swirl of heated skin and puckered lips, you stumbled back onto the bed, Luke hovering over top of you.

He leaned down, peppering kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone. You felt goosebumps rise on your arms.

His sheets smelled like him — clean like laundry detergent and like the ocean.

Luke pulled away from you, his breath heavy. “You’re drunk. I'm drunk. I beat up your ex a little while ago. Maybe we shouldn’t do this now.”

You hummed in agreement, but it took a lot to do so. It was taking an intense amount of restraint not to pull Luke down towards you again.

Luke began to get off of you but you grabbed his arm hastily. “Stay?”

He eyed you suspiciously, wondering what your intentions were. You rolled your eyes. “Just to sleep.”

He smiled softly and nodded before rolling over next to you and stealing some of your covers.

Luke laid still for a moment and you wondered if he would make a move and as if he had read your thoughts, he reached over and tugged on your arm. You secured yourself in his grip, your back against his chest, and hummed in content.

You felt his pulse quicken against your back and smiled.

You brought one of his hands up against your cheek and he nuzzled his nose into your back.

“It’s not a good idea to leave everyone unsupervised in my house but I just can’t find it in me to care right now.”

You laughed and gently squeezed his hand. “You can go back if you need to. I wouldn’t want your house to get wrecked.”

He shook his head against your back. “Let it get wrecked. I've waited too long to be in the position I am now to give it up that easily.”

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honeydots · 4 years

Note

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em.

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be.

(ao3 link)

He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream.

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?”

Maybe he was in a hospital.

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning.

But what did he know?

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital. As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made.

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place.

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure.

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed.

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet.

And, he was already standing.

It wasn’t hard to pull out.

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last.

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name?

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone.

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that.

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital.

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete.

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials.

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all.

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in.

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big.

“Holy shit.”

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.”

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?”

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?”

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket.

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?”

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh… Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?”

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.”

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.”

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?”

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however.

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it?

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.”

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him.

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones.

He straightened himself up. “Okay.”

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit.

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious.

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously.

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like, just a second, okay?”

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road.

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling. He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him.

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.”

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like.

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat.

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.”

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all.

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took.

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes.

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed.

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.”

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before.

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.”

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished.

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water.

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,” Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?”

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless.

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.”

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.”

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had.

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?”

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life.

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart.

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?”

“I don’t know.”

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into.

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?”

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn.

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.”

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store.

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get.

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories.

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival.

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head.

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too.

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.”

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought.

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all.

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line.

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out.

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave.

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no.

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad.

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him.

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better.

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection.

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank.

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him.

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed.

Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too.

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant.

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead.

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular.

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore.

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance.

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all.

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.”

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.”

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other.

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck.

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.”

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

“And can we go in?”

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.”

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.”

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.”

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed.

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway.

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep.

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least.

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure.

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician?

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though.

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had.

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging.

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.”

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands.

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window.

The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.”

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone.

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression.

“You didn’t say a word about notes

on the phone, you know.”

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.”

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again.

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.”

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds.

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital.

Ohya held the key out to Goro.

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?”

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment.

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.”

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure.

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault.

One more deep breath.

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times.

And it was nearly empty.

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming.

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it.

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read.

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471”

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one.

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind.

This could’ve belonged to me.

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself.

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other.

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next.

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.”

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning.

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it.

“To whom it may concern,

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways.

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one.

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame.

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep.

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off.

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key?

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances.

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards.

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it.

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in.

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide.

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat.

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?”

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.”

Good. “I need to speak with her.”

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often.

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area.

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?”

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.”

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all.

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?”

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.”

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would.

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.”

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?”

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically.

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.”

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.”

“Out.”

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over.

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said.

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on.

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway.

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?”

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.”

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him.

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank.

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud.

Ohya gawked.

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.”

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.”

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?”

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.”

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.”

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top.

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up.

“We’ll see.”

#thank u for the aaaask!!!#this is shuake but akira is actually not in it at all whatsoever #also im so sorry i know the ending is. unsatisfying.#i just realized if i wanted the most satisfying ending possible this would go from 8k to like 32k at least #maybe once i post all these prompts on ao3 ill consider adding chapters to this cause i do like the premise #this is also like. my first published non comedic piece. so a lot of this is experimental for myself #anyway i hope you enjoy!!!#my fics #ask #anonymous #my p5 fics

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nosferatyou · 4 years

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If I Can Be So Bold: Chapter 2 (Jack White x OC)

Summary: The Girls first detroit show continues on with their headliner, the white stripes. And Lee gets to know our handsome stranger.

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: Nicotine use and mentions of alcohol.

Notes: I know this is shorter but that felt like the best place to stop the chapter. Keep you on your toes you know. More notes at the end.

Chapter Three

If you’ve ever been to a house show or a show in a small venue, you know its standing room only, which means limited views of the artists. Which means most people are pushing to the front to get as close as possible. And it is our first Detroit show we had to get as close as possible.

Sure, I might have pushed a little too hard and made a small enemy, but it is always worth it for music.

You will feel it in your chest, and you’re probably going to have the most fun upfront. The only exception is the mosh pit, but the chances are good that you’ll be thrown in by accident at one point or another.

The girls and I had fully pushed and fought our way to the front; the only thing separating us from it was a group of assholes who didn’t understand what the sharp elbow jab meant.

The moment our newfound friends entered the stage, people lost their shit, and understandably so. They were Detroit’s little secret, so to say. Everybody loved them and thought they were the only ones to love them. Still, all the cheering was enough for us to get kicked for a noise complaint.

They both were wearing red and white, which I'd noticed earlier but had thought nothing about. It now seems to be their “thing.”

I first saw meg, all smiles and adorning a kick-ass pair of coca-cola pants. Now Jack, what appeared to be a simple white shirt and bright red pair pants, was so striking. Maybe it was the bright lights, or perhaps he was just strikingly handsome, and I was using the clothes as an excuse. Either way, his face read that he was ready to do anything. Very sharp, very focused, and all the while looked prepared for anything.

Harriet elbowed me and quietly said, “Quite the blues band they are.”

“Oh, hush up Harry, let them have their fun.”

Then played his guitar, no introduction words, no hello. He’s straight to the point.

While their whole look was one of grandeur, which was impressive for such a small band, what truly caught me off guard was their cover of “Moonage daydream” by none other than David Bowie.

An already hard enough to cover song by any professional band. They somehow did it, and well too. They were keeping that Detroit garage sound and Bowie’s twang still in it.

Said assholes from before had a tape recorder in their hand, already recording their set.

Ezra spoke up.

“Sounds like a weirdo.”

“Not everyone is gifted with vocal chords as good as mine, Z.” Harriet said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You guys need to learn show etiquette, lordy.”

They all eventually shut up, though, and started to get into it, Including me.

Throughout the energetic set, we started to realize how close our music was. Full of blues and heavy sound. The way they played with each other was just like how we did. They even had an overexcited frontman who ran the show.

Two things were for sure. He was incredibly talented, as much as he was attractive. Maybe Harriet was right with the whole rebound thing.

By the second song, we all were dancing with the music. Jumping along to the sparse chords of “Screwdriver,” every time he played the three magic chords, we all hopped in unison.

By “Let’s shake hands,” we all had been dragged into the mosh. All laughing our asses off and picking up any fallen comrades in the process. Harriet got a pretty gnarly bruise from that one.

Long story short is that we all were having way too much fun.

There was this slow song, though, gave the two of them more room to look around and see the crowd. They both were both so invested in their playing that they’d hardly looked past the stage.

Everyone in the crowd was just as enamored with watching them.

I caught a particular man’s eye. Just as he had mine earlier. Every time he'd sing he'd look up at me. Eyes filled with something completely different. They weren’t pissed off. They weren’t dark and brooding. He was just watching me, and he seemed so invested in it too. Maybe it was narcissism, but they almost seemed lustful? As dumb and cliche as it sounds, I saw it. The way he looked at me was with genuine interest. I, of course, returned it.

While I also had his gaze, I felt two more eyes on me. Which was, of course, was Harriet, noticing what was happening. Giving me the same dumb eyebrow wiggle as before.

I returned my gaze to the stage. Sadly our exchange of glances had ended, hed turned his back to the crowd to grab another guitar that was just laying on the ground. On the back of his shirt was a crudely written setlist with song names like “Bob Coffee” and “Sugar good.” Which I can only assume (And hope) are abbreviations.

For the last song of the set, they played an incredibly upbeat slide song. Which I much appreciated, no one used a slide anymore.

He gave an incredible performance and an even better solo(s) with the small piece of brass on his finger.

Once they finished, they quickly made their way off the stage, and we did the same, bouncing through the sea of people to grab another beer from our shared van.

“All I’m saying, Z. Is that if Timbuktu were real. Why have I never met anyone who's been?” said Harriet nursing her billionth beer.

“I swear to god you’re losing brain cells, Harry. Go check a fucking map.” Argued back Jo

“Josephine. That does not convince me of anything. It’s in all the stories! Take me to god damn Timbuktu, and i'll believe you.”

Jo groaned and threw her head into her hands. “Okay, firstly, my name isn’t even Josephine, it's Jolene, You know this. Secondly, you’re a lost cause.”

I grabbed my cigs, done listening to their dumb argument, And made my way to the back alley behind the venue.

As I came upon it, I saw tonight's man of the hour. Leaning against the broken wall of the venue, cigarette already in hand.

I had half a mind to turn around out of spite for Harriet’s sake, but was too far gone,

“Well, hey there, stranger.” I said jokingly, breaking the silence of the night.

He looked up, not startled by the noise. He didn’t seem bothered by the company either.

“Well, hey yourself.”

I took a spot next to him and grabbed a cig out of the pack, tapping the top of the box on my hand before. Almost instinctively, he was ready with his lighter. Id leaned in and breathed it in,

locking eyes with him in such close contact. Both of us Making the same eyes as before.

“Quite the show you played tonight.” I said after taking a long drag from my cig, he repeated the

action.

“Likewise,” he took another drag. “I'd have half a mind to think you’re copying us.” He said with a wink.

“Likewise.” I mimicked, wink included.

We both couldn’t seem to look at each other, eyes locked on the dark horizon. You know, that awkward stage of knowing somebody, but prolonged eye contact was just a no go.

“I haven’t seen you around here, and you have a face I wouldn’t forget. You passing through?” He asked

I gave a small laugh, “No, actually just moved here. Just me and the girls now. Taking over the southwest side.”

“No shit, huh? It seems we share a postal code.” He looked over to me with a small smile on his face.

“No shit. What street?” I asked, my excitement way too present.

“Ferdinand. Small shitty house, porch painted white and red. You can’t miss it.” He finished his cig, quickly grabbing another.

“Oh, I remember that! It was the first thing we noticed when we got here. But you’re a block over neighbor.” I bumped his arm, returning his small smile.

We went silent for a moment, just looking over the Detroit skyline, still in the stages of not knowing how to start conversations.

“So tell me, stranger. I want to get to the bottom of this mystery of our shared music. Who are your influences?” I asked, taking another drag and entirely putting my attention on him.

He laughed and put out his cig, stomping it into the ground.

“Well, it’s the blues. You know Son House and muddy waters. That and Iggy Pop.”

“Well, there’s the correlation. The same goes for me. Though I am more privy towards Taj Mahal and Howlin wolf Myself.” I stomped out my cig as well.

“You’re dad listen to them all the time?” He asked

“Oh, all the time.” I moved a little closer, not enough that he’d notice, but enough. “But country rules my house. It's law in Tennessee, you know.” I said, a small smirk falling on my face.

“More the reason to go then.”

I very dramatically rolled my eyes. “Eh, more the reason to leave you mean.”

He fake scoffed, covering his heart with his hand. “Are you telling me you don’t like country? Judging by your dad’s taste, it’s probably the good country you don’t like too.”

“Overplayed and over appreciated is what I always say.”

He moved closer, just as I did, and his goofy smirk grew. “You’re telling me you don’t like johnny cash?” He asked.

“Not a bit.” I crossed my arms matter of factly.

While we were in an “Argument,” I couldn’t stop thinking about Harriet’s words. Rebound. Plus his whole damn family wasn’t here to watch me shamelessly flirt.

“But I’m open to a certain handsome stranger changing my mind.”

He was unphased. In fact, it only made his smile grow.

“Well, I’ll just have to do that, Rosie.”

“Hm. Rosie. I like that.” I said, moving even closer to him. Were less than a foot away from each other’s face, and Though I exchanged so little words with this man, I was ready to kiss the hell out of him.

“Though I’m only going to let you call me that because you’re acting so nice. You know, lighting my cigs and all. Very gentleman like of you.”

“I aim to please, Rosie.” He said simply. He drifted even closer.

I could feel his hot breath on my face. My heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t stop my actions if I tried.

I pushed forwards and met my lips with his. My already booming heart felt like it was about to explode. Why Was I so nervous? Guess I half expected him to pull away.

He didn’t, though, in fact, his hand came up and cradled my face, and his other made its way to my hip. Pressing me against the brick.

Our bodies pressed together heatedly against the wall, us breathing heavily as our lips pressed together, heat radiating off the both of us. I could taste our shared breath, prominently cigarettes; I could feel the thud of our combined heartbeat as we fumbled to put our hands wherever we could. Both us acting like it was the one thing keeping us alive.

Everything about him was dizzying, the way his hands gripped me like his life depended on it, how passionately he was kissing me despite how soft lips were. It made my stomach dance; it made warmth consume me.

I so desperately held onto him, my hands finally settling around his neck, nustling into his long unruly hair. It scared me how much I felt that I needed that. How addictive he felt.

From the van and out of sight, I could hear the girls asking where I was. I slowly broke away from our kiss, not wanting to be found out by the others. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for their incessant grade school teasing.

We stayed close, still in each other’s arms. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Not wanting to let go. Still hungry for his touch.

“I think I have to get the drunk children home.” I said with a sigh.

“It’s the responsible thing to do.” He said with a goofy smile.

I kissed him again, this time just being a small peck. It was still just as good.

I moved out of his grasp and went to grab a cig. He was ready with the lighter.

“Well, Rosie, if you ever want to..” His face tinted pink. “Jam. We will say jam. You know where I live.”

“I might just have to take you up on that offer.”

“Well, See you around, stranger.” I said with a wink.

“See ya around, Rosie.” He leaned against the wall and repeated my actions.

Turning around, I made my exit, cooly of course, but my whole body was buzzing.

Quick End notes:

Firstly, ooh that smooch. This series is not what you guys think this will be. This is only the beginning. And i mean it really is just the beginning, but chapter two.

Secondly, If you didnt catch it this is set in 1998. And unfortunately while in my planning, I didnt catch that he had the worst fucking haircut ive ever seen that year. So Im just gonna pretend he looks 2000 era jack white. (see below for a visual of what is and what should have been)

What is

What should have been

#jack white #jack white fic #if i can be so bold #the white stripes #jack white x oc #nosferatyou writes #series #meg white #ben blackwell #nashville #detroit #jack white x reader

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ziracona · 4 years

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Thinkin about how the NOES 2010 movie is so good. Listen…listen. It has really unusual structure. Most of the time, a horror film follows either a single unit (one person, one family) through a whole plot (The Witch, The Babadook, Saw, Halloween) or a group of victims with one pretty obvious final girl in the mix (Friday the 13th, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I Know What You Did Last Summer), but NOES 2010 doesn’t do that. It takes you through several protagonists, one at a time, moving on from one teen to another when your initial protagonist is killed, starting with Dean, moving on to Kris, then Jesse, and then Nancy and Quentin when they’re the last two standing. It’s a fresh take, which makes everything so much less sure, and gives narrative weight to the characters who die instead of just making them bodycount. Everybody gets treated like the final girl, not canon fodder, which is extremely important to the story the film is telling. Nancy and Quentin don’t even become the film’s focus until almost halfway through the story.

Probably someone who is unfamiliar with the original film would assume Kris is the protagonist until she is killed thirty minutes in a little ala Psycho. It makes everything seem less certain, and makes the characters who you lose as important as the ones who make it, which is a really responsible way to tell something. A lot of the time, the characters in horror are kind of assholes (which is great and another rant for another day, because since the stakes are so low [literally you just have to care enough to not want the character to be brutally murdered], you can get an audience invested in an willing to explore the complexity of even a shitty person—but like I said, that’s a wholeass other rant), but in NOES2010, they’re not, which I think is important. Never does the film want you to feel like the characters either suck and deserve something happening to them, or are stupid (look, when the publicist in Scream 4 got out of her car in an unlit parking garage in the middle of a Ghostface chase, I saw the wholeass theater stop cheering for her to live because she was so stupid we just couldn’t root for her anymore—it happens) and to care less about their outcome that way. Everyone fights hard and tries hard and it’s just not enough.

Obviously it’s a slasher, but NOES 2010 is really like a thesis work film on CSA and how it affects people, and the commentary is both responsible, and really, really well done. As someone who has had to write a character who has committed that kind of crime, and walk the fucking razor’s edge between making them duly awful, and not crossing the line into anything exploitative or gratuitous, I can say with certainty that is not an easy thing to do. Because you want to give weight to the suffering that has been inflicted and realistic portray of the depravity of your villain, but again, you really don’t want to show anything more than you have to. That’s not what it’s about, and honestly, you can talk about that kind of a serious issue without actually showing things on screen. A film about CSA would be kind of defeating its own purpose if anyone who had ever experienced that shit went to watch the movie and went away more traumatized. The film does a really responsible job of walking that line. Freddy is awful, and there’s a constant threat with him—especially in the film’s climax—but he never actually assaults anyone onscreen (or off, except in the referenced past. The worst thing he does onscreen is lick someone, which is still incredibly disgusting), and the film still manages to keep how awful he is very, very real.

CSA is a really shitty thing to go through, obvious, it feels incredibly of dumb to type that—any assault is. Obviously. One of the big things in dealing with it after is a lot of the time, victims can feel broken, or damaged, and even worse, be talked about like they’re some kind of ‘damaged goods’ by incredibly shitty people in their life, but the film doesn’t even give that enough weight to bring it up. There have always been two big ways in film to combat ideas, one of which is direct confrontation (IE a film specifically about something being wrong—Do The Right Thing talking very openly about racism for instance) and by just straight up not doing the thing (Star Trek dropping a woman of color in as both a major cast member, romantic interest for people of other races, and someone working in a position of power, and just being like Yup. This is just normal). Both of which are very necessary and useful approaches. In NOES 2010, all four of the protagonists are in romantic relationships at some point (and so is Dean, the mini-lead protag). It’s not played out voyeuristically, and you don’t get any hot makeout seshes, but they’re definitely in comfortable, functional, physical relationships. In a silent but fucking hardcore stance, while Kris and Jesse spend the night together early in the film, there is not a single on-screen kiss until Quentin and Nancy have found out the truth about what happened to them as kids, and a few minutes later, right before their final confrontation, they kiss. Not even a second thought about anything, except how much they really need and want to kill this piece of shit coming after them, as it should be. It’s a rockhard solidification that not only do the characters not see each other differently because of what happened, but it has done nothing to change who they are or what they can be.

The movie is only an hour and a half, which isn’t that long, but still manages to pack in not only multiple different realistic reactions, (Quentin goes through some hardcore withdrawl/denial after finding stuff out initially, Nancy gets fucking mad), but to cover some of what this is like for their parents. In one conversation with Alan, Quentin’s dad, he tries to explain the mob enacted justice on Krueger years ago by telling him that he hopes someday when he’s a parent, he never has to experience how it feels having utterly failed to protect your child. Even though they only have like thirty seconds of flashback to work with, the script gets in one of the parents in dismay asking what other choice they have about hunting Krueger down, because the alternative is making their three-four year olds get on a stand and tell a room full of strangers what happened to them. It’s a horrible, awful situation to be in. Although it would be really easy to make some drama between characters and their families, even the characters who die have good relationships with their families, and neither the dead teens or their parents are ever narratively ‘punished’ for anything that happens. Kris’ last words to her mom before she leaves on a flight, about eight hours before Kris is murdered, are, realistically, “Love you.” The last thing Nancy says to her own mother is, “I know you were just trying to protect us. Thank you,” and her mother’s last words to her are, “I’m just glad you’re safe.” Characters still die, but they at least get the peace of deserved last words to each other. The film also not only definitely does not vilify the parents for burning Freddy to death for assaulting their preschool aged kids, but comes down in its finale openly supporting that vigilante justice decision, with Nancy’s last words in the film being thanking her mother for protecting them.

Even the whole nightmare theme fits in well with the story being told, because nightmares are a very common side-effect of past trauma, symbolically, there’s a lot people have to fight through in their lives when that kind of shit happens to them, even years later, and it genuinely isn’t given enough weight by most people. As kind of icing on the cake in the film, not only does Nancy get to kill Freddy, he dies in a very ugly, undignified way, with a slit throat and gross expression on his face, after getting his ass handed to him in a like a thirty second fight in reality with two very motivated teenagers.

Plus, Quentin Smith is canonically ADHD, and Nancy Holbrook is a really underrated protagonist who reads autistic and I love her.

Anyway. This movie does a great job about using horror as a medium to talk about a topic usually only people already interested in that specific topic would check out, plays out its narrative very responsibly, comes down hard with a big two thumbs up to murdering your local pedophile in a bonfire, and says fuck you to assault victim stigma. My only real beef with this film is that they were so dead set sure they would have a sequel that instead of ending with real resolution, it’s got a stinger at the end (on rewatches I always skip the last scene lol).

Not that it’s a flawless film—it’s got budget parents, which I think is both hilarious and fantastic (meaning everyone except I think Dean has only one parent, the same gender as them, and it’s hilarious and I adore it). They had rushed filming for some of the end. Etc. But it’s really solid, and doesn’t get enough credit as a film. It’s very different from the original—less campy, less funny. But it’s supposed to be. It’s telling a different story. And it’s telling a really good one.

#a nightmare on elm street 2010 #anoes 2010 #a nightmare on elm street #noes #I finally wrote that rant #CSA/pedophilia mention #someday I will write a proper-er rant but damn I love this film #quentin smith #nancy holbrook #nightmare on elm street #long post

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sassaetcie · 3 years

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The Molten Charcoal - Chapter 4 - Silver x Idia Fanfiction

Yeah I may have... forgotten I was publishing this on tumblr... I apologize krkrkr.

I shouldn't have said "yes" that easily. I'm just so weak after a certain time outside... Like it must be a downgrade or something... Sure I don't want to hurt Ortho but... If I end doing shit in front of Silver, I will ashame everone (once again lol), right? I can't tell anymore if it was a safe bet or not... No, it never has been a "safe" bet because I'm playing with humans www. They aren't as easily predictable as AI if they aren't shaking in fear... if they "aren't shaking in fear". Shut the fuck. Shut the fuck up, Idia. No, I should talk like this, right? This is the way I get to the top in videogames, after all... No, shut the fuck. The only reason you get this high... Is it because of "this"? Or "that"? Or both? Or neither, in the end? Nothing "has" to make sense, after all... If everything had to make sense, they would be true. I DON'T WANT THEM TO BE TRUE. EVERYTHING IS THEIR FAULT. EVERYTHING IS THEIR FAULT. THEY'RE THE ONES BEING WRONG, OR BEING A DIFFERENT KIND OF WRONG. If I'm doing everything "wrong" because everyone keeps thinking like them, then there's a possibility that I'm actualy the only one being right, right? (That's a Higurashi curse-like thinking but that's not exactly what I mean...) Everyone is a fucking weirdo here, so why am I the one considered even stranger? That must mean "something else". Or does that doesn't mean anything? Why am I even thinking about all this crap? That's because of them. I shouldn't think about all this... But if I don't, I'm going to disappoint Ortho because I'm going to be stupid and not trying enough... That's because of them. Because they wanted me so bad to be their heir. "A meeting is funny as long as you can play with the people". Why did you want me to play like you? I shouldn't have been here watching every adult whispering. I shouldn't have been here, hearing all these bad things. I shouldn't have been here. But my hair cannot betray you, right? I cannot hide. I cannot run. I cannot speak. Even if this adult smiles, he will stabs the other. Even if this one threatens to stab, it will be "only" a joke. Will it be? Which of them was joking? Which of them IS joking? Why did you show me this? Why did you show me so many people, as if they were your playthings? You really enjoyed inviting every last of them knowing they would insult you, and making them fear for one day to be fighting each other under your blackmailing, right? You even expected me to be abducted, huh? You didn't give a shit when I was abducted by this smiling couple. They really looked nice. I can't tell if they looked nicer than you. How many days did I spend here? They were still nice when they were with me. They kept on smiling. They lied. They lied again. Do I have to become an adult like this? I hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. WHY DO YOU EXIST. WHY DO I HAVE TO BECOME LIKE THIS TO SURVIVE? I DON'T WANT TO. I'm tired... Why did they keep on smiling to me even when I told them I knew I had been abducted? Did they really not want to worry me because they didn't bear me a grudge for one of the things you had done to them? I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I can't understand, Ortho. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, you did so much for me and I'm just lost between all of these things... And I was released and I didn't die, right... Right... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Ortho. I shouldn't... What should I think? I was almost murdered, right? But I didn't die. Even when another two brothers, two agressive brothers I definitely chose to escape from, caught me and threatened me to death with knives... I didn't die. I knew they were dangerous, right? Or did I want to believe they were not since the smiling couple was a bunch of bastard NPC? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I don't want to apologize outside of this... This will be useless, right? Ortho, you're always trying to help me but you were the one killed, right? I barely woke you up... did I? Or are you another type of fake as well? Who are you, "Ortho"? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't want to doubt you. I don't want to doubt Ortho. If he's the true Ortho, everything's alright. If he is my creation, everything's alright as well. Your skin is alive. Your voice is there. Haha... I should make a Frankenstein's ref here. I feel a bit better but I need to vent... I'll just play a bit.

Thanks [x], WyverneCastel was there and at least my day wasn't an absolute hell (lol). At first the game was total shit since there were a lot of servers crash on this new game, I honestly thought we would just leave and go back to TESO or something casual, since I've already rushed Dragon Nest's new events and the others, lol. We have been able to play but in the end the game was worthless, lmao. It wasn't original, had nothing to be "interesting". Maybe it was "fun" but I don't really care about it anymore... At least, WyverneCastel was funny. They even asked me if I was alright??? I thought they were joking or begging me to buy them something in another game, but it seemed not? I thought it would be good to test out if they were a true friend or not and huh... I was terrified at first. I thought the whole room was dragging itself into flames and that heat was going to consume me. Either I would burn out or burn the whole world down like I was probably expected to do. So... I've spoken to them, for once. They appeared to be really understanding, somehow. I thought I might get banned or blacklisted for saying out loud that I was gay but oh, I guess our gamers's mindset wasn't that shitty for once. He wasn't surprised that much, so I can't tell if he was really serious about anything but... He told me that of course if the one I loved rejected me because I love him instead of "her", then I should just forget about him because he would be just another bastard I shouldn't pine on... Sure enough, but if love was that easily curable, I wouldn't be on the verge of grieving, nah, crying with all my might just because I "have" a date with the one I love, even though it really doesn't make any sense. Of course I shouldn't be ashamed of being in love with him, and I'm not ashamed of being gay, fuck off. I barely told him that I was in love with a prince-type... Was it wrong? I mean, I have to stay honest or I'll just be the shy-neet everyone likes for no specific reason but pity... And if I can be different than them, it would be for the best as well... If they want to make fun of me for this, I will just hack them and teach them a little something, still lurking in my own den. Or in the worst case, I would have changed my pseudo... WyverneCastel did not mock me, and maybe never ... even fathomed mocking me. That's probably just a dumb thought but I feel like they are just curious and benevolent (I guess they're the depressed mysterious dude character)? Nonetheless, I don't want to be naive and crushed, but even more I don't want to get closer to the Flame Crown. I don't even want to write down their names. They don't deserve it, right? WyverneCastel, WyverneCastel, WyverneCastel. Let's scribble down more about them.

They... told me I would find my prince if I wanted that much to be with one, and yet feared that much being with them. I guess he would be the kind to speak of "trials", "fate" and "forgiveness". A hopeless optimist, an eternal philanthropist (and not the Izaya kind, huh). I should tell him someday that I'm happy to have him as a friend. He probably already knows about it... right? Maybe I'll just make myself a stupid lad by telling him this... But does he want me to tell him this, too? Perhaps he wishes for a single word as an "hope"? He knew of my school as a "miracle", too. He even asked me if my "beloved" was Epel Felmier... I mean, I could have, perhaps? He's way too cute for me, he almost looks like a child (not a girl since just thinking about it would bring a curse upon me lmao, no honestly, even if I don't like him, that would be disrespectful.), I can't. And we also talked about how frightening he was whenever he snapped... Definitely not for me, and he looks fake too... Like all of Pomefiore, except creepHunt, to be fair. They are just so superficial and shiny... It looks like they want to walk on water and leaped out of it to sit on sunny clouds. I would offer my flames to them if I could... I just told WyverneCastel my love was another student, and not a Pomefiore one. Of course, he could have heard of the school because of its reputation and Pomefiore because Vil is in it... But I'm pretty sure he is a student now, since he already told me he was a guy (wouldn't have assume his gender if he didn't tell me). Well! I assumed he was a student because of the ominous silence following my answer before he started rambling again. His Internet couldn't have crashed since I still could hear his mic buzzing, and so neither was the mic off. He simply, didn't make a sound. For a few seconds. And if he had been surprised about my choice not "being Epel", then he would have surprised before, and not lolling as he was, probably. I didn't tell him but he probably wants me to ask him about this someday too. I guess... I didn't have the time to question him since some scams invaded our serv and began behaving as if they were girls with their girly characters in-game... Of course they were asking for money for IRL meetings and all that stuff so I just hacked them... It took a few minutes, but I couldn't afford to lose hours with WyverneCastel trying to ignore them when they were making a ruckus and... using hyper sexualized women characters? Like wtf, are we still in the past, dudes? They're just hurting everyone by doing this, and the LGBTQIA+ community doesn't needs some dumbfucked lads who would just serve as scapegoats for people hating on trans people and women... So fucking tiresome. I just wanted to talk about my prince and bad-written NPCs barged in. In the end, he just told me everything would be alright as long as I was staying true to my self and that I wouldn't find any semi-perfect prince if I didn't... I guess he meant that it would be easier to find one if I was faking but that the prince would indeed be ideal if everything was a lie, but then the whole prince, castle and white horse would be stuck together around me, and there would be no way of separating them... And the other way around, probably. I should take a walk and sleep, now... Or try to sleep, at least.

[Started Recording at : 9:45 am : Fourth? Day]

The coliseum was blessed by hollowness. Void and vacuity, though fake vacuity in the end, facing the sweet void, twirled among the stairs yet engraved by humans centuries ago. The eerie, airy presents were not made to hold any perfume neither scent. Only one or two students jumped from seat to seat to leave but nothing behind them. All of the ancient chairs were on their own, now. And thus, the presence among them refrained from gamboling as well, and went back to another void. They were, after all, no exception.

-Hmm, it seems the coliseum is empty today. I guess sometimes pups do behave as good boys. Well, if they study in the meantime, that is.

The wind was cut at some point, even if it was authorized to come in this area. He should not be that greedy, probably. No storm, no tempest, no breeze was to interrupt an exam day in the coliseum. Sunshine could not disappear yet, but someday quiet shadows would run accross the dirt field. Stones bedecked by seals and symbols did not need all of this light.

-Pups! Come here. Let us make teams and start the exam right in time.

Each student throngs on the still ground.

-Hm, everyone is here. Good boys. Diamond Cater, Hunt Rook, please make a first team. Mhh... Well, Shroud Idia... What is it, Clover Trey?

-I don't mean to interrupt you at all, sir and I'm sorry if I do. I would like to know if it were possible to be with Shroud? His performances may end up bad if he was with someone he doesn't know, and he may also have panic attack and it would mess up everything.

-This is quite an harsh way of saying things, Clover Trey. I would like Shroud Idia to overcome his fears, but let us be benevolent for this test only. He barely shows up, after all. But next time will be a random pairing, remember this. And this will only works if Shroud Idia agrees with you, Clover Trey. What of it, Shroud Idia?

-I-i-i-i-I... huh... wh-why not... after all...

-Thanks, Crewel sir, thanks Shroud.

The seats were still empty, and were meant to stay away from a temporary crowd. The sun was already too much of a witness, in the end. How much would he suck away all of the water in the flames heir? Perhaps it would first attack his surroundings. He was not alone. There was even a possibility he would get away with a tiny drop in his hands. A drop shining by reflecting.

-Diamond Cater, Hunt Rook, get yourselves ready. Shroud Idia, Clover Trey, stand in front of them. We will start the exam. Let us see who can stand until the end.

The two semi-teams came forth. None of them were fully a team, indeed. Diamond and Hunt smiled to a certain percent, and Clover and Shroud stressing to another. Was it the higher the better, or the lower the better? Several words were muttered by Idia, and Trey barely reacted. Were Rook and Cater deserving of a victory, now?

-Lets us begin, puppies.

-Damoiseau orné de diamants, may you use your unique magic to ease our hunt?

-Suuure~ I planned on doing it from the moment we were facing Shroud anyway~ He fears crowd so let's have fun, Shrouuud~! I'll take a selfie with you if you lose eheh!

-Hey, Shroud you... Hey, why are you hiding behind my back?! Jeez... it was to be expected, I guess. Fine, let's go, Cater! I won't abandon Shroud the way you don't care about Hunt!

-"Split Card"! Let's go, myselves~ Let's pin cutie Trey to the ground and force him to give up!

-Oh, oh, so you think something as simple will work on me, Cater?! Your "selves" won't move anymore if I can strike them all in one single shot... "Doodle Suit"!

-HEHHHHHH?! DID YOU JUST REWRITE MYSELVES?!

-OH YES I DID!

-N-nevermind! It won't be enough to defeat me... as if my unique magic was the only thing that was... shining withing myself! Take thiiiiiiiiiiiis!

A fireball flew across the area, flickering of mad sparkles. Yet, it was alone, as blinding as it could be. No other fires hid themselves. The light went forward, running through the usual sea-like Cater toward the forever lake-like Trey. Cater's "selves" were still, and would not move as long as Trey was not overdoing himself. Basically, Cater "should" have aimed to reduce his focus and magic slots. If Trey could have defend himself twice, then he should have throw several fireballs, as long as they were more than two. Yet he did not. No matter how Trey was stretching his neck and all body as one, there was but one fireball coming his way.

-That won't do it, Cater! I will bring you down... and I will take care of Hunt!

-Heeh~ Could that mean you can't take both of us down? You're really tired, huuh~! I will make you fall asleep and you'll have some sweets dreams, Treyyyyyy~!

They both brung their hands on their foreheads and wiped some sweat, almost in the same fashion as well. There was a possibility they were both lying. Yet, if Cater has used his unique magic and was still forced to maintain it because of Trey's unique magic coercing them into a motionless army... The fireball burst into numerous drops and shone into multiple drips full of infinite colors, filled with Trey's own magic and shades.

-Don't even think your fire magic will be enough to defeat me.

-Then I'll use some tree one... Just kidding! I knew I wouldn't defeat you, but we already won, right, Rook~?

-Damoiseauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

Rook Hunt had disappeared from Trey sight for a long time for obvious reasons, but so had Idia.

-I... don't see Le Roi des Ombres behind Le Chevalier des Roses! Quelle est cette diablerie!

-EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!

-Hehehehehehehheheheheheheheheehehehehe... NEVER UNDERESTIMATE ME AGAIN, FUCKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERS!

A single ray came behind a still Cater's copy, bouncing between all of the numerous fake selves toward the usual fake one and its superficial yet earnest one, drenching the losing liars with a superficial water worthy of them.

-Huh... we...

-Clover Trey and Shroud Idias team won. A brilliant strategy, I reckon.

-Wait, what do you mean by strategy??? Shroud and Trey had...

-Yeah, I had planned this since the very beginning ufufufufufufuu... From the very moment you thought I was simply muttering to myself, Trey was listening to me and ready to follow my strategy!

-Uwaaa~ Idia Shroud is actually so cooool~ Can I have a selfie with you to apologize~?

-No w-w-w-w-w-way! You hypocrite...

-That aside, I must apologize for judging you, Roi des Ombres. You really do show a beautiful intellect and scheming.

-T-That's okay... Just let me go away, please...

The wind finally thronged in the no-more private area. The void would likely move as well. Among all the droplets, their status was but one, and only one. They were the one hindering the sun fostering reflection. They were the one hiding music. The child of the void's hair waltzed dazzlingly under the bright sun overflowing. His fingers tried to force the hair down in the hood, but only some of his skin obeyed in the end. He coerced his feet protected from the atmosphere by boots to move on, and more especially, back. But the crown of flames rushed forward, gleaming in front of him again.

-How beautiful, Roi des Ombres! Why would you want to hide such brightness...

-Oh, Cater, Hunt, look out, Vil came to cheer you up!

-EHHHHH?

-Oh~?

The flames followed the kid which they were yet meant to fuse with someday. They had no choice once no more could play with them... No sand was brought to their eyes, though. All elements were not helping him, after all. He had disappeared. Only clouds were playing with the sunshine.

-Eeeh, Treyyy~ Vil wasn't there, are you sure your eyesight is good even with your glasses on~...

-I'm sorry! I thought I saw him... Oh, Shroud has left.

-Chevalier des Roses, you are but quite the bad comedian. On a side note, what a great strategy, oh my!

-Rook, what the...

-Le Roi des Ombres sure has thought a lot upon this fight, hasn't he? The fact he asked you transform Damoiseau's copies into motionless mirrors to make his own shot bounce in it... Splendide! It was really splendide!

-Haha, thanks, Hunt. He really thinks a lot... He just needs some time to open up to people. Let's be nice to him.

-You three! Move away, pups! The next team has to fight!

-O-oh, yes, sorry, Crewel sir.

[Ended Recording at : 10:30 am : Fourth? Day]

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst #twst fanfic #idia x silver

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harringtonheartache · 5 years

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Call It Fate, Call It Karma | Part Two

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: A continuation of part one. Steve and Y/n are stuck in the Russian base, left with many questions they will only find the answers to if they escape.

Word Count: 2,105

Warning(s): Stranger Things 3 spoilers, mild descriptions of blood and injury, cussing.

A/N: Here’s part two! Sorry for the wait. I went off book a little in terms of how shit went down in ep. 6 (skipped some lines, etc.), but that’s just because I didn’t want to bore you with scenes you had already experienced. Also, go fucking listen to Joe Keery’s song “Roddy” if you haven’t. IT’S SO GOOD HE’S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE.

The needle had brought the most brief moment of silence, and then the room erupted again into havoc. “Wait a second, wait. Hold on, okay! Wait wait wait what is that thing?” Steve’s words bounced off the walls like ping-pong balls. “It will help you talk,” the Russian man answered with an unsettling tone, one that did not fit with his promise of help. While she was not the one first in line for the mystery meds, Y/n was equally panicked, yelling in unison with him.

“Hey, hey, hey wait! Don’t fucking-”

“Did you even clean that thing?”

Both of them were cut short and the only sound filling the room was Steve’s scream as he was injected with the drug, just where his jaw met his neck. Y/n was next, but hearing Steve’s cry was worse than experiencing the needle herself. Chaos was drained from the room at once, the two strapped to the chairs having been returned to sleep.

It was easy to assume that the drug given to them was not a pain reliever, although Steve did feel as though the tenderness of his wounds had been dulled when he woke up for the second time in the cold room. Y/n wasn’t far behind him in her physical state, waking up shortly after he had. While they had both just taken a nap, they still felt tired while they leaned their heads against one another. “Do you feel anything?” Steve asked her. “No, not really. You?” “I-I don’t think so. Maybe? I… I kind of feel good,” he answered her with a melodious sound to his voice. She offered him a chuckle, “I kind of do too”. Their heads knocked together sternly as they laughed, but they were too jubilant to feel the pain it caused in full effect. “Morons, they messed up the drugs!” he sang. “Dumbasses!” she agreed with the same satirical tone. They continued this for a minute or two, feeling joy for the first time since arriving underground, even if it was drug-induced.

Behind the metal door, their triumph was heard loud and clear throughout the narrow hallway, indicating to the men outside that they were ready to be attended to again. Their booted feet stomped noisily back to the door, but the sound could not be heard over the laughter coming from within. They re-entered through the door, and to the teenagers tied together, the Russian men were no longer as scary as they had been earlier. “Let’s try this again,” said the man in the uniform and hat. “Who do you work for?”

“Scoops. Scoops Ahoy,” Steve repeated his dried up answer like someone on a game show, completely certain but not too serious. Unable to keep themselves from laughing, they didn’t even bother with hiding the lack of urgency they felt in response to the situation. Y/n’s shoe tapped madly on the floor, so taken over with giddiness. Steve’s hair bounced as well, against his forehead as chuckles bobbed his body up and down. “How did you find us?” the man continued, seemingly unfazed but still bitter. “Completely by accident,” another answer that would not satisfy those looking for the reasoning behind their visit. The response did however satisfy both Y/n and Steve himself, prompting the laughter to continue.

Russian was muttered from the mouth of the bitter man, and a pair of small doctoral pliers entered the conversation similarly to how the needle had earlier. Before the tool was able to inflict it’s intended damage, an alarm blared at an extreme volume, perhaps just as loud as the screaming had been earlier. Steve looked up at the captor, a cocky smile twitching onto his face as he poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He could feel the blood that still resided in his mouth from earlier, but no longer felt concerned with the taste.

No more than three minutes later, Y/n and Steve rode together in the back of a small red cart, Dustin steering hastily down the hallway. His style of driving could be described as “shitty,” or “dangerous,” but rather fitting considering he had never driven anything but a bike before, and he was trying to spare the life of four, himself included. He jerked the wheel in a manner that was rather unexpected to the two in the back, causing them to fall all over one another. Y/n’s arm ended up twisted together with Steve’s leg, and she laid sprawled against his lap. The enthusiastic driving continued to milk laughter from them. “Whoooo! This is like a roller coaster!” Y/n shared. Steve agreed wholeheartedly, “I love roller coasters! Dustin go faster!”

“No,” Erica butted in.

“What is wrong with them?” she asked the chauffeur. “I don’t know!” he yelled over his assemblage. “Did you- did you know your initials spell sshhh?” Y/n spoke in a loud whisper to Steve, dragging the two letters to mimic a librarian. The roller coaster came to a halt with the pounding of heavy barrels and the two in the back were dragged from their train car.

While adding significant chaos to the escape plan, the drugged up duo made it back to Starcourt. After deciding that their hiding spot in the movie theater Dustin had ordered them to stay in wasn’t captivating enough, the two stumbled out into the main lobby, taking turns holding themselves up on the water fountain and downing as much liquid as they could. Y/n’s fingers started to hurt as she held down the “push here” button on the metal box with unnecessary pressure. “Hey, Y/n,” she was interrupted, her hand unintentionally slipping from the fountain. “Look at the ceiling,” said Steve. She followed his walking pattern to stand next to him, staggering as if she wasn’t fully capable of standing with complete balance. “Woaah,” she exclaimed, equitably as entranced by the stars that seemed to be dragging through the sky like someone was painting stripes on a flag.

Their stargazing ended with them in the bathroom, disposing of what little was in their stomachs. The only thing they had eaten in the past day or two was the popcorn Steve swiped from the trashcan on their hurried retreat into the movie theater. They now stood in front of the sinks, washing out their mouths to rid themselves of the taste of bile, a taste significantly more vulgar than blood. Water now dripped from Steve’s tongue as he stuck it out under the faucet. The bathroom mirrors reflected bloodied faces, but they were not ready to take on another task of self care and clean the deep red stains from their skin. Once content with the taste of her freshly washed mouth, Y/n dropped lazily back to the ground. Steve followed shortly, sitting beside her on the floor that could most likely use a washing itself, his back to the row of sinks.

“I think whatever they gave us is wearing off,” he spoke.

“Yeah,” she agreed in short.

“Well, my optimism wasn’t in vain,” Steve said playfully, remembering their conversation back in the base. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his calves coming in contact with the cool tile. His Scoops Ahoy uniform would need a good cleaning before his next shift, as the red stripes of his shirt now appeared to be dripping like melted ice cream since the addition of the running blood.

A sober laugh left Y/n, tired but content with their survival thus far. “Guess you were right, sorry I doubted you Harrington,” the end of her sentence lifted in enthusiasm. She leaned her head against the base of the sink, wishing not to consider the bacteria it was painted with. “How badly does your face hurt?” she questioned, assuming the answer was ‘a significant amount’. “A lot,” he said, “but you got pretty bruised up yourself,” he added. He turned to face her now, scooting a bit closer to her on the bathroom floor. She looked to him, expecting to meet his eyes, but found him engaged in his own observation of her injuries instead. A hand was removed from his lap and floated to the space between their two chests as he hesitated with his next action.

The palm of his hand met her jaw and he carefully laid his thumb near a gash on her cheek. Her eyes blinked solemnly, trusting him to be gentle with her face and it’s received damage. “Shit,” he said, feeling an indisputable sense of worry that showed on his expression. His eyes (one still swollen and purple) scanned the rest of her face, looking over every cut or bruise that was added to her complexion within the past few hours. If he had not been down in that Russian base with her, he might assume she had gotten into a nasty fist-fight like he was infamous for doing himself. “I’m okay,” she told him soothingly. “You got it worse than me.” He finally redirected his gaze to meet her eyes, forcing himself to draw his focus away from the colorful bruise on the edge of her jawline that was screaming for his attention. “I’m used to getting my ass kicked,” he joked. They laughed to themselves, smiling as widely as they could stand.

He took his hand back, but they did not subtract the closeness in proximity that Steve had initiated. “I hope you know I wasn’t saying all of that stuff back there just because I thought we were going to die,” he said, bringing a more serious conversation to bat, yet still carrying a light tone. “The stuff about enjoying my presence?” she asked, not fully grasping the lack of humor presented with his last sentence. “I’d hope you were telling the truth,” she chuckled amusingly. A smile came to Steve’s face as he looked downward, slightly embarrassed but still feeling an obligation to continue with his intended conversational route. “No, I was, but I uh- I don’t know. I,” -he paused- “I feel more than friendship with you, Y/n,” he brought his head back up now, despite his apprehension in doing so.

Her eyebrows jumped slightly, but she brought them back down as to not leave Steve regretting his confession. He watched her carefully, not wanting to miss any indication of responding emotion. His fingers twitched against one another in his lap, and he became strangely self-aware and confused as to what he should be doing with his hands. “Oh,” she said, her reply giving him little relief with only this one word. “I mean-” he started, but she didn’t let him attempt a retraction of his words. “Me too,” a smile graced her face, an honest one. “I like you too, Steve”. In all transparency, she felt as if the word “like” was not enough to express her feelings towards the person who sat in front of her, but using a more profound word was too daunting. He joined her in an elated expression, smiling both at himself and her. “Thank god, I was worried that I was going to have to go back to those Russian idiots and just let them kill me,” he said.

They laughed again, a sound you would have heard often if you had spent the day with the two. His eyes dropped to her lips, still plump and pretty despite the small cut running vertically over her bottom one. Her laughter at his recently spewed joke filled him with enough confidence to perform his next action with almost complete certainty in himself. He swiftly moved his head to meet her lips with his own; a gentle kiss, one that was careful not to cause extreme pressure against the cut that had been bleeding all of thirty minutes ago. Nevertheless, it was soft. A moment both comforting and sweet shared between them.

If that moment had lasted but three seconds longer than it had, it would have been shared with a third person: Dustin. The small, fretful boy slung the bathroom door open with more power than many would expect from him. He found the two he was looking for, questionably close to one another, having pulled away from a kiss seconds before. Their eye contact was broken at the sound of Dustin’s entrance, as they turned their heads to quickly meet his startled stare. “What the hell? I told you guys to stay there! What are you doing?” The two didn’t even try for words, continuous laughter now echoing off of the tiled walls. What they had was good karma.

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Tags: @hearteyesmotherclucker

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #st3 #stranger things #stranger things 3 #joe keery #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #will byers #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #stranger things fic #scoops troop #steve harrington fluff

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peachywise · 5 years

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nullify

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part i: the introduction || part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part iv ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆ more parts to be released

- synopsis: A child and a ghost whisperer walk into a diner. Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, but really it’s just the start of an odd, slightly painful night. Turns out they need you and your power to do something, and Klaus seems way to thrilled and fascinated by you and what you can do. (takes place after the events of the first season)

- notes: lmao how long has it been since i wrote a fic?? too long thanks anyways the reader is they/them pronouns and everything is pretty vague description wise for inclusivity and shit!! also even though this is klaus x reader focused ~romance~ wise i’ll be writing a shit ton with the reader interacting with the other guys like this part is deadass just as focused on number five as it is klaus. let me know if you guys want this as a series??? i won’t write more parts if people aren’t down but i left it open-ended so it could be a series but honestly, it’d be fine as a one-off too so read what you will k love you bye. tw for swearing

link on ao3

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“Isn’t that a health code violation?”

Looking up from your book you'd been reading for the past half hour, you heaved a heavy-handed sigh. Sitting on the back counter of the dead dinner you worked at was the least of this shitty establishments problems. “I’ll be sure to let the rats in the kitchen know of your concerns,” you replied simply.

Dog-earring the page of your book, you set it down beside you. Hopping off, you stepped forward towards the counter as the kid who just entered sat down on one of the stools, planting himself with a look of clear repugnance as he eyed his surrounding subtly. Resting your elbows on the counter, you propped your head on your hands and gave a friendly grin, “I’m sure they’d be happy to whip up some Mickey Mouse pancakes, special just for you.”

His face though perfectly deadpanned couldn’t hide the slight tick of annoyance in his eyes. “Just get me a black coffee,” he muttered.

“Coffee will stunt your growth.”

“You’ll be stunted if you keep up this horrible customer service.”

“Ouch,” sarcasm dripped from your tone as you raised your hands up in mock defeat, “the kitten’s got a bit of a bite there, doesn’t he?”

Quite honestly, your day was now veering on to a particularly delightful route you hadn’t expected when you first woke up this morning. You suddenly believed some sort of divine karma was finally rewarding you with some quality entertainment. He could banter— a bit on the aggressive side, but you would take what you could get out of the interaction. You knew it wasn’t going to last long.

“Look, are you going to give me the coffee or are you just going to stand around all day uselessly taking in the air that could be breathed in by more deserving people?”

Oh, so he’s got knobby knees and wit to match.

Letting a slow amused smile cross your face as you gave a lazy curtsy, you casually made your way over to the fresh pot and grabbed one of the porcelain white mugs, giving him a knowing look as you poured a good ‘ol black cup of joe. Setting the pot back down, you sauntered your way back over still holding the smile. The kid rolled his eyes, reaching out a hand as he impatiently said, “thank you,” in a refined and expertly practiced condescending manner. But you didn’t hand it to him. No, instead you casually leaned back against the back counter and took a long sip of the burning hot liquid.

Well, the little tyke certainly did not like that.

In what was an actually flash of blue light before your eyes, the kid vanished from his place on the rickety red vinyl stool and was beside you a moment later, ripping the mug from your hand with such force that caused the liquid to spill over the sides, scorching your hand and splashing it on your already grease stained, 50’s themed uniform. So, he was words and action. You could respect that.

“What, no screaming? Not even another smartass comment?” He half-heartedly asked, his eyebrow quirked slightly as he studied you. It was like he was waiting for some sort of delayed reaction from his little magic trick. While yes, it was a little jarring to see it in the flesh for the first time, the moment he had walked through those glass doors you expected a bit of a ‘powerful’ confrontation.

You knew he was Number Five. You knew he was a part of that Umbrella Academy.

“You know who I am,” he stated in his all brilliant glory. Well, look at that. Seemed he was a real Sherlock as well as a tiny space hopper.

Easily taking the cup of coffee back, wincing slightly as the cold air pressed against the new burn you tried to seem unfazed about, you took a sip and mumbled against the rim of the cup, “I’m a bit surprised you’re here and actually alive, but it’s easy to remember a face that hasn’t aged a day." Setting the mug down on the counter, you pressed a hand to your hip and questioned, “how is that exactly? Did you run from home just to make yourself immortal? Found yourself an Edward Cullen to bite you or something?”

Now, you’ve had people look at you like you were stupid before, but no one with a talent such as him. Even though he was looking up at you, he still mastered that beady squinty little look that read ‘you’re the joke of the earth’. Precious.

“I don’t know who Edward Cullen is, but I’m not immortal, and I don’t have time to explain the whole story to you in detail. Let’s just say I got stuck in time.” Doing his little magic flash again, he appeared back on the other side of the counter, continuing to speak as he added, “Is anyone else here? I assume you’d rather show me what you can do without anyone else around.”

Ah, yes. What you could do. So that was why he was here. Part of you wondered if someday it would happen. That’s why you knew who he was when he first walked in after all. You kept tabs on all of them, at least a bit. Yeah, the whole “Umbrella Academy” was famous for a little while when you were a kid, but most people had since forgotten them and the kids in the academy had grown up and had become almost unrecognizable. Well, apart from Five. And maybe Allison, but hell, she was famous for a while different reason now.

Like the others, you were born October 1st 1989 to a completely unexpecting mother who got the shock of her god damn life. If you were 9 months pregnant in under a minute flat, you’d probably be pretty shocked too. However, you were just stunned that something as odd as that could actually happen and result in you getting powers.

Unlike the others, when your parents were approached by professor evil monopoly Reginald Hargreeves, your mom rejected anything he offered in favor of her miracle baby. She was certain she was the new Virgin Mary despite absolutely not being a virgin and refused to give up that title up. At least at that moment, she didn’t want to anyway.

“You managed to figure out where I worked, and I assume at this point you know my name,” you started, “so why don’t you just tell me what I can do and let me know why you're here so I can turn you down and get back to my book.” Gesturing your hands around the extremely empty diner, you breathed, “I’m a very busy person as you can see.”

Five didn’t say anything, instead just giving you an almost thoughtful look. You didn’t trust it one fucking bit.

Quicker than you would have expected out him, he reached over and picked up one of the plates on the counter and threw it your way with such force you wondered for a second if the reason he'd been missing for so long was because he’d taken up a passionate love affair with baseball. On instinct, damn the treacherous thing, your body chilled as a static feeling pushed out of you, surrounding you in a soft, nearly invisible blue bubble-- your force field. The plate bounced right off and landed on the floor, shattering lamely and loudly.

It was legal to kill a kid who had been missing for years, right?

“Can’t you play a game of catch with the poor kid?” Came a new drama-dripped voice in the door, the little bell ringing softly as he spoke. “His father was a sociopath who didn't pay him any mind, he’s very stunted as you can see. So desperate for the affection and attention of strangers.”

Klaus. He’d been harder to track over the years, but from the feather collared jacket and lack of shirt, you could spot the eccentricity of him miles away.

Taking on a protective stance, you moved from behind the counter and positioned yourself in front of Five, stage whispering to him, “careful, looks like one of the kitchen rats got out. They’re very diseased.”

Klaus tilted his head to the side, his mouth snapping open and his eyebrows rising up in stunned amusement. Pointing at you, he turned his attention towards Five and stated, “I’m wounded! This seems to be going on spectacularly, don’t you think?”

Shaking your head with a slight grin, you started to speak to ream five out for throwing a freakin’ plate, but your words died off on the tip of your tongue when your gross ass boss pushed open the doors to the kitchen, his loud, gritty greased voice shouted, “what did you break out here?” His spine went rigid a bit when he seemed to finally note the presence of two other people, but his eyes quickly glanced at the shattered plate and his face continued to get splotchy and red. “Is that your kid who broke it? Jesus, that’s coming out of your paycheck.”

Wow, that 50 cent shitty plate? How would you ever survive?

Hands slipped around your neck in a hug as Klaus propped his chin on top of your head, his attention fully on your boss. “I’m so sorry sir, you know how it is with kids, gotta get all those angst and deep-seated feeling out somehow. Yesterday we found out he’s been pretending the family cat was his girlfriend. Had to take him to the hospital to get those scratches on his little friend checked out, if you know what I mean,” he smiled, moving away from you to pat the clearly seething Five on the head.

Before the kid could say anything or do something that would get you in more shit, you plastered your own happy little smile on and bent down beside him, wrapping your arms around his shoulder as you continue to address your boss. “He was just upset because he found out I told his teacher about his little bed wetting problem.” Five ripped your arm away with incredible force and stepped away from you both. Sighing dramatically, you rested the side of your face on your palm and slightly shook your head, adding, “It’s so hard, I just don’t know where we went wrong!”

Klaus snickered behind you, while your boss looked properly petrified and regretful about having walked in on the whole ordeal at all.

“Just uh-- forget about it. Clean it up okay?”

Giving him a wink and you stood back up, you flicked your wrist in a lazy salute. “You got it, Boss Man.” He couldn’t turn back around and get back to the back room fast enough.

Turning the face the two once again, Klaus grinned as he said, “brilliant work,” raising his hand for a knowing high five. You happily obliged.

“Was that really necessary?” Five ground out from between his teeth, as you shot him back an incredulous look. “Was it necessary to throw a plate at me?” you retorted, fully not expecting him to reply with, “Yes. It was the only way I could make sure you had a force field.”

Smartass.

Running your hand through your hair tiredly to get it out of your face, you crossed your arms again and didn’t bother to argue anymore. “Just tell me what this is about.” At this point, you were tired and really just wanted to get back to your quiet night. Klaus was also giving you a once over every thirty seconds and you weren’t quite sure what he looked so bloody excited and anxious about.

“I have a theory, and I’d like to test it out,” Five said. Klaus quickly interjected with, “and I’m one of the test subjects,” wiggling his eyebrows as he did.

Narrowing your gaze, you questioned “one of?”

“Well, it requires you, but before I explain, to what extent can you use your powers? Have you done anything more than just deflect things off your field?”

You shook your head, confusion still clouding your words. “That’s all. Some guy tries to knife me? He bounces off. Sometimes I get lucky and he stabs himself in the process. It’s a simple thing.

“How many times has someone tried to knife you?” Klaus asked with a small snort, but Five cut him off with a great little bomb of information. “I’ve done some calculations on how your power works, and I think that if someone like us was in the field with you it might nullify our powers.”Huh.

“And... math makes you think that?”

Five rolled his eyes. You got the idea he did that a fair bit. “I want to test out to see if that’s true, so if you will, please conjure up your field around you and Klaus and we’ll see if it works on him.”

Flashing your eyes to Klaus who almost seemed to jitter with excitement, your eyes got slightly wide when you asked, “wait, there’s a ghost here? Like right now?” You swiveled your head around like you would actually be able to see it.

Klaus nodded his head. “Ben, meet Y/N, Y/N meet our brother Ben.” Pressing a hand to his heart, he added, “forever in our hearts and forever by my side. I am his saving grace.” Turning his head abruptly, he quickly said, “shut up,” to the air-- or Ben, rather-- slicing his hand in a silencing sound.

Raising a hand hesitantly, you gave a flick of your wrist in that direction, squeaking out a small, “Hi Ben.”

“If you two idiots are done,” Five muttered, but you stopped him as you said, “three idiots. It’s rude to dismiss Ben’s presence. You're his brother, be respectful.” Five ignored you. “The sooner we test this, the sooner we can leave.”

Oh, now he was speaking your language.

Shaking out your shoulders, you widened your stance and clapped your hands, saying, “alright, let's go.” Klaus gave some excited little claps as he stepped to your side, telling Five, “field trips are always so much fun!”

Taking in a deep breath, you let the energy seep out of you until that familiar snap surrounded you, this time entrapping not on you, but Klaus as well.

The smiling man quickly went silent.

“So,” you started hesitantly, turning to study his face. “Did it work?”

Multiple emotions seemed to cross his features, and it revealed to you certain hopelessness and vulnerability that was so unfamiliar to you and what you had known about him. It dawned on you at that moment that you had no idea what this meant. To him. To Five. Christ, nerves started to wrack through your body when you realized they could be having you do this just to try and kill you because they see it as some sort of ridiculous threat. Still, that seemed unlikely. No, they needed it somehow.

And as Klaus turned towards you, looking at you as if you were some wonderous figure and not just some crappy diner waiter working two jobs just to get by, you realized that whatever they had been searching for, they had found. Whatever Klaus had been searching for, he had found.

“They’re gone.”

His voice was just a fraction above a whisper, but it sent a chill across your skin as his intense gaze once again studied you with incredible fascination. But as he took a step forward, his hand oh-so-gently reaching for your hand, your focus went away and the force field fell, all the sounds and senses of the real world hitting you all at once.

Five was staring at you both with an odd look you didn’t quite know what to think of.

“Alright."

Clearing your throat, you took a small step back as the fog cleared out of your head, stating back a dull, “huh?”

“We’ll be at your apartment in the morning. Get ready to meet the others.”

Wait, what the fuck?

“My apartment? You guys haven’t even explained what you guys want from me!” You blurted, moving your head rapidly as you looked back and forth between the two.

“I’ll explain everything tomorrow,” was all Five said, as both him and Klaus began moving towards to door, clearly content with what they came here to do. Well, that was nice for them. They could sleep soundly as you sat up in bed all night looking up fucking umbrella academy conspiracy theories to try and convince yourself what happened here was actually real.

“There’s no way in hell you’re getting those Mickey Mouse pancakes now!” You shot back as he exited the door, huffing as you turned around to go clean up the plate.

Then something smacked hard on the back of your head, landing on the ground with a little rattle.

“Oopsie.”

Spinning around, gripping the back of your head, you were about to yell obscenities at Klaus who’d just thrown a spoon of all things, but he was already halfway out the door calling behind him, “I thought your little bubble would just appear like a party trick, bye!”

Idiots. Idiots had just taken over your life.

#klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves fanfic #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #klaus hargreen imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfiction #number five #five

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noa-halevy · 5 years

Text

SENDING A MESSAGE:

Introducing our first London Basement victim! So, this got way longer than I was intending, and I am sorry for that, but I really have missed writing mob violence, so you’ll have to forgive me. Introducing two upcoming Russian characters in the best way possible! This will set off plenty of drama, now. You’ll see when you read. Enjoy!

Date: May 8th, 2019. Warnings: To be fair, it’s not as violent as I was intending, but...you know. There are Russians so it’s a little bleak. Blood and all that.

“Wake up.”

A startling phrase when the last thing she remembered doing was running.

It would’ve been difficult to describe the pain she felt as she begrudgingly returned to consciousness because everything fucking hurt. All she could taste was blood. All she could hear was a throbbing in her skull so intense she was sure she remembered nothing because they’d bludgeoned it out of her. As Noa was pulled abruptly from her knees to her feet—a merciless tug on the chains that bound her wrists above her head more than enough to encourage another grunt of pain—the sullen realisation that this was only going to get worse settled quickly.

Well, fuck.

Did she jog all the way to Launceston and not fucking realise it?

“I said wake up, pizda. There’s somebody who wants to see you.”

And all it took was that one word for her blood to run cold.

When Noa finally opened her bloodshot eyes, regret came in an instant. The dim lights that hung overhead were enough to make her wince in pain, and illuminated a room so eerily familiar that she wished, albeit briefly, that she hadn’t woken up.

It took a moment to focus. To make sense of just what the fuck her complacency had her stumbling into this time. London was safe, she’d said; safer than there. Yeah, until it wasn’t so safe anymore. Until she was chained up in a warehouse, with what she could only assume to be a body underneath the tarpaulin to her left, and a smug looking prick reeling off Russian curses purposefully enough that it had to be to identify himself.

“You came all this way for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“Yeah? Well make the most of it. You killed two of his men in the attempt to get you here. Good luck feeling flattered when you’re fucking dead.”

Noa was certain that some of her ribs had been broken in the struggle to subdue her—each new breath with her arms above her head was a blaze of agony—but the way the lackey said ‘his’ was enough to make her feel like she’d been booted all over again. Was that a hint at familiarity? Was she supposed to know? Whilst she’d dealt with more Russians than most in her time (even if it was usually out of choice) there were a few that’d stood out as more meaningful than the rest—one in particular. The last thing she wanted when she felt like she was dying was a reunion with the antichrist that would end in her actually fucking dying.

The sound of the door opening was enough to rip her away from her very angry thoughts, and the man who waltzed through enough to stun the pain out of her momentarily.

What the fuck were they doing in London, and how the fuck hadn’t anybody picked up on it?

When their eyes met across the damp and derelict shit hole she was now sure would stage her final moments, her stomach felt as though it was about to fall out of her ass. So it was the one she’d dreaded the most; uncomfortably familiar after all this time and yet still like a stranger. Noa wondered if he felt the same. If the reason she was chained up like this was because she was familiar enough for it to be gratifying, but now so strange to him that their once inconvenient aversion to murdering each other had expired. When he smiled she realised that she really did hate him more than any of the others.

“It’s been a while, Noa.” Even the sound of his voice exacerbated her rage. “Miss me?”

“Which part?” It eventually came out as a scoff, and the pain in her chest immediately punished her for it. To show weakness in front of him, however, was very different from showing it in front of that little fuck watching them from his corner. He was stood in front of her now, face to face, and she cared little for the disdain she offered the one who had her life in his hands. “Your sixteen brain cells, your weedy arms, or the disappointingly small dick?”

The woman could see the soldier shift uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye.

“That’s funny,” the man before her said sarcastically. “I don’t remember you ever complaining.”

“Did you really go through all this effort to have a conversation about—”

Before Noa could finish her characteristically flippant comeback, an unforgiving fist collided with her stomach with force enough she was reminded why he was so good at instilling terror in his enemies. It took a minute to get her breath back. The way she was restrained meant she couldn’t keel over, even if her body needed it. Her eyes watered as she fought the pain with every ounce of energy she could muster. She cursed him in his dirty fucking language.

“You always did talk too much, Halévy.”

Noa could practically feel the glare radiating from the man as he looked down at her, and as much as she wanted to tell him to get fucked—to go back to Launceston and rot like him and his scummy family deserved—when he reached out his fingers to tuck stray strands of hair behind her ear, none of it manifested. She remained silent, and his hand found her jaw in a way it hadn’t for years. It startled her and it didn’t; the stark contrast to his violence a moment before summing him up perfectly. If she hadn’t known him, known what he was, it could’ve been mistaken for an act of concern as he ran his thumb slowly across her split bottom lip.

It was more likely he was admiring the handiwork of his friends.

He was so close she could feel his breath against her skin.

The proximity was decidedly not helping her nausea.

When his fingers threaded into her hair, she knew what was coming, but still couldn’t bring herself to turn away and stop it. It was like muscle memory; she hadn’t kissed him like this in nearly ten years, and yet her body hadn’t forgotten a thing. It wasn’t chaste, and it wasn’t gentle, and with a hand at each side of her face, he was the one with all the leverage. For a minute she was fucking lost. The shitty reincarnation of the basement was gone, the pain was gone…everything but an empty reminder of a relationship that had died over a decade ago—if it had ever even lived—was lost in their heated exchange. Even when he parted for air, his lips remained; hand trailing around to take a loose hold of her throat.

“I’m pretty sure married women aren’t supposed to kiss like that,” he said, blunt but quiet. Noa could practically feel his smirk. “How is Daniel, by the way?”

If she hadn’t been terrified of the consequences, she’d have bitten his fucking lip off.

Noa tilted her head up slowly, teasing him with the idea of a second. The words that followed were sharp. Deliberate. “How’s Katya?”

It was then the hand around her throat began to squeeze. Hard.

His grip was like a fucking vice and if it hadn’t been for the interruption soon after, she was sure she’d have been seeing stars.

“Maksim, we’ve got to hurry this up. You almost done?”

Aviv Kasyanenko. Noa should’ve known. They didn’t go anywhere without each other.

Even though the Kurylenko had since let go of her throat, she didn’t feel any relief with the knowledge that his best friend was still present. The Russians might’ve had a reputation for violence because they needed it to maintain control of their interests, but few enjoyed it as much as Aviv. When she glanced over to see him entering the frame, she couldn’t help but wonder whether strangulation at the hands of an ex-boyfriend might’ve been an act of mercy. When Maksim finally leaned in to whisper in her ear, Noa realised that this would no longer be a spiteful exchange of words.

“I’m going to hurt you now.”

It sent a chill up her spine.

She believed him.

“Unchain her,” Maksim ordered, backing away slowly.

Even though she’d been in similarly dire situations before, the panic was setting in quickly now. It didn’t take a fucking genius to figure that these odds were not in her favour. Noa might’ve taken down men like Aviv in the past, but only when she had worked to give herself the upper hand. Usually, she wasn’t so fucking beat up and disoriented from head trauma, either. Fuck. This was it. She was fucking dead. How the fuck was this happening? In London?

“Wait,” Maksim interrupted calmly as the soldier reached for the chains. “Break her leg.”

Noa froze.

“What?! No.”

“What?” The soldier echoed, looking uncomfortable. Perhaps he was new at this. “Really?”

“Have you ever been hit in the face by this cunt? If we’re about to unchain her, break her fucking leg. I don’t want her to be able to walk, let alone kick.” The Russian grabbed a metal bar and tossed it toward the soldier. “Take out her knee.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The protest exploded out of her. Her eyes were wide. Her struggle was pointless. It didn’t matter how much she tried to back away from the man who slowly approached like a fucking executioner when she was still chained to the ceiling. There was nowhere to run. No way to protect herself or fight back. “I swear to fuck, I will ram that thing so far up your ass if you touch me. I will fucking kill you, you little prick!”

It was amazing how quickly pain was dulled by adrenaline.

As soon as he was within striking distance, and with considerable effort to lift herself via her chained hands, she managed to swing just close enough to deliver one of the aforementioned kicks right to the side of his head. Whilst she might not have wielded anything close to her usual strength, and she paid for the action with a terrible cracking in her restrained arm, it was enough to put him on his ass. Enough to halt him if only for a moment whilst she figured out what the fuck she had to do to get out of this. The soldier shouted. So did Maksim and Aviv as they approached.

“You can’t just make this easy, huh?”

Everything felt like a blur. The whole fucking scenario was surreal.

Noa writhed as Aviv grabbed at her feet. No matter how desperately she tried to get another kick off he was too strong to overpower, and she had no room to manoeuvre. Whilst he held her ankles, it was Maksim that snatched the metal bar from the stunned soldier who was still rolling around on the floor. The crashing of the chains as she fought his grip was loud, but nothing compared to the shout that followed as he slammed the bar right into the side of her head. It wasn’t enough to knock her out but that was no doubt the point. He wanted her to feel the pain. He wanted her to be awake for whatever was coming next. There was fury in his eyes as he repositioned himself, and brought back the bar once more to slam it into her knee with so much aggression he must’ve been waiting for this moment.

With the way Aviv was holding her legs? It was shattered.

The woman was sure that she’d never experienced anything more painful in her life and she’d been fucking stabbed.

All thoughts of not looking weak dissipated. Noa cried, until they finally unchained her and she fell to the floor, where the sobs became guttural.

It took her a moment to remember how to breathe. They seemed to allow it.

“Why are you doing this?” Even though she managed to choke the question out, it didn’t sound like her anymore. “Why are you here? What the fuck do you want?”

The words were stunted, between gasps, strangled by her sobs. Noa had never sounded more pathetic in her life and they were no doubt enjoying every second of her suffering.

“We’re doing this because we hate you,” Aviv reminded her bitterly.

“We’re here because we were invited,” Maksim cut him off, crouching down near the woman who was now pretty close to foetal. “We want you to relay a message to your boss. Not just that we’re in town, and that we’re here to stay, but that the Rutherfords invited us.”

Even in her sorry state, where she could focus on little more than the pain in her leg, those words registered. They registered because they were so fucking ridiculous he had to be lying.

The Rutherfords invited them?

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a pity you didn’t make Commandant,” Aviv segued before she could question it further, kicking at her hand as if to point out her lack of signet ring. “You’re a waste of fucking space.”

“Think you can do that for me, Noa?” Maksim asked, raising an eyebrow as though it was the most reasonable request in the world. “I’m going to let you leave if you make sure to tell Laurent everything I just told you. Maybe follow it up with a reminder that he’s next.”

“What about Danny, does Danny still have his ring?”

The two lines of questioning were enough to make her brain feel like it was in meltdown given the fact she was teetering on total fucking incapacitation. Never had she hated anyone more in her life than she hated them at that moment. She was sure she was going to be sick. Doubly so as Aviv pulled out the jangling chain that hung around his neck; the one that sported seven silver St. Clair signet rings and one gold that he arguably wore with more pride than those they’d been awarded to.

Noa let her head fall against the concrete, reaching up to wipe away the tears still streaming down her face.

All of this to send a message. How fucking Russian.

“Noa?”

“All right,” she snapped. “All right. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell them.”

“Good girl.”

“You could’ve just written a fucking letter,” she sniffed, rolling over onto her back. “Fucker.”

“And miss out on all of this fun?”

Now it was Aviv’s turn to step forward, and she flinched reflexively; never naïve enough to believe that shit with the Russians was over until it was really fucking over.

“Think if I took that ring, he’d come for it?” Aviv asked Maksim, kicking once more at her left hand. “He always struck me as a bit of a sentimental pussy.”

Maybe it was because she was hurting. Maybe it was because her mind was racing at a million miles an hour at the realisation the Russians were here. Maybe it was because she was still terrified that she wasn’t going to make it out of here alive. But she missed the subtle hints, and she sure as fuck missed that he was reaching into his bag for an implement that definitely wasn’t a gun.

It wasn’t until the sole of his boot crushed her wrist into the floor that she understood what was coming.

Aviv had collected those rings he wore around his neck.

Whilst she might not have had one of the Commandant’s Fleur-de-Lis signets he’d been hunting down for years, she had an engagement and wedding ring from one of the men who did.

It only took a second for the horror of what was to come to register.

Of course, a broken leg was far too tame.

Her heart stopped.

“Don’t struggle, all right? It just makes it messy.”

None of the French knew why he did it. They didn’t know why he removed the whole finger instead of just the ring. They didn’t know whether his victims were alive or dead when he took them.

Unfortunately for Noa, she had to leave alive if she was going to play messenger.

“Maks…” It came out as a plea. “Maks, please.”

“It was an honest mistake, Noa,” he said, sighing as though it was a trivial matter. “I thought you made Commandant, and might’ve promised him he’d get a ring out of this.”

“This will do,” Aviv said with a shrug, increasing the pressure on her wrist as he leaned down with what appeared to be a particularly nasty pair of cable cutters. “Just hold her still.”

“No. Fuck you, no—” each word that left her lips got louder “—Maks, if you let him do this, I will kill you. I swear it, I will fucking murder you.”

There was no way to snatch her hand away but oh fuck, she tried.

“Get the fuck away from me, Aviv!”

The struggling, the tugging, the screeching as he made his attempts to grab a hold of her ring finger; it would’ve given pause to anyone with a conscience, but these men had nothing close. In the struggle, she dislocated her elbow. Swung her legs up, despite the pain, in an attempt to boot the sick fuck in the head. It was all in vain. He had beaten stronger opponents than her.

“Please. I’m begging you, please don’t do this. No!”

The more she struggled, the more pissed off Aviv got, but she was too busy looking up at Maks—desperate to appeal to anything he had left—to notice.

It was just in time for the sole of another boot to smash down on her mouth.

Noa could feel herself choking on teeth. She could feel those that remained cutting into her lips. She could feel the pressure against her broken nose as she struggled once more to breathe through the panic and frustration and terror, and all she could taste the blood she couldn’t escape.

“What did I say about talking too much, huh?”

It might’ve been a solid attempt to gag her on Maksim’s part, but despite her shock—as Aviv finally managed to get the end of the cable cutters around her finger—there was nothing in the world that could’ve quietened the blood-curdling scream that followed. Though she’d pressed her eyes shut, body tensed in an attempt to ride out the pain, she failed.

Soon the screams faded into nothing.

Tomorrow, Noa would thank God that she was, once more, granted the mercy of unconsciousness. Just as she would ask forgiveness for what she would do on the day she finally crossed paths with the bastards responsible...

#self para #self para: sending a message #sorry this took so long #but woo let's kick of some dramaz

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 6 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face... Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: PTSD, thievery, death (implied).

A/N: Hello rabbit hole. How the fuck did I go from, “I’m going to write a smutty ass fic,” to well there’s a whole story, with lot’s of background, and pain, and feelings in like NO time?! There will be smut but there’s apparently gonna be some fluff, some emotional shit, and some touch starved/let’s help each other heal shit too. Who am I?

Word Count: 1381

Tags are open!

You want nothing more than to disappear into your scarf, just fall into your shell like a turtle. But you know you have to keep your head up, look normal, be vigilant. The museum rises up in front of you, it’s stunning facade somehow comforting. Beautiful buildings always inspired Y/N. But she was gone. ‘We can have similar interests,’ you think pushing away the ghost of your former self.

It’s Friday and the museum has just opened but there are enough people to make you feel at ease with your plan. Some tourists and two groups of rowdy school kids. ‘Perfect.’ You slide near a gathering of fourteen tourists who, from the sound of it, are Danish.

The cheery museum worker hands you a headset without a second thought, smiling brightly, and, gives you an appreciative once-over. ‘Girl must have a thing for vagabond-chic.’ She seems young and you hope she’s got a good friend to help her polish her taste in men.

You follow the group a few paces behind, observe where the men’s wallets are, what women have purses without zippers and plan your strategy. Bucharest is done, but you need funds to get out and tourists always have cash and in places like museums, a false sense of security.

As you pass the incredible skeletons your mind wanders to the Soldier. You’d caught wind that he’d vanished after the incident. Given his rap sheet, you have no doubt he has more than Hydra on his ass if that’s the case. But he was their star, the crown jewel of their murderous menagerie, you can’t imagine why he’d go rogue. Though there was that time-

A young woman slips on the tile and careens into you bringing you back to the task at hand. “Undskyld! Undskyld! (Sorry! Sorry!)”

“It’s ok,” you respond in Danish brandishing a smile. Knowing almost every language in modern usage may be the one good thing to come out of this nightmare.

“Oh,” she smiles awkwardly as you hand her tote back. You knew she’d assumed you were a man, that responding in a distinctly feminine voice would throw her even more than her slip. You also know that this is all the distraction you need to pull her wallet up, out, and under your jacket. Weaponizing gender norms, Nix would be proud. “Thank you!” Without a second thought, she strolls back to her friends, not wanting to linger.

You continue the museum tour for a bit without lifting anything else, not wanting to push it. The woman running into you was, despite your previous thoughts on the subject, lucky. Biding your time is best.

In the marine life exhibit the hall is narrow and dim, everything awash in blue light. You’re bummed to be leaving this city, this museum alone with it’s winding corridors is a gold mine.

One of the Danish men pulls his phone out of his pocket, his money clip peeks up for just a moment and wouldn’t you know it just falls out and silently into your hand. A British man who’s group was already in the hall lost his wallet, shit luck that. Spoils in tow it’s easy enough to slip away unnoticed and duck into the men’s restroom.

A decent enough haul, about $300 Romanian Leu and $250 Euro. You’d certainly done worse. The money clip also seems to be gold so you hold onto it. The Brits wallet you let fall to the bathroom floor and as you casually stroll back past the mastodon on your way out you let the woman’s wallet float silently near where you’d collided. You may be a thief but you know getting around a foreign country without your ID is difficult and don’t want to cause them anymore issues. You’ll take any good karma you can eek out.

The thought of leaving the museum makes your mouth go dry. Romania seemed unassuming enough. After Berlin, you thought the typical European locals were too risky but you needed to be in a city where a stranger could go unnoticed. Was there really no place safe from Hydra… was running worth it?

Steeling yourself you step into the crisp day. Kiseleff Park is right by the museum and it seems as good a choice as any. You go far enough away as to not be seen by the tourists when they exit but not so far as to be away from public view and lounge on a bench. If they wanted you dead they could probably hit you here but if they want to take you in, this is too public. It wouldn’t be impossible of course but given the bind Hydra’s in it would certainly be too inconvenient.

You let your sixth sense slither down the legs of the bench. The screws securing it to the concrete are rusty but you’re pretty certain you can weaponize it if necessary. Down the bench, to the sidewalk, you feel out the cracks in the concrete surrounding you, easy enough to break it up and hurl it. The trash can to your back left is metal, the posts that make up the barrel can be pulled apart and used as projectiles. Even the lamppost about six feet away would be useful in a pinch.

‘What a good attack dog you will be,’ that voice slithers from the recesses of this morning’s dream. They were so impressed at your ability to think on your feet, to get out of a bind even if they were the bind…

You stop yourself. Don’t want to give him power in your waking hours, he has enough of that when your body demands sleep like the traitor it is. You fish your shattered phone from your pocket and give the surrounding area one last look over before trying to plot your next course.

The money from today would be more than enough to get you to the coastal city of Constanta, but from there you’d be partially surrounded by water. While living the rest of your days on a boat sounds kind of perfect you aren’t exactly a sea fairing woman and considering that the Black Sea is bordered by some pretty unstable regions, it’s best to not. You’ve got about $700 Leu between today and what’s in your squat, that may be enough to get a shitty car, or you could steal one. Maybe drive to Croatia.

The thought sends a pain shooting through your chest. The last Friendsgiving you had with them you’d convinced everyone that Croatia belonged on your group travel list, showing them photos you’d pinned and talking about how enchanting it looked when Anthony Bourdain went. You’d even priced hotels and flights just to show how y’all could make it work.

A single tear catches between your sunglasses and cheekbone and you quickly brush it away before you map the distance. Fourteen hours. You could do that without stopping. Ditch the car on some back road and walk to the city of your choice. You swallow the sob bubbling up your throat. There’s no point in tears now. You’re going on for them. They are gone because of you. It would be selfish to throw away the life you have, no matter how shitty it is when they don’t get to live theirs anymore. You can weep for them in the ocean they never got to see but not here on this fucking bench.

You slump over, take one ragged breath, then another. Dig your fingers into your thighs. Try to ground yourself in your body. And look up.

He’s across the street. Openly staring at you with no cover whatsoever. ‘Pretty shitty for an assassin,’ you think and you’re once again hit with the feeling of difference about him. He seems almost wilted. That doesn’t matter. Hydra will do anything to get at you. What better than to position someone like him here to get close, make you think you’re on the same struggle. An excellent way to break you down.

Suddenly you’re ready. If they want to play you’ll play. You take your glasses off and hook them on the neck of your shirt. Slowly you lift your face and meet those eyes. Unblinking you stand and walk away. You know he’ll follow.

________________________

I know, I know. So much world building. But I guess you just write the fic you like right? Bucky and the Reader meet next and honestly... I’m way too into it.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic

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ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

High Wire

Bloodline, Chapter 10 and the Finale. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: Gun violence, explosives, blood, death, etc, all are featured in this. Potential major character death.

It was sheer luck alone that the Takeda-Uesugi unit and Masamune were both free and within the three hour window. Masamune arrived first at the cabin. No doubt he’d broken a couple driving laws to get there, but Ieyasu was unspeakably grateful for it.

“Got here as fast as I could. Mitsuhide brought me up to speed.” Masamune stripped off the dress shirt he wore and untucked the undershirt from his jeans. “Had to get out of a Pentagon thing, but I couldn’t leave you hanging here. What’s the plan?”

“Once the other team gets here I’ll fill you in.”

It didn’t take long. The other four descended on the location only a half hour later, and the small group piled around the small cabin kitchen table. Fortunately she’d been paying enough attention to the bunker layout that she managed a relatively good map. Kenshin, Shingen, and Masamune winced at it.

“That’s not much space.”

“There’s a word for that in Spanish that my mom taught me,” Masamune half joked, “’Shitty’. Shitty is the word.”

“Yeah, that’s a hell of a terrible position to be in,” Shingen agreed. “Sasuke, would you...?”

The man didn’t respond; he just nodded and shouldered his rifle, heading out the front door. Yuki followed close behind him with a wave and a, “I’ll be his spotter!”

Ieyasu scowled at the map. “The issue is this; from what I’m understanding of the phone call I fielded, they’re not only aware of my presence here, but I’m interpreting it as a direct threat on the real Tokugawa.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to off him,” Kenshin answered idly. “He’s a liability.”

Masamune patted himself down for cigarettes and lit one, opening the window. “Yeh. We don’t have much time to get him out, but that bunker is a death trap. I don’t know what we can do here without a little intervention.”

---

Dr. Tokugawa was not the kind of man that liked being in someone else’s hands, and he was aware now more than ever that he was just a loose end in freefall. If he’d identified that strange woman as a possible ally (and god forbid if he were wrong, but he was very, very certain in the near two-decades of captivity that she was a safe bet), it was only a very short time until everyone else knew what he’d done.

No time to second guess. Now was the time to act.

The cameras on him were constantly monitored. Messing with it would render the situation very tenuous indeed. Instead he focused on doing exactly what his captors always wanted him to do: making a bomb.

This one was small scale, to be certain, but that didn’t matter. All the components were there. He’d put off doing the damn thing so long that he was very sure no one thought him capable of creating it in such tight time constraints, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

Almost two hours later, he had something.

Now time was of the essence. At last, Dr. Tokugawa slipped off his lab coat and flung it up toward the camera. Success! It caught there, obscuring his movements. As swiftly as he dared with the high-yield ordinance, he crossed the room and tacked the bomb to the door, locking it three times over.

No more would they try and use him.

With a shaking hand, he scrawled a note on a piece of paper and slid it under the door. If you attempt to open this door and remove me, the resulting explosion will level the whole bunker.

If the FBI were here, it would lend them valuable time.

---

It was nearly midnight when Yukimura radioed back to the others in the cabin.

“There’s activity here,” he whispered. “Lots of it. People are packing up boxes into a couple of vans.”

“It doesn’t seem smart to evacuate,” Kenshin mused, but they threw on their coats anyway. Even she went to join them, but Ieyasu shook his head.

Masamune shrugged and double checked the chamber of his shotgun. “I’m assuming they think they’ve got a bit of a head start until we are like flies on them. I don’t know how much food they’ve got down there, but I guess they figure it’s just as dangerous to stay under and risk getting stuck.”

“If that were the thought, I’d imagine they’d have started evacuating well before now.”

Ieyasu’s skin prickled uneasily. “It’s because of me.”

Kenshin narrowed those mismatched eyes at him. “And why is that?”

“They know I’m here. I have to be part of their leverage on--on him.” He couldn’t bring himself to call this stranger his Uncle yet, but the word hung heavy on the tip of his tongue. “Now that they don’t have my cooperation or ignorance, there’s no incentive to keep him in line. He’s going to be killed.”

Shingen handed out a couple walkie-talkies. “No point in speculation. We’ve got an assumed hostage to save, and there’s no saying how long they’ll keep him alive. We should get the drop on them while they’re in transit.”

---

No more sneaking. When the vans rattled down the street, the small strike team was ready for gunfire. Their opponent didn’t disappoint. In the blue darkness, bright orange flashes cracked out over the lumber yard.

“Contact!” Shingen shouted into the radio.

“On it,” Yukimura huffed back.

KRA-KOW! Return fire lanced from the forest, no doubt from Sasuke. Ieyasu barely waited for the transport to stop before he flung open the van door.

“I’m point!” Masamune vaulted out of the door and kicked off the main event with shotgun spray. Screams echoed in the mountain dark. Ieyasu sprinted to cover in the lumber yard and nearly slammed into one of the terrorists; without a second thought he brought the butt of his pistol crashing down into the man’s skull. His target crumpled. Ieyasu licked his lips and tasted blood.

“Got the southern point!”

“Clearing in through the far end,” Masamune followed up in the radio. “Encountering pretty heavy resistance.”

Kenshin’s voice slipped in not long after. “We’re not seeing the hostage. Assumed that he’s still below. Probable high risk. Sasuke and I will push through to the underground and try to make contact while you distract up here.”

“That’s a fucking suicide mission,” Yukimura snapped.

“Yep.” Ieyasu unloaded a single shot into another terrorist, taking mental note of the bullet count. “I’m coming with.”

The three men converged at the edge of the office. Her notes had been very good; they found the door without difficulty, still propped open. Kenshin took point. Down the narrow stairs they went, the three of them gunning down resistance until the walls were spattered with entrails and bodies slowed their descent. Gunfire echoed against steel and concrete until Ieyasu’s ears rang from impact, his senses dulled from adrenaline and recoil.

“How many are there?” Kenshin asked wearily. “This is a much larger bunker than I’d thought.”

They reached the landing and encountered.... nothing. The silence was eerie. No guards awaited them, no resistance--just three turrets pointed at a door that she’d indicated to them was the lab. They were in time. If the terrorists had planned on killing his real uncle, they hadn’t yet.

Ieyasu nearly ran to it, but Kenshin latched a hand around his shoulder and pointed at the door. “I wouldn’t.”

There, perched on the outside of the door, was a massive bomb.

“Fuck,” Ieyasu muttered. No wonder they were evacuating. The organization had plans on just leveling the damn place--Dr. Tokugawa inside. “Fuck.”

“It’s got a timer.” Sasuke gazed through his scope. “We’ve got about twenty minutes.”

“How far out would the nearest team for that be?”

“At least four hours, if we could even get them on radio, what with the Quiet Zone.”

Kenshin clicked his tongue. “Right.”

“I can take a good crack at it.” Sasuke shouldered his weapon and crept cautiously closer, investigating. “I’m not an expert, but I can try.”

“Is there anyone even in there still?”

That was a good point. The very real possibility that they’d just executed his uncle to begin with surged cold in Ieyasu’s blood. As carefully as he dared, he snuck closer to the door and called out, “Tokugawa?”

A beat. For a moment, it seemed like his fears were justified.

“That’s me,” came a voice from the other side. “Who is out there?”

He almost couldn’t speak. What could he even say? Hi. I’m your nephew. We’ve never met, but I’ve wanted to meet you my whole life. We have everything to catch back up on. Will you be proud of me? Can we be the family I thought I’d never have? What happened to my parents?

Instead Ieyasu just cleared his throat. “FBI. We’re, uh.... Sarutobi, Uesugi, and, uh.... Tokugawa.”

A pause. “Ieyasu?”

He held his breath until he was very sure he wouldn’t cry. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” The man inside the room sounded just as emotional. “Oh. Gee. I sure wish we were talking on better terms right now.”

Sasuke pried open the casing to the bomb, investigating the wiring with a sigh. “Mr. Tokugawa, your odds right now aren’t excellent. Are you aware there is a bomb on the outside of this door?”

“And the inside.” He laughed faintly. “I set mine up to make sure I had leverage, so I can disable it, but that one--I don’t know what they’ve got going on there. I guess it figures. I assumed I’d at least force them out into an arrest.”

Above ground, Ieyasu heard the sound of something exploding. God damn and bless Masamune Date in equal measure. “Well, you did make some things easier for us.”

“Listen.” The voice inside grew very serious. “Ieyasu--Ieyasu, I’m sorry, your mom, your father--they didn’t make it.”

He balled his hands into fists. “I figured.”

“They held on for a very long time, but they were only being kept to try and make sure I’d make this bomb. I’m so sorry, Ieyasu.”

“Hell,” Sasuke muttered at the bomb, squinting at the wires. “You two should probably evacuate, just in case this doesn’t work and it detonates.”

“I’m not leaving,” Ieyasu announced firmly. “I’m staying. And you don’t need to apologize to me, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. If I’d never written that scientific journal...” He paused. “They picked me because back in the eighties, I wrote a study on the properties of combustion and other chemical compounds--I was an expert--”

“Bad luck. I get it.”

“Right.” And Dr. Tokugawa paused again. “They told me you graduated Summa Cum Laude. I’m proud of you.”

Hot tears stung his eyes, but Ieyasu swallowed them back. “Thanks. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Evacuate. I mean it. There’s no guarantee--”

“I’m not leaving,” Ieyasu snapped savagely. “I’ve waited twenty years to meet my real uncle. I’m not letting a door hold me back.”

Sasuke muttered a curse and prepped his hand around part of the machine. “Moment of truth, gents. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Kenshin agreed, not moving.

Exhaling deep, Sasuke pulled.

---

The cool fall wind whipped through her hair. She stood on the corner of the street and inhaled deeply, letting the crackle of the leaves skitter around her shoes. For a moment the whole world was still and quiet in a way it hadn’t been in months. The sunlight danced over her cheeks and turned her into a vision of light.

But he couldn’t stare forever.

Ieyasu shoved his hand into his pocket and took her other one in his, entwining their fingers. She blinked and smiled at him.

“Parking meter reupped?”

“Meters with no mobile option should be criminalized,” he huffed. “No one carries around all those quarters and nickles anymore.”

That got a smile from her. She squeezed his hand twice, brushing the hair back from her face. “You and your uncle really do sound alike.”

Ieyasu soaked in the idea that he sounded like someone in his family at last. He and his uncle were spitting images of one another, proof positive of his resemblance to his father’s side of the family. Even after all those years apart they did have some of the same mannerisms. Nearly two decades of captivity had done a number on the older man, but now--now he could heal. Now they could know each other.

He thumbed at the hospital. “That one isn’t so bad, as far as hospitals go.”

“I imagine any hospital is better than being kept in an underground bunker. He seemed to be doing quite well, all the trauma considered. I guess the Tokugawas are just a tough bunch.”

He wrinkled his nose at her teasing and gathered her in his arms. “Listen here.”

Her smile was sunlight itself. “I’m listening.”

What could he say to that? As gently as he dared, he leaned in and kissed her once, twice, three times, each of them lasting longer and delving deeper. By the time he pulled away, she was flushed and panting from want.

“Unfair,” she murmured. “We’re in public. I can’t have what I want here.”

“I should think not. I’m not Shingen Takeda.”

She laughed and swayed back and forth in his arms. “So what now? Wanna go get lunch?”

“Mm, maybe.” There were ten thousand places to take her nearby. Where to start? He knew a couple of bartenders in the area, and there was a great grill... Ieyasu checked his phone, suddenly regretting putting more coins in the meter. “Actually, I’ve got a thought.”

“What’s that?”

“I never did get to take you to that breakfast place on the mountain.”

She paused, eyes wide. “Oh my god. No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah.” He huffed a laugh. Between all of the insanity in the bunker and the subsequent arrest and prosecution of his former ‘uncle’, the idea of breakfast had entirely slipped his mind for the last few months. But now? Now they had time, time to really enjoy and share. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll just call in to work tomorrow. I’m going to have you to myself for a while.”

Her eyes glittered in the bright light. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You deserve it.”

#Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen modern au #ikesen spy au #Ikesen Ieyasu #Ieyasu Tokugawa #Spy Ieyasu #Bloodlines #Bloodline #High Wire #ikesen fanfiction #my writing #violence tw #blood tw #kenshin uesugi #sasuke sarutobi #shingen takeda #masamune date #yukimura sanada

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