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pinktintedmonocle · 3 years

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Dedicated Followers of Fashion - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - Chapter 3

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked.

Johnny blinked in confusion. “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

In which Daniel is not on fire, Johnny performs a heist and they finally attempt to deal with their feelings for each other with the help of two iconic outfits…

Trigger warning: some references to outdated and ill-informed views on homosexuality and bisexuality.

1981

“Mr Lawrence. Stay behind for a moment, will you?”

Kreese’s voice cut through the air, and although it was framed as a question Johnny knew that it was a command rather than a request.

“I’ll see you later”, Johnny murmured to Bobby, and hung back while the rest of the class shuffled out.

When they were alone Kreese surveyed him for a moment, his cool gaze sweeping Johnny from head to toe, and Johnny forced himself to stay standing straight up, head high, shoulders held back rather than turning tail. He knew that gaze, not just from Kreese but from Sid as well, knew that it almost always preceded a sneer followed by a torrent of insults carefully constructed to inflict the most pain possible.

But no insults were forthcoming; instead Kreese just nodded, once, and walked past Johnny into his office. He emerged a few seconds later, a pile of black cloth held in his arms, and crossed back over to Johnny, holding out the bundle.

“For you, Mr Lawrence”, Kreese said smoothly, and Johnny’s jaw fell open when he realised what it was.

“A tournament gi?” he whispered, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice just in case he was mistaken. “For me, Sensei?”

Kreese smiled indulgently and inclined his head down, indicating for Johnny to take the uniform.

Johnny picked it up, sucking in a deep breath as he did so. He’d just been a spectator at the All Valley tournament for the last two years, sitting in the front row and cheering his fellow Cobras on, hoping against hope that one day it would be him up there, leading Cobra Kai to victory. He ran his fingers over the patch on the front of the top, scarcely believing that he was seeing his own name (his own name!) printed above the motif of a fist.

“Do you really think I’m ready, Sensei?” he asked quietly, and Kreese’s smile widened as he laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Yes son”, said Kreese. “It’s time for you to get out there and show everyone what a true champion is made of. I have a feeling that gi is only the first of many.”

Johnny felt his chest swell with happiness as a grin spread over his face.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei”, he promised fervently. “I swear it. I’ll never, ever let you down.”

December 20th, 1984

“Johnny? Johnny, are you OK sweetie?”

Johnny burrowed deeper under the bed covers, ignoring his mom. His throat was throbbing painfully and he desperately needed to pee, but he didn’t want to move from his dark cocoon. After a minute his mom stopped calling his name, and he thought she’d gone away when he heard his bedroom door open softly and feet pad across to him. He felt the bed dip as she sat down before her hand landed on his back, rubbing soft circles into it through the covers.

“Hey”, she said soothingly. “It’s OK, Johnny. I know you did your best.”

“How?” croaked Johnny, voice muffled by the blankets. “How do you know what I did when you weren’t even there?”

His mom’s hand stopped moving. “I’m so sorry I missed it sweetie, but Sid had a work dinner and I had to go-”

“You always choose him over me”, Johnny said hoarsely, shifting across the bed out of his mom’s reach.

“You know that’s not true, Johnny”, Laura said quietly.

Johnny didn’t reply, and a few seconds later he felt his mom stand up and start to walk away. He heard her footsteps pause, and then a rustling sound; the crinkle of cloth.

“Where do you want me to put this, Johnny?” she asked, and Johnny didn’t need to look to know that she was holding the gi that he’d torn off and discarded on the floor when he’d got home.

“I don’t care”, he said, curling up further under the blanket.

Laura sighed. “OK, well I’m going to keep it if that’s alright with you. I’ll put it with the others.”

Johnny was silent, and after a minute he heard his mom leave, the door closing behind her. He held his breath for a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to come back, before he let himself cry, the tears running down tracks still present on his cheeks from the night before. He didn’t care what his mom did with the gi; he never wanted to see it again.

2019

They won the tournament, Miguel delivering the winning kick against Robby in a nail-biting final, and while the kids celebrated Johnny and Daniel had hotfooted it out of the All Valley Sports Arena, desperately searching for Robby and Kreese. They eventually found them around the back of the building, Kreese having apparently learned his lesson from last time and avoiding the crowded parking lot. He had Robby in a headlock, second place trophy in pieces on the ground, and for a sickening moment Johnny felt as if time had rewound thirty-five years and it was all happening again.

They had acted as one, Johnny sweeping Kreese’s leg while Daniel delivered the kick to his face, and while Daniel had pulled a shaken and spluttering Robby out of the way Johnny had stood over his old Sensei, mouth set in a hard line.

“Now get the hell out of here and never come back”, he had growled. Before Kreese had a chance to respond Johnny had turned away, attending to Robby.

After an exhausting few weeks of sorting out the mess Kreese had left behind (“A lot of those kids he was brainwashing are going to need many years of therapy”, Daniel had said) and making sure Robby was OK (he had let Johnny and Daniel take him to hospital after the tournament, but had barely talked to either of them since, opting instead to move back in with Shannon who was fresh out of rehab), Johnny and Daniel had decided to keep their new dojo open, with them both teaching evening classes while Johnny managed most of the day sessions solo when Daniel was at the dealership. (“Just try to be nice, OK Johnny? No inappropriate nicknames.” “Define inappropriate.” “Anything you would’ve used in the 80’s.” Daniel answered drily. “Then what the hell am I supposed to call them?” Johnny protested. “Their names, Johnny.”)

They had also managed to avoid being alone together for any length of time; Miguel, Sam and Hawk had begun to join them for lesson planning and nights out always included Amanda and Carmen. Johnny was starting to think that Daniel had either forgotten or decided to abandon their plan to talk about The Thing between them (Johnny had started to refer to it as The Thing in his mind, even though that also made him think of the Kurt Russell film, which was confusing at times. But he didn’t know what else to call it; what was the appropriate terminology for the overwhelming urge to kiss the face off your childhood karate rival turned reluctant co-sensei?), when he’d received a Facebook message from Daniel one night after practice.

Dinner. My place. Saturday night, 7.30pm. Amanda out and the kids at sleepovers. And get a damn cell phone, Johnny. I’m sick of having to wait for you to turn on your laptop before you pick up my messages. (Johnny had rolled his eyes and responded with the middle finger emoji, followed shortly after by yeah, whatever, see you then.)

On Saturday night Johnny tried on the entire contents of his wardrobe, searching for just the right outfit in which to discuss what to do about The Thing. After several hours his bedroom looked like an explosion in a thrift store and he finally settled on his dark suit and yellow shirt combo, telling himself as he adjusted his tie and slicked his hair back that he was going to Daniel’s to deal with the business of The Thing between them, so what better outfit than a business suit? They would drink (there was no way Johnny was doing it sober), they would talk, they would eat, they would try and come up with a solution to their feelings which didn’t end with Johnny just pushing Daniel up against a wall and ramming his tongue down the other man’s throat.

The outfit selection had taken so long that it was well after 7.30pm by the time Johnny headed out of his apartment and drove round to the LaRusso house, but even after he arrived he still stayed in the car for a while, hands clutching the steering wheel as the Valley darkened around him.

Eventually he took a deep breath and got out, grabbing a bag from the passenger seat and locking the door before squaring his shoulders, walking purposefully up to the front door and ringing the bell. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, and when Daniel didn’t come to the door after a minute he pressed the bell again, keeping his finger held down on it for a good ten seconds before letting go. After there was still no response, Johnny started to feel a little uneasy. What if something’s happened to him? Johnny had a sudden vision of Daniel trying to cook some overly complicated recipe that involved a blow torch like Johnny had seen on the Food Network and setting fire to himself. Or maybe he’d tripped over those ridiculously long legs of his and fallen down the stairs and was lying in a crumpled, broken heap at the bottom. Or what if Kreese had returned despite his promise to stay away and had finally gotten his revenge? Johnny’s heart started to race as he thought about what it would be like to live in world without Daniel LaRusso. He felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down as he found his feet carrying him swiftly around to the rear of the house. He was making for the back door (rapidly formulating a break-in plan in his mind, which largely consisted of just kicking the door until it opened) when he saw that there was a light on in Daniel’s home dojo; he hurried in, shoes squeaking on the floor, half expecting to see Daniel’s lifeless body spread out in front of him.

“Johnny?” asked a familiar Jersey-accented voice, and Johnny turned to see Daniel sitting on a bench pushed up against a Japanese style screen, a wine glass raised halfway to his lips. “Are you OK?”

Johnny breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then felt like an idiot. His cheeks reddened. “What? Er, yeah, I’m fine. I just thought you might be on fire or something but you’re not, so we’re all good.”

Daniel frowned. “Johnny, why the hell would I be on fire - ” he started, before he cut himself off and shook his head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. He shuffled along the bench, making room for Johnny, and gestured to a bottle of wine. “You want a drink?”

“I’m good”, said Johnny, holding up his bag as he sat down and pulling out a crate of Coors Banquet.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, instead reaching out for the bottle of wine and topping up his glass. Johnny stared at him; he was dressed in corduroy pants and a fleecy blue sweatshirt, hair product-free and sticking up in fluffy tufts as if he’d been running his hands through it. Johnny tore his eyes away, feeling a little hot. He shrugged off his suit jacket and undid his top button, pulling at his collar. He took a bottle of Coors of out its cardboard container and twisted the cap off, taking a big gulp of beer.

“You missed dinner”, Daniel said.

“What was it?”

“Pesto and arugula linguine.”

Johnny pulled a face. “Sounds green.”

Daniel huffed, although Johnny thought he saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Yeah, well. I did”, Johnny said. He was just close enough to Daniel that he could smell the smaller man’s aftershave (clean and fresh with just the slightest hint of musk). He took another swig of beer.

“Yeah”, said Daniel, leaning in ever so slightly. “For some reason you’re dressed like a detective from the 1970’s and you were over an hour late, but yeah, you came.”

Johnny reached out and shoved Daniel’s shoulder playfully, but rather than pulling back he left his hand there, fingers gently stroking Daniel’s arm through the soft fabric. Daniel bit his lip and Johnny realised he was about five seconds away from giving into temptation and kissing Daniel until his own lips were too sore to form coherent sentences. He let his arm drop and glanced away, shifting on the bench to put a little more space between them, looking around the room for a distraction. His eyes settled on the framed gi hanging on the wall.

“Of course you framed it. Bet you look at it every day and get a little thrill thinking about how you beat me.”

“Actually the reason I framed it was because Mr Miyagi gave it to me for my birthday”, Daniel replied. “The bonsai was embroidered by his wife before she died.”

“Oh”, Johnny said awkwardly, but then Daniel’s mouth quirked up in a smirk.

“But yeah, it does also remind me of kicking you in the face.”

Johnny picked up his discarded bottle cap and threw it at the smaller man. It landed softly in Daniel’s hair and he scowled, plucking it out and throwing it back at Johnny who caught it easily.

“Asshole.”

“Twerp.”

They drank in silence for a minute before Johnny finally asked the question that had been bugging him for weeks.

“Why is blue my fault?”

Daniel didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard Johnny, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of his fleece. He drained his glass and then picked up the bottle to re-fill, and Johnny was about to repeat the question when Daniel finally spoke.

“I- I liked you in high school.”

Johnny snorted in derision. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Daniel sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, I mean I liked you in high school, Johnny.”

It took Johnny a moment to realise when Daniel meant; when he did, he blinked in surprise. “Oh. Shit.”

Daniel swirled the wine around in his glass. “Yeah. After the tournament I started having these dreams about you, and when I saw you at school…”. He paused, taking a sip of wine and staring down at the floor. “There wasn’t any information about it in those days, you know? About men who liked men or men who liked both men and women. Not useful information, anyway. The news just said it made you sick, and my neighbour Freddy told me he’d once seen an Al Pacino movie about it and that it meant you had to wear a lot of leather and might be murdered.” He took a big gulp of wine and stared down at his feet, not meeting Johnny’s eye, and when he spoke again his voice was somehow both soft and brittle.

“So I just tried to ignore it and hoped that it would go away, but of course it didn’t. So the next time I needed new clothes I just bought everything in blue, because – I don’t know, it just seemed like a safe colour. Like people were less likely to know…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh”, Johnny said again. (He felt that he should probably have said something else, but had no clue what that would be.) “And then what?”

Daniel shrugged. “And then, eventually, there was more information and I learned that it was OK to like both men and women, but by that time I was already with Amanda and I didn’t want anyone else.” He went to take another sip of his wine but then seemed to change his mind, placing the glass down on the bench and running a hand through his hair.

Johnny realised his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.

“And what about you, Johnny?”

“What about me, LaRusso?”

“Did – did you like me too? Back then?”

Johnny had a sudden, vivid memory of the day they first met, of looking down at Daniel playing with Ali on the beach and feeling an odd swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of long legs and slim hips that he hadn’t fully understood and had masked with anger.

“Maybe”. He went to take a pull on his Banquet, but the bottle was empty. He cracked open another and took a long swig from it.

“We would be terrible together”, Daniel said bluntly. “We’d argue over everything and we’d probably try and kill each other within a week.”

“Yeah”, Johnny agreed. “It’d be a fucking nightmare.”

“And yet –”, said Daniel, gesturing at the space between them, at the thirty-five year old heart-shaped elephant in the room. “-there’s this”.

“Yeah. The Thing. Our thing, I mean, nothing to do with Kurt Russell.” Johnny looked down at his feet. “I don’t know what to do about it, LaRusso.”

“No”, Daniel said miserably. “I don’t either.”

They looked at each other, and Johnny was suddenly overcome with the urge to just get up and run out of there at full pelt (he could be in his car and on his way home in under a minute if he moved fast). He hadn’t expected it to go this way; he thought that Daniel would have some carefully constructed five-point plan for how to deal with their feelings, or that he’d get some sudden flash of inspiration (damn business suit had been no help at all). Instead he breathed deeply in and out and shifted just a little closer to Daniel, holding out a hand. Daniel hesitated for a fraction of a second before he took it in his.

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked after a while.

Johnny blinked in confusion. “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

“Oh. No. But it might still be at Sid’s with some of my mom’s old stuff.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “You think you could go round there and see if you can find it?”

“Maybe”, said Johnny, frowning. “Why?”

**********************************************************************************

Johnny loitered outside the house, watching as Sid clambered into his car with the help of Rhonda. The chauffeur got in and started the engine and Johnny ducked behind a bush as the car swooped down the driveway. When it was safely out of sight he walked briskly up to the front door and rang the bell (he knew better than to try and sneak round the back; Sid’s home security systems had always been state of the art and he’d tripped the alarm more than once as a teenager, creeping back home after an all-night rager).

When the butler answered the door Johnny walked straight past him, talking fast.

“Hey, is my step-dad home? It’s just that I think I left something here last time I visited and I wanted to see if he’d found it.”

The butler hurried behind Johnny as he walked into Sid’s study. “Mr Weinberg is out at the moment, Mr Lawrence, but perhaps if you come back another day after you’ve made an appointment-”

“Ah, it’s OK, I think I know where I left it”, said Johnny. “I’ll go grab it and be out of your hair in just a sec.” He looked at the butler again. “Well, actually, you don’t have any hair, but you know what I mean.”

“Mr Lawrence, I must protest-” began the butler, but Johnny stepped around him and back out into the hall before turning left and taking the stairs two at a time. He ran along the corridor to his old bedroom (now a storage room) and began to search for the boxes with his mom’s name on them. He could already hear the butler talking to someone on the phone and he reckoned he had about three minutes before the burly security guards that Sid kept on site found him, and a further two minutes before Sid arrived back home (Johnny knew that he would order his chauffeur to turn right back around as soon as the butler told him what was going on; his step-father would never miss an opportunity to kick Johnny out of his house).

After a minute of searching Johnny found the boxes marked ‘Laura’ and tore them open, pulling out high heels and floral dresses, some of which still smelt faintly of his mom’s perfume. His stomach clenched at the scent, memories flooding back; he shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He opened another box, and then another, and was just starting to think they weren’t there, that Sid must have thrown them out, when he found them folded up neatly at the bottom of the last box. Four black gi’s with yellow trim. He pulled them all out and held them up one by one to determine which was the biggest, which was the one from 1984. When he’d identified it he quickly stuffed the pants, top and a belt into the backpack slung over his shoulder and sprinted back down the corridor and the stairs. As he barrelled out of the door he heard heavy footsteps behind him and several deep voices shouting at him to stop, but he kept running, breath hitching in his chest.

Sid’s car pulled back into the driveway as Johnny ran out of it, and as Johnny raced down the road, the security guards puffing along behind him for a few paces before giving up, he heard Sid shout.

“And don’t you ever come back here, you good-for-nothing schmuck!”

Don’t worry, Johnny thought, slowing his pace a little as he turned a corner out of sight. I won’t.

**********************************************************************************

“Good work today everyone!”, said Sam, clapping her hands together, and Johnny smirked as Daniel raised an eyebrow at his daughter as their students began to talk amongst themselves.

“You know that’s my line, right?” Daniel asked.

Sam grinned. “You snooze you lose, Dad. Maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about stepping back a bit, let the new guard take the lead.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Plenty of life left in this not-so-old dog yet.”

“So what’s the plan for tonight, Sensei and Mr LaRusso?” piped up Miguel, taking a slug of water from his bottle and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “More lesson planning?”

Johnny and Daniel exchanged a glance.

“Ah, no, not tonight kid”, said Johnny. “Me and LaRusso have got some stuff we need to work on. Just – er – just us two.”

The teenagers frowned.

“What is it?” asked Hawk. “Some kind of secret new move?”

“Paperwork”, Daniel replied quickly. “Although if you really want to stay and help out-”

Sam, Miguel and Hawk all made noises of protest, muttering vaguely about needing to get home. Sam gave Daniel a quick hug while Miguel and Hawk chorused “See you later, Sensei” at Johnny before all three of them joined the other students as they trooped out of the yard.

Robby smiled tightly at them as he passed. He’d shown up a few days prior and stood at the back of the class, joining in with kata but abstaining from sparring. He hadn’t talked to Johnny or Daniel yet, but it was a start.

Then it was just the two of them. Johnny stared down at his feet, scuffing his shoes against the grass, before raising his eyes to look at Daniel.

Daniel’s tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously. “You hungry?” he asked.

Johnny took in Daniel’s appearance, skin flushed and hair mussed from training. Not for food.

“Ah, no, I’m good. But if you wanna go get something for yourself-”

“No”, said Daniel. “I just – I just want to get on with this. Did you bring it?”

Johnny nodded, and together they walked inside. Daniel gestured around the dojo. “I’ll get changed in here. You take the office.”

“Alright”, agreed Johnny, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He walked into the next room and snagged a bottle of Banquet from the refrigerator before opening up his gym bag. He pulled out the black uniform, freshly washed and neatly folded.

“It’s important it looked how it did then”, Daniel had said. “Don’t show up with it all smelly and crumpled.”

The plan had appeared to make something resembling sense when they were drunk. Johnny, remembering Ali’s words (“Sometimes it’s good to visit the past to know where you are now”) had agreed to it, but sober (or at least as sober as Johnny ever was) the idea seemed more than a little bat-shit crazy. But if it had even the slightest chance of helping them process their feelings for one another he was willing to give it a shot. Besides, Johnny had always felt most clear headed in the midst of a fight; adrenaline singing through his veins, blood pumping, everything appearing just that little bit sharper and brighter.

He pulled off his workout clothes and sneakers and held up the black gi pants, wondering if he was even going to be able to get them past his thighs. He pulled them on very slowly, just about managing to get them all the way up without busting a seam, and then leaned down at an awkward angle to grab the rest of his uniform. He put on the top (was it really a good idea to be showing so much chest around someone who was madly in lust with him? Probably not), tied the belt and walked stiffly into the dojo.

Daniel was standing on the opposite side of the room, fiddling with his sleeves.

“You haven’t even changed yet!” Johnny protested, gesturing towards him.

“What? I have!”, Daniel replied, pointing towards an identical heap of white cloth on the floor.

Johnny shook his head. “Of course it still fits you.” He walked towards Daniel, trying not to bend his knees too much. Daniel just stared at him.

“Jesus, Johnny. How did you even get that on?”

Johnny shrugged, still moving robot-like across the room until he was in front of Daniel. Close up Johnny could see that Daniel’s gi was not quite identical to the one he’d worn in class; it was slightly more worn, frayed around the edges, and it was also quite snug. His hand crept out and he touched Daniel’s chest (fully covered unlike Johnny’s, no exposed nipples in sight), and let his fingers glide down the fabric, coming to rest low on Daniel’s stomach, skimming the softness there.

Daniel shifted, but didn’t pull away. “Why do you always touch me there?”, he asked.

Johnny felt a smile pulling at his lips. “Only place you’re not perfect, LaRusso.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Well you’ve spent enough money tying to still look like you did in high school”, replied Johnny, gesturing with his free hand to Daniel’s carefully dyed hair and moisturiser-softened skin.

Daniel scowled, but then his eyes drifted down to Johnny’s hand, still resting on his stomach. “So it’s my imperfections that you like, Johnny?”

“Maybe”, Johnny said. He thought back to the night of the pink shirt, of the brief glimpse of Daniel’s bare torso. He would only have to move his fingers a little to the left to reach Daniel’s gi belt; one tug and the top would fall open, exposing Daniel’s body, just like opening a present on Christmas Day. Instead he stepped back, arms dropping to his sides.

Daniel cleared his throat. “You remember your moves, Johnny?”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so”. (Of course he remembered them; that fight was part of him and always would be, whether he wanted it to be or not.)

“Just go easy on my knee this time, yeah?” asked Daniel.

“Ditto, but for my face”, countered Johnny.

They got into position and Johnny bowed, deep and deliberate, locking eyes with Daniel as the smaller man mirrored him. Then they straightened up, getting into fighting stances, and began.

Johnny lunged forward with a jump kick and heard a tearing sound as the too-tight material of his gi pants gave way. “Oh shit”, he muttered.

Daniel sidestepped Johnny’s leg, avoiding contact, “You alright there?” he asked, inclining his head towards Johnny’s crotch.

“I’m fine”, Johnny replied, feeling his cheeks redden. He dived straight back into the fight with a flurry of kicks and Daniel landed a blow to the chest (“one point LaRusso”), his knuckles skimming over bare flesh. Daniel went in for a punch and Johnny pushed him to the ground, hand lingering for a second on Daniel’s chest before Daniel flipped himself up (not quite as gracefully as the last time, Johnny noted a little smugly) and they circled each other, panting heavily, before Johnny kicked out and Daniel went low, pulling Johnny down with him and tapping him on the back (“That’s two for LaRusso”), and they both lay there for a moment, legs tangled together (those legs, what Johnny wouldn’t do to stay wrapped in them), before they clambered up, parting reluctantly, getting ready to face off again.

“You need a time out, Johnny?” Daniel asked lightly, but there was an edge to his voice and his body was braced, ready for attack.

“I’m good. Didn’t bust my nose this time, LaRusso.”

Daniel nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and suddenly it was as if it was 1984 again and they were in the All Valley Sports Arena, the crowd roaring around them and Kreese standing to the side, arms crossed, confident that Johnny would obey him no matter what.

“Sweep the leg.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No Sensei.”

“No mercy.”

Johnny’s leg went up, his body moving by itself as though he had no control over it, like a puppet on a string. Daniel tensed, waiting for the inevitable blow to his own leg, and Johnny wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when it never came. Instead the kick struck Daniel’s chest, a fair kick, not targeting a known weakness, and the smaller man fell back onto his ass, blinking in surprise. They stared at each other for a moment, panting heavily, and then Daniel’s face split into a grin before he got up again, and Johnny felt his own lips pull into a smile as they continued.

Johnny fought the rest of the fight with his own moves, every kick and punch shredding the material of his gi a little bit more, and he found that he felt lighter with every ripped seam as if shedding a too tight skin that he hadn’t realised he was still wearing.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei, I swear it. I’ll never, ever let you down.”

“You’re nothing, you lost, you’re a loser”.

“I did warn you about this. I told you not to show weakness.”

“I will never let my students lose. Even if they have to learn the hard way. One day you’ll thank me for this, Johnny.”

Rip

Tear

Pull

Break

Johnny kept his eyes trained on Daniel as they sparred, on the man who Johnny had blamed for so many things that were never his fault, weren’t Johnny’s fault either, but instead were entirely the fault of someone who had seen Johnny as an impressionable young kid and decided to warp him into a solider.

Johnny didn’t grab Daniel’s leg, didn’t ram his elbow into the back of his knee. Instead they danced around each other, Johnny’s cheeks aching from the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face, and then Daniel raised two arms and a leg, preparing for the crane kick. There was a moment of stillness and Johnny stared at the person in front of him; this tiny, forceful creature who had crashed back into his life after thirty odd years, and he felt that same swooping sensation in his stomach that he had that night at the beach. Then Daniel’s leg flew out, or at least it almost did; Daniel’s gi pants pulled tight around thighs that were just a little thicker than when he was a teenager, and as the material restricted his movements Daniel’s eyes went wide and he fell over backwards, landing on his ass.

Johnny felt something rise up his throat and into his mouth (for a second he thought he was going to barf all over Daniel’s precious gi, which would have kept him amused for weeks after even if he did have to pay the dry cleaning bill), but instead what came out was a snigger followed by a chuckle, and before he knew it Johnny’s body was wracked with laughter and he dropped to his knees next to Daniel, chest heaving. For a moment Daniel stared at him as if he was mad, but then Daniel’s own shoulders started to shake and soon they were both laughing uncontrollably. Johnny felt that lightness again, both wonderful and dizzying (“the unbearable lightness of being Johnny Lawrence”, Daniel said, years later, when Johnny tried to recall the feeling. Johnny just rolled his eyes and threw his bottle cap at Daniel, grinning when it landed in the other man’s greying hair).

When they finally stopped, guffaws subsiding into giggles that eventually petered out into silence, Johnny felt limp but happy, as if all the tension had been drained from his body. He looked at Daniel sat on the floor before him, sweaty and out of breath but with his white gi still pristine and perfectly intact while Johnny’s black one hung off him in tatters (and if that wasn’t a perfect representation of their relationship then Johnny didn’t know what was). He shuffled forward and raised a hand to Daniel’s face, thumb rubbing against a soft cheek where just the slightest hint of stubble had appeared.

“Johnny”, Daniel murmured, leaning into the touch.

“Daniel”, whispered Johnny, the name unfamiliar on his lips, and they locked eyes before closing the distance between them and pressing their mouths together.

Johnny had never really understood the act of kissing as something in and of itself before; for him it had always been a means to an end, and that end was usually sex or at least a good grope (Dutch had taught him that; always try to put a hand on a girl’s boob while making out), and he had imagined it would be like that with Daniel; a desperate, frantic mashing together of lips and teeth as they ripped each other’s clothes off. But although Johnny could feel lust coiling in his belly the kiss was nothing like that at all; it was slow and sweet, Daniel’s soft lips moving gently against his, his mouth warm and inviting. It was somehow both too much and not enough, and Johnny didn’t know if it was the first kiss or the last, the beginning of something or the end.

Eventually they broke for air but stayed close, breath mingling, foreheads pressed together.

“It’s getting late”, Johnny said, pulling back and nodding towards the slight gap in the screen doors where a sliver of inky black sky was visible. He gestured between them. “We should – ah – we should probably get changed”.

“Yeah”, Daniel replied, glancing at Johnny’s ruined gi. “We should.”

But neither of them moved, and Johnny found himself wondering what would happen if they just stayed there forever, curled around each other in that little house (he could get Bobby to send food parcels). But his legs had started to cramp and so he got up reluctantly, holding out a hand to help Daniel to his feet. They smiled at each other for a moment longer before they both nodded in silent agreement and turned away. Johnny started to walk into the office to gather his clothes, but only took a few steps before he turned, drinking in the sight of Daniel’s bare back as he carefully removed and folded up his gi top, muscles shifting. Johnny tore his eyes away and forced himself into the next room, firmly closing the screen door between them. Maybe there would be time in the years to come for him to explore Daniel’s body, maybe not, but whatever happened at least the past was finally behind them while the future stretched out in front, unwritten, a blank page ready to be filled with whatever story they chose for themselves.

#cobra kai #cobrakaifanfic #cobrakaifanfiction #cobra kai fanfic #cobra kai fanfiction #Daniel LaRusso #Johnny Lawrence #lawrusso

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kellencclark · 3 years

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Honesty Hour || Kellen x Gracie

Where: Sea Change Recovery, Santa Monica, California

When: March 13, 2021

Featuring: Gracie Rothschild (dialogue provided by Tash @gracerothschild)

Triggers: Hospitalization, drugs, incarceration, abuse, mental health (depression, suicidal ideation)

Gracie was still in shock with the news she heard, she hasn't had the courage to see him in the hospital, nor was she ready to face the feelings that surfaced when she heard the news. She knew her best friends would tell her to carry on that it wasn't any of her business, it was just the fact he still held a spot in her heart that it was hard to ignore everything. So there she was, standing there looking around the place, holding a vase of flowers that she figured would lighten the room or something. "Hi," she said softly, coming face to face with Kellen.

Vito had warned Kellen that people knew where he was. Kellen didn’t want people to know about his baggage, but now it was out in the open thanks to Gossip God. He was ready to find Gossip God and knock his lights out, but first he had to get out of rehab. He was the most sober he’d ever been since age 14 and was genuinely making strides in individual and group therapy. However, he wasn’t ready to be released yet. The staff said it would be at least two more weeks before he could go home. He missed home. He missed his friends, his apartment, his job, all of it. When he walked into the visiting room and was face-to-face with Gracie, it hit him like a tidal wave how much he had missed her in particular. “Hey,” he replied, inching closer to her. He noticed the vase of flowers and said, “I don’t know if they’ll let me keep that. They don’t even let me have shoelaces.”

Gracie felt her heart flutter at the sight of Kellen, she was doing so good on trying to move on, yet it hurt seeing him in this place, how far he went down and she couldn't help but feel a little guilty for not sticking around to help him through it. "Oh...I should have asked but then again, this is my first time coming to a place like this, are they at least helping you?" She asked, adjusting the vase in her hands and suddenly felt awkward with the fact he probably wouldn't be able to take it with him. "Vito messaged me, letting me know what happened..."

“It’s fine. I never knew how strict these places were either.” He hadn’t had any access to his cellphone since coming here. He also wasn’t allowed to watch movies, TV, or listen to music. Not being able to listen to music was hell for him. “Yeah. I mean, this place fucking sucks, but I’ve been able to talk through a lot of shit. That part’s been helpful.” He took a seat across from her, frowning at the mention of Vito telling her what happened. “I told him not to do that. Man never fucking listens...” He sighed, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t know what he said or how many details he gave, but... I wasn’t trying to die. It’s just... I hadn’t done it in so long that I didn’t realize how low my tolerance had gotten. Taking too much was an accident.” He felt like he had to clarify that for her.

Grace set the vase down on the table and leaned against the edge, "He cares that's why and I'm sure he was probably taken back by everything, he didn't mention much other than you being in the ER and overdosing..." Hearing him talk about how it wasn't supposed to happen, she frowned a little and sighed, "Kellen...that's the reason why I ended things with you and the fact your...daughters mother was harassing me...if I didn't, then maybe you wouldn't have ended up in this place."

Kellen buried his face in his hands. Grace mentioning the breakup brought up all sorts of emotions in Kellen. Sadness was the primary emotion. Thinking about the fact that she didn't want to be with him made him sad. The woman he loved didn't want to love him back. It hurt like hell, to say the least. But he saw that she was blaming herself for this situation, and he couldn't let that stand. "The fact that I have an addiction isn't your fault. It's not anyone's fault... well, actually, my parents fucked me up real bad, so in a way it's kind of their fault... But I'm sure you didn't come here to hear all the revelations I've made in therapy over the past two weeks." He wasn't actually sure why she came here. If he had to guess, he assumed it was guilt. He didn't want her to feel guilty though. He was in here because he made a bad choice.

Gracie features softened, she reached out hesitantly before firmly grasping his hand in hers, pulling it across between them, holding his hand between her smaller ones and squeezed gently. “No I came here to be your supporter, I want you to know I do still love you...that I will always love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there but I’m here now, if you want me around.”

A small smile formed on Kellen’s face when Gracie took his hand. What came next took him by surprise. “Of course I want you around... but if you need to step away, I understand. I’m not exactly easy to be around...” He squeezed her hand before speaking. “I’m sorry for everything. I really am. I hid important things from you that I shouldn’t have, and I know that hurt you. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you.” Being fully open about his feelings was something that was hard for Kellen, but his new therapist told him that he wouldn’t be able to live a happy and healthy life if he kept hiding things from people and holding onto negativity.

Gracie smiled lightly and nodded her head, "I won't be leaving unless you tell me to leave you, I want to be able to be here for you...even if we're not together...I just...want you to be okay." She said out loud, realizing that her best friends would definitely be shaking their heads at her choices, but she couldn't stop her heart from worrying over her ex-boyfriend, her heart still yearning for the same old routine she had with Kellen.

“I’m not gonna tell you to leave. But the staff is gonna kick you out at like 6:00. They’re very strict about when dinner starts...” he trailed off, realizing that he was deflecting again. “But thank you. I appreciate it, really. And even though I hate that you’re seeing me like this, vulnerable and in the beginning stages of growing a beard... it means a lot that you came out here today.” Even though they had been physically together on several occasions since breaking up, the two had not been emotionally close like this in a long time. It was scary, but it also felt right. “So is there, uh, anything you want to ask me? It’s honesty hour, nothing’s off the table.”

Gracie glanced at her wrist to realize that it was cutting close and sighed, “sorry I didn’t come earlier work and all, but I promise to stop by again—if you want me too anyways—which I understand can be a no and yeah,” she rambled out, over thinking becoming her best friend in her life. Grace stopped and thought over his question, licking her bottom lips and nodded her head, “why did...why didn’t you tell me about your addiction—I mean we’ve been dating for awhile...I said I loved you and you never thought to mention or anything about your past.”

“It’s okay. If you want, I can ask one of the nurses to give you the visiting hour chart. I get it if you can’t make it. Most of the times are during business hours.” He knew she was busy and didn’t want to inconvenience her, but he was lonely in rehab and missed her in general. He closed his eyes and sighed before answering her question. “You were just— God, you are so perfect to me. I didn’t think a girl like you would want to date an addict with a criminal record... If I had told you early in the relationship that I was a recovering heroin addict, would you have wanted to date me? If I had told you that I went to jail for assaulting my abusive dad, would you have wanted to date me?” He highly doubted that she would have.

Grace eyes faltered at his words, the fact he said she was perfect made her feel less than what she appeared to be, sure she looked like the typical girl next door and maybe she didn't have any sort of bad past or habits besides the typical chewing on her nails when nervous but in her eyes, Kellen was the spark that she wanted in her life, just not when he kept things from her. "I would have wanted to date you regardless, I dated the good boys and they're nothing like you...you made me feel love and special, you showed me more to life than the typical shit I lived my whole life. You may not think you're good but in my eyes you're wonderful." Gracie flashed a small smile at him, wanting him to understand how much he meant to her.

He couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. Kellen knew that he had some positive traits, but he didn’t think he was a good person. “We also had some crazy good sex,” he noted. “Sorry, had to. Force of habit. Turns out I use humor to deflect my feelings. That’s something I learned in therapy recently. Therapy is wild.” He was learning a lot about himself in these intensive therapy sessions. “Do you really think all of that though?”

Gracie couldn't stop the laughter from escaping her lips at his blunt response, typical Kellen, although he did have a point, their sex was good and it always was a good thing to look back on when she had to turn to other ways to satisfy herself. "Do you really think I would be talking out of my ass about what i thought about you? Why I dated you in the first place, I fell in love with you and each day I was always excited to create memories."

Her laughter brought a genuine smile to his face. He loved hearing her laugh, and seeing her smile, and so many other things about her. "Grace, I don't think I'm a good person. You know this, I know this... I want to be good. I really, really fucking do, but my shit brain keeps holding me back. I never really learned how to love myself, so the fact that you can love me... it's hard to believe, if I'm being totally honest." Even when they were dating, it was hard for him to believe that he was loved by her. This wasn't her fault at all. It was his depressed brain's fault-- the brain that fed him insecurities and thoughts of ending everything, the brain that could only be silenced by addictive substances. "Do you still love me, even though you've seen how dark it can get up here?" he asked, tapping his finger against his forehead.

Grace stared and studied his facial features, she was realizing that he had more demons to deal with and never actually had to deal with the same amount of pain he's been working with. Gracie felt the corner of her lips curl up into a smile and nodded her head, "I haven't stopped loving you, no matter how hard I tried to get over you, there was always that part of me that thinks back to you and I think you nearly dying opened my eyes." She explained, "But I don't want us to get back together because of that...I want you to continue working on yourself, become a healthier version of yourself."

“Well what a coincidence. I never stopped loving you either.” He couldn’t hide that, from himself or anyone else. No matter how hard he tried to move on, his mind always came back to her. She had his heart, and he didn’t want anyone else to have it. “I don’t want that either. If you did that, I’d feel like you were pitying me... I’m going to get better. But not just because I want you back. I want to do it for myself, and for Kelsie.” He had things worth living for. All it took for him to see that was to hit rock bottom. “Do you think there’s any chance of us ever getting back together though?”

She wanted nothing more than to separate the table between them and just hug him, but she knew that it was probably against the policy of being in the facility, so all she could do was nod her head. Could they work things out and get back together, that was a good question, what if he found someone else, what if she started seeing someone else, so many questions that she had to push those thoughts away. "Possibly, but I don't want you to wait around for me, as much as it kills me to think of you dating someone new...I just want you to know it's okay if you find someone new?" It felt like a huge knot was in her throat when she said those words, felt as if someone was strangling her as she tried to appear okay.

Kellen closed his eyes as he took her words in. It was okay to find someone new. He didn't want someone new though. He wasn't sure if he would ever want someone new. Sure, he had encountered plenty of people he was physically attracted to since he and Gracie broke things off. But, even though he considered it more than once, he couldn't bring himself to sleep with someone else. He craved the physical element of intimacy, but also craved the emotional and spiritual aspects that he didn't feel with anyone else but her. "I don't know if I will. But if you find someone else, I, uh, you know, I won't stop you... I want you to be happy."

The thought of sleeping with someone else just never settled well with her, she enjoyed the connection and chemistry with a person, the idea of having a hook up was beyond her comfort. Sure there instances where she was close to sleeping with a total stranger drunk but the thought of Kellen flashing through her mind sobered her up and went home alone. It wasn't any surprise that they both wanted each other happy but were they okay with seeing the other dating someone new? Gracie knew that her best friends wanted her to explore other relationships but did she have the strength? "Thank you...I--uh...actually--I'm not seeing anyone currently...I just don't have any time," or desire, she thought and shrugged.

He inadvertently let out a sigh of relief when she said she wasn't seeing anyone else. After everything else she had just said-- about still loving him and wanting him to be happy-- if she admitted to seeing someone else, it would kill him inside. The thought of Gracie seeing anyone else in general, even in the hypothetical, hurt like hell. But when you loved someone, you had to put their wants and needs over your own. "So I guess we'll figure it out as we go along? Play it by ear?" Kellen asked, hoping that would be enough for her to realize that he was willing to wait for her.

Staring after Kellen, hearing his words and processing everything, she couldn't help but to nod her head in agreement. "Play it by ear would be safe...just you know...be up front if things don't work out, not yank each other around--I mean I'm sure you were seeing other people...beyond a date," Gracie forced out the words as she scratched the side of her temple and chuckled lightly, "Maybe we should save this conversation for when you're out of here, because you need to focus on yourself--become someone healthier."

Kellen raised a brow at her. "I haven't been seeing anyone, actually," he clarified. "I mean, if you really want to get into it, I haven't gone on any dates with anyone. I've thought about one-night stands, but never acted on it." He shrugged. Even though she said to save this conversation for later, he felt like this was something that needed to be said.

She glanced back at him, her hazel eyes dropping from his eyes to his lips before forcing her gaze away to look at her hands on the table, fiddling with the bracelet and nodded her head. Gracie couldn’t help but be relieved about that news, she too tried to move on with dates and even attempted a one night stand which turned out to fall through due to it not being her cup of tea. “I’m surprised—not that I would assume you would go screw anyone—just that, most guys just go about and sleep with someone,” she wanted nothing more than to pull his face to her own to kiss him, feel those emotions that sometimes were overwhelming for her.

“I mean, before we met, I would’ve. And I did... I guess now... eh, forget it.” He looked away, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Janice, the nurse who escorted him into the room, was still outside watching them. He made a face at Janice and muttered, “Can’t get any fuckin’ privacy in this place.” He knew she was just doing her job and ensuring Gracie didn’t try to give him drugs, but he was annoyed nonetheless.

Gracie couldn’t stop the small laughter escaping her lips, knowing for a fact that he had a point, she was more focus on school when they met that she didn’t ever try and experience the whole hook up culture. She looked over to where the nurse stood, realizing that she probably could hear part of their conversation which had her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “I mean you’re in a treatment facility, they’re only worried about your well-being.” Grace pointed out, looking at the clock on the wall and sighed, “I have to get going, I agreed to work night shift for emergencies.”

“I know. She’s watching to make sure you don’t slip me drugs. I don’t think she really cares what we’re talking about.” Or maybe she did. Who knew? Not Kellen. “Damn, your job really never gives you a break, huh? Well, thanks for, uh, y’know, visiting me.” He wanted to tell her to stay longer— there was still 10 minutes until dinner would be served— but her job was important and he didn’t want her to get reprimanded.

“I mean, at least I don’t work at the hospital, then I would never be able to see anyone.” She pointed out, she preferred animals over humans any day of the week. “We can meet again when you’re released, maybe grab coffee or something.” Gracie suggested, part of her wanted to stay a little longer, just hold a conversation with Kellen and stare at his face a little longer.

“Oh yeah, that’d fucking suck. But hey, your patients are cute animals and not asshole people, so you’re really the one winning here. Though your patients are more likely to bite you... Sure, people can bite too, but it’s less likely.” He knew he certainly liked biting, in a sexual context at least. In his line of work, he wouldn’t know how to react if a customer bit him. “If all goes well, I should be getting out on March 26th.” That date couldn’t come fast enough. “You remember what happened the last time you invited me to get coffee with you, right?” he asked with a smirk, unable to resist the innuendo.

Gracie felt her mouth opening and closing at his statement, her cheeks burning at the memory, clearing her throat to try and not think about the memory as she adjusted herself in her seat. “So yeah, we’re not going to bring that back up because we are in a public place,” she narrowed her eyes at him.

Kellen snickered at her reaction. It was cute seeing her get all flustered. It was like the good old days. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, except to wait until he was home free and to hope for the best. “Aw come on, a man can dream, can’t he? I’ve been here for two weeks surrounded by a bunch of weirdos, and now you’re here being all cute and sentimental and shit.”

Gracie rolled her eyes at his statement, snorting under her breath, “You mean you’re horny, there’s a reason you have a hand and imagination Kell, use it.” She felt the corner of her lips lift up into a smile. She was teasing him and knew it was a dangerous line considering the fact it’s been awhile since she actually had sex besides using the vibrator she purchased a week after their breakup. If it wasn’t for Maya and Trixie for dragging her she would have been so pent up.

He bit his lip at her comment. She wasn't wrong. "Oh, if only I didn't have a roommate who literally never fucking sleeps. Seriously, man stays up all fuckin' night spouting conspiracies about the Earth being flat and the Queen of England being a lizard alien. It's making me miss Vito and his loud ass dog. Like fuck, at least we have separate rooms and he knows how to knock." He rolled his eyes playfully. He genuinely did miss his apartment and actual roommate, but that probably wasn't something he was going to tell Vito. "Sorry, I'm done. You have work and I'm just here chewing your ear off with complaints. I'll let you go."

Grace laughed lightly at the relationship he had with Vito, she enjoyed talking to Vito whenever he came by the clinic, she could tell he was a good person. “I’m sure he misses you too, not too long you’ll be released, and maybe I’ll help you with,” she flashed him a seductive smile and shakes her head laughing as she stood up from her seat, “Is it okay to hug or would they yell?”

"Eh, with me out of the apartment, he'll have more alone time with-- wait, fuck. His girl's out of town, never mind." Kellen was so preoccupied with his own shit that he had almost forgotten that Vito told him that Verity had to emergently leave town a few days ago. 'Poor guy,' he thought. "It's okay to hug, as long as you don't slip a knife or any dope into my pocket," he teased. He knew she would never do something like that, but from what he had heard, it wasn't out of the ordinary for visitors to do that kind of stuff.

Gracie rolled her eyes and walks around the table and wrapped her arms around him, inhaling the scent of him. She now didn’t even want to go or leave him here but she knew he needed this and she needed to figure out her thoughts. “Don’t cause any trouble,” she pulled back to lightly punch his shoulder.

He closed his eyes as she hugged him, savoring the moment. “Did you just sniff me?” he asked, chuckling. “I’ll try my best, but I may throw hands with my roommate Roger if he wakes me up again. Especially if he starts talking about aliens. He thinks one of the nurses is an alien.” He probably wouldn’t do it, but he thought about it at least once per day.

Grace pulled back and quickly denied it, “No I didn’t just sniff you.” She sighed and nodded her head, “Well Roger is just trying to make conversation, but come here.” She grabbed a hold of his shirt and rose on her tippy toes to kiss him. Was it beyond the line she tried to place for them, yes but she wanted to at least make this ‘shitty’ place a bit better.

He chuckled again at her denial, finding it both cute and endearing. "Well Roger's fucking annoying and kind of antisemitic," he grumbled. While Kellen didn't currently practice any religion and was raised Anglican, some of his maternal relatives practiced Judaism. When Gracie kissed him, he instinctively reached over to cup her cheeks, his lips curling into a smile. "I really missed you," he admitted, pressing his forehead against hers.

Grace sighed lightly, closing her eyes to bask in the feeling, it was the one thing she missed. Realizing she missed Kellen more than she thought, she tried many things to keep her mind from thinking about him. But over stepping the line by kissing him, embracing him, she was starting to want more. “I missed you as well,” she whispered and nudged his head with hers before pulling back and cupped his face. “I’ll see you soon, don’t cause trouble for the staff.”

After the breakup, Kellen attempted to dull his sadness with weed and alcohol. But now that he was completely sober for the first time in a long time, he remembered just how intense his feelings for her were. He felt the strangest mixture of emotions: love, lust, loss, passion, longing, and melancholy, all at once. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. "So what you're saying is that I should start a fight and set something on fire. Got it, Chief."

"That is not what I mean," Grace sighed and rolled her eyes, knowing that he was joking, or at least she hoped he was. "Just think...if you don't cause any trouble, maybe, just maybe I will give you something. But that's if you don't do anything stupid." She poked his chest and flashed him a genuine smile. "We'll discuss more the next time I see you, right now I want you to focus on yourself and getting better."

"Come on, Gracie. I'm funny," he teased, poking her side. "Okay, I won't cause any trouble. Though not being stupid, I can't promise anything. I'm pretty dumb whether I want to be or not." He wasn't book smart, and that was something he had accepted about himself a long time ago. "If you wanna come visit again, you can ask the nurses for the schedule. But no pressure if you can't make it." He hoped that she would be able to come by, at least once more, but wasn't going to hold his hopes up.

Gracie smiled and shakes her head, "Yeah yeah, whatever you say." She wanted to see him again so when he mentioned to get the schedule, she decided to do just that before she leaves. "Okay, I will do that and hopefully my work schedule doesn't conflict with it. Gotta make sure you're not causing ruckus in this place or else I'll send Vito over to ignore you in my honor."

Kellen busted into laughter when she brought up Vito. “You’re gonna send Vito to ignore me? Vito, the human puppy dog? Yeah, that’ll work out great.” He snorted. “You need to go to work. Don’t be late.”

Laughing softly, Gracie nodded her head and started walking towards the exit, turning around once more and gave Kellen a small wave. Walking out of the room, she felt a little at ease but still uncertain.

#Grace Rothschild #I hope y'all enjoy crying

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ashsblurbs · 4 years

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Change will make your life better

*Change series chapter 6*

Light trickled in through his window waking Steve up. For the first time in a very long time Steve had a full night of sleep and didn’t feel like waking up. He knew he had to if he wanted to shower before Sarah woke up. Then he heard a very loud knock on his door. Steve ran to it hoping to stop the noise before it woke up Sarah. Who would be at his door since he had no neighbors and he didn’t know anyone in this town? All of his friends were still in New York. Steve through the door open to fine, “Tony?”

Tony stared in awed at the man he will always love. Steve looked very different then how he did almost two years ago. He grew a thick beard and his hair was longer. Tony thought the look good on him. The man no longer had the cut look of a male model but a softer look. He had to admit Steve still looked great. The two men stood in the thrust hold of the door not saying anything to each other but just staring at each other like they had seen a ghost. Finally, after some time Steve asked the important question, “Why the hell are you here? After almost two years of no phone calls, no text messages, not even letters” Tony swallowed deeply not knowing what to say but he knew he had to tell the truth. “I called Nat a few days ago. She told me where I could find you. I came to apologize.” Steve made an arm gesture telling Tony to come on in. “Don’t mind the mess. I haven’t had the chance to clean up.”

Steve was not happy. How could Natasha have done this to him? He knew that phone call wasn’t Bucky but instead of Tony. A piece of him was happy to see Tony even if he did hurt him. Tony looked healthier and his eyes shone with happiness. Steve walked over to the kitchen to make coffee and maybe grab something for breakfast. “Still like your coffee black with a hint of sugar.” Tony nodded but didn’t move from where he stood. Steve could see the man analyze everything around him. There was Sarah’s play pen in the corner and a few of her toys on the couch. Steve wonder how long it was going to take Tony to ask the question if he had a child or not.

“Tony, come sit. I won’t bite.” Tony took the mug out of Steve’s hand and tasted the coffee. It felt like an old friend revisiting from being away for a long time. It felt like home. A wave of sadness washed over Tony and all of his confidence was gone. He really was an idiot from walking away from all of this. With what he noticed around him Steve was happy and maybe had a kid. He really did live out the dream they wanted. “Tony, can you now explain why you are here?” Tony sucked in a breath. It was now or never he thought. “Steve, my last year has been eventful if I put it lightly” Steve just huffed. Tony couldn’t imagine what kind of year he had but Tony continued. “On my birthday, last year I was in the hospital for alcohol poisoning.” Steve looked shook and the hardness he was holding melted away. “I went to rehab and got therapy to work on all of my issues. Which you know I have a lot of issues. The worst one not thinking I am good enough for anyone and I will just hurt the ones I love. I still have a long way to go to fix myself, but I am in a better place. That is why I am here to say I am sorry for what I did. I regret it every single day of my life and if I could go back, I would change everything. Steve, I hope.” Tony stopped at mid-sentence when he heard a baby cry. “Hold that thought.”

Steve ran to the nursery to find Sarah had just woke up and was crying. “Hey, little one is someone hungry. How about some cheerios?” Sarah babbled not really saying words yet, but she was trying. Steve swung Sarah into his arms slowly walking her out to the kitchen. “Now promise me you will be on your best behavior because we have a special guess.” She just giggled back not knowing what was going on. Steve’s legs shook a little. How was Tony going to take the news he had a kid? Was he going to made he didn’t tell him? Then he thought who cared if Tony was mad. Steve had every right to do what he did.

Tony played with the spoon in his cup. Tony thought maybe he should have called first instead of barging into Steve’s life. Tony was about to leave until he saw Steve walk in with his daughter in his arms saying something to her. The little girl was beautiful with long blonde hair and brown eyes. Tony realize the eyes looking back at him was his eyes. Tony was in shocked. He just watched as Steve sat the child down in her highchair and laid out some cheerios for her to eat.

Steve turned to Tony seeing the expression on his face. Steve knew that Tony knew. It wasn’t hard to figure out since Sarah was a perfect mixture of the two of them. “I’m assuming this is your daughter. She’s very pretty. What is her name?” “Tony meet Sarah Maria Rogers-Stark. Your daughter.” Steve ran a hand down his little girl’s hair smoothing it down from where she had just woken up. Tony just stared at the child in disbelief. He didn’t blame Steve for not telling him. He probably wouldn’t have told him either not after what Tony had done. Tony had abandoned his family. Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe. The room had become very small. He stood up and ran out of the back door to catch his breath.

Steve stared as Tony ran out of the house leaving Steve and Sarah alone once again. “Well, he didn’t take that well did he Sarah.” Sarah just ignore him while she continued chomping down of her cereal. Steve sighed and deep down knew this reaction was to be expected. He definitely didn’t think Tony was going to begin to jump with joy and they would be a family. Steve didn’t even know he wanted to be a family with Tony. He could bear the thought of Tony walking out on him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of him hurting his, their daughter in the process. Steve picked up Sarah leading her to the backyard where Tony was sitting staring at the lake in the distance. Steve sat down next to him with Sarah in his lap. “Tony, what’s going through your head right now. I can see it racing.”

Tony looked over at Steve. Steve was so close to him. If he relaxed his knee slightly, they would be touching. “I’m just thinking about how I left you two alone. I wasn’t there to help and be by your side.” Steve pushed Sarah’s hands away from his face and handed her a toy instead to play with. He could now see that Tony had been crying. Everything in Steve’s chest wanted to give Tony a hard time but he knew the look on Tony’s face was genuine because he knew Tony better then the back of his hand. “Tony, it’s going to take me a long time to get past everything you put me through. Before we talk about Sarah or I answer any of your questions you have to promise me that you will never hurt her.”

Without thinking Tony took Steve’s hand and looked straight into his strong blue eyes. “Until my dying breath I am going to be here for her and you. I will never leave again. I will never hurt her. The alcohol is gone. The self-doubt is in control. I’m better much better. I hope you will see the difference. I understand it will take some time.” Steve removed his hand and placed it onto Tony’s check, thumbing away the tears. Steve could see the change. He felt the change radiate off of Tony. The two men were pulled back to reality when Sarah made grabby hands to Tony. “Dada.” Steve was taken back. “Sarah, you just said your first word.” “Did she just call me dada?” Steve nodded. Now both of the men were crying at how proud they were of their daughter. “Yeah, Sarah, this is your dada. Tony would you like to hold her.”

Tony wasn’t much of a kid person but instinct kicked in. “Hi, Sarah. You have a very pretty name. Did you know your daddy is one of the greatest people in the world and you are very lucky to have him as a daddy?” The baby babbled and started pulling on his hair. “Okay, ow. Sarah release.” Steve detached the little one from Tony’s hair with a laugh.

Steve sat in the kitchen ready to have a proper conversation. Sarah was occupied in her playpen, so they had some time before she got fussy. “Okay, ask your questions?” Tony didn’t know where to begin but he wanted to know everything from Steve’s pregnancy to just what Sarah was like as a person.

“Okay, when did you find out you were pregnant?”

“Two weeks after you left. Next.” Tony looked down in shame. Only two weeks and bam another person was mixed up in Tony’s asinine chooses.

“Who has helped you through all of this? I really hope you didn’t go through this alone.” Steve shook his head no. Steve was thinking back to the day Natasha was there with him holding the positive test.

“Natasha has been with me through all of this. She was here through all the doctor appointments and delivery. She even lives here with me but will be moving out soon. Bucky misses her a lot.” Tony thought back when he got that sonogram and Pepper thought it was Natasha who was pregnant. Tony reached into his wallet and pulled out the photograph not knowing why he stilled kept it but maybe deep down he knew why. He passed the photo over to Steve where he picked it up and examined it. “Pepper dropped that at my office. She thought Natasha was pregnant, but it turns out to be you. I’m guessing that is Sarah.” Steve sniffled and got up to retrieve something.

Steve came back and laid the yellow blanket that had Sarah’s initials on it. “Were you the one that sent those presents. Did you send this blanket?” Tony ran his hand along the hem knowing exactly what this was, and he was happy that this blanket made its way to his daughter. “Yeah, I did. I found this in my house and thought Natasha or well you could use it.” Steve wiped his tears away. “This is her favorite thing in the whole world. She can’t sleep without.” Tony felt better knowing that he might not have been here, at least something of his was comforting his daughter.

“When is her birthday so I can plan for it.” Steve smiled at this question. “May 29th. She will be turning one in a few days.” “Wait her birthday is my birthday. Well that would have been a better birthday gift then an IV in the arm.” Tony chuckled. “Yeah she was ready to come early. Not supposed to be here until June 5th but she had other plans. I was in labor with her for thirty-eight hours. She’s stubborn like her father.” It was Steve’s turn to laugh. He would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant to have a wonderful daughter he had. “Um what’s that smell Steve?” And the tender moment was over. He walked over to Sarah a strong whiff of poop filled his nostrils. Steve picked her up and walked over to Tony placing her in his face. “Dada want to do the honors and have your first diaper change.” Tony scrunched up his nose at the smell, but he was ready to make up for lost time.

“Hey, Steve, I’m back and I brought the boys with me.” Silence. Natasha looked over at Bucky and Sam curiously. Where could Steve have been? “Maybe him and Sarah were in the back yard.” Sam suggested. The group walked out to spot Steve, Sarah, and Tony having a picnic under the large oak tree. Wait she thought Tony was here. Before she could stop Bucky, he was already out there giving Tony a piece of his mind. He grabbed Tony by the shirt and slammed him against the tree. “You have some real nerve to be here. You are a piece of shit. After leaving two years ago with no reason. Breaking my brother’s heart and leaving your child for him to raise alone. You decide to come back here. You are not welcome here you son of a bitch.”

Tony just took it because he knew Bucky would have been mad and why wouldn’t he be. Steve pulled Bucky away letting Tony be able to breathe again. “Bucky stop. Everything is okay. I’m okay. Sarah’s okay. Tony and I have had several conversations the past few days. We are good. I didn’t let him off the hook right way, but he has a right to have a relationship with Sarah.” Bucky pushed his hair back from his eyes and saw Steve’s eyes tell the same message he was saying. He looked over at Sarah where he saw Tony playing peekaboo with her and she is giggling up a storm.

The three of them walked back inside to get the house ready for Sarah’s party leaving Steve to talk to Tony. “How did Tony know to come here? Is even stabled to be around that that girl.” Bucky was now throwing things and aggressively talking. “Bucky calm down now! Everything is fine.” Bucky whipped around and looked at her with fire in his eyes. “Don’t tell me to calm down Nat. That man left Steve and broke his heart. I know all about Tony’s stint in rehab. What doesn’t say he won’t leave again?” Natasha was about to say something when the door opens to Tony. “Bucky, I understand your concerns but I’m never leaving again. I know I have to gain all of your trust and it will take time I understand.” Bucky cooled down and looked over at Natasha. She nodded her head of its going to be okay.

Steve walked in holding a very dirty Sarah. “She seemed to have wanted to play in the mud instead of her toys.” Tony took Sarah from Steve. “I will wash her up. Isn’t that right little miss. Dada is going to get you clean up.” Sarah giggled. Steve went over to Natasha wrapping her up into a big hug. “Thank you, Natasha, for bringing my family back together.” She smiled. “It was the right thing to do. Rhodey assured me it was the right time.” “Tony is different guys. He’s only been here a couple of days, but I can see the change in him already. He’s so good with Sarah.” “Are you and Tony back together?” Sam interjected. Steve shook his head no. “Tony and I are just coparents of a very special child. I don’t think I can bring myself to be wrapped up into the mess that is Tony’s life. He still had ways to go to fix himself.”

“Happy birthday dear Sarah. Happy birthday too you.” The group sang as Natasha placed a single cupcake in front of Sarah. “Blow out the candle sweetie.” The baby looked up at Steve with the soft eyes. Tony looked at his small family and a sweep of love fell over him. All he wanted to do was kiss Steve. Tony could see a future with this man. He only hoped that Steve did too. “Your daddy just cleaned you up.” Steve joked trying to wipe all of the frosting off of her face and hands. Tony giggled knowing he was going to marry this man one day.

Steve found Tony sitting on the porch looking out at the stars. “Did she go down easy?” Tony asked looking up at Steve. “Yeah, just took a few lullabies and she was out. She had a light sugar rush.” Steve sat beside Tony placing his hand close to Tony’s but was not touching. It was nice he thought having Tony around. Having the one thing he dreamed about for so many years come true.

The silence became too much. Neither one of the men looked at each other or made a sound. They just continued looking out at the stars. Tony could feel the heat radiate off of Steve and all he wanted to do was kiss him like there was no tension between them. Tony walked his fingers slowly moving to place his hand on top of Steve’s. Steve didn’t pull away, but his breath did catch in his chest. Tony turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. Steve looked down liking how his pale skin intertwined with Tony’s olive skin.

Tony knew it was now or never. Tony leaned in slowly not to ruin the moment. Tony looked down at Steve’s soft red lips waiting for Steve to pull away, but he never did. Tony placed a light kiss to Steve’s lips. They were soft and warm. They felt like home. The feeling of Steve’s beard tickled his cheeks. Tony found him placing his hands in the other man’s hair. Missing the touch of it. Missing the gentle touch of Steve.

The men pulled apart looking at each other sheepishly not understanding how this moment would change their whole lives. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” Tony was about to get up and go to bed but Steve pulled him back down. “Don’t go. I actually didn’t mind it.” Tony felt pressure in his chest. This time for a long time it was good pressure. It was the kind of pressure that you knew something good was coming. “You didn’t mind it?” Tony asked. “No, it reminded me of the old days when everything was right in the world when everything was simpler.” Tony looked away knowing Steve was right. Nothing would be the same for them and they had a new normal that would be their relationship. “To bad I have to go back home tomorrow. I am going to miss you and Sarah a lot. We will need to sit down and make a schedule. I can come up every Friday if that’s okay with you.”

Steve placed a gentle touch to the side of Tony’s face turning him, so he was looking at Steve. “What if you didn’t leave? Nat is going back to New York on Saturday. I have and extra room you could have. It would be little easier to coparent.” Tony didn’t know what to say. Well he did know what to say he was going to say. “That was stupid. I shouldn’t have offered. Your home is New York and you have a company to run. I can’t really ask you to pick up your whole life and move here.” Tony placed a finger over Steve’s lips to get him to shut up. “You can ask me to do anything because I deserve it. I will stay because I lived a world where you weren’t part of it. I don’t care what we are as long as you are in my life.”

Change was the hardest thing to do in your life. Change brought growth. Change brought tears and smile. Change brought new people your life and old people you once knew. Change was beautiful.

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #superfamily #ash's blurbs #change series

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drennalynspast · 4 years

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[ My First Relationship / First Breakup ]

Saturday, Apr. 27, 2013 - 6:31 a.m.

Today..well..13 hours ago, I experienced my first breakup. It was from a man who happened to be my first boyfriend and first relationship. We are both 24 years old.

The Beginning: I met “andy” on okcupid. I was at a point in my life where I felt sexually frustrated. I wanted to cure an itch, at the same time I was willing to be open to the idea of trying to have a boyfriend and be in a relationship. Okcupid allowed me to create a profile and sift through particular wants, needs and interests I had in other people who also were hopefully more compatible with me. It was the beginning of a new year. January 2013. New experience. new discoveries. Carpe diem.

This one individual stood out to me on okcupid. We seemed to talk so easily through chat. We eventually exchanged numbers and texted each other for a week before we decided to meet up in person at a sushi restaurant. It was my first “real date” too.

He had a wild life in his past. He said that he matured more now. He is in grad school: vocational rehab counseling. He has a job and is self sufficient at paying his own bills and living on his own. He likes mmos, particularly WoW, doing outdoor activities, keeping up with sports and reading news. He was a very intellectual and introspective person. He was also atheist or agnostic. He also believed in not wanting children which was a huge plus for me. He was also a sexual deviant in the sense that he had tried a lot of things and was willing to try new things in the future. I also was impressed how he was so strict on having a workout schedule and tried to keep fit and take care of his body.

At the date we were nervous, eventually loosened up a little. We talked a lot. We had a lot of interests and similarities in preferences/morals together. He seemed too good to be true. At some point later on during the night at my place, he asked to kiss me. I made a further to attempt to be more into and start grinding him. Obviously I was craving sex. He didn’t resist and we attempted intercourse. He was struggling to get a full erection throughout the night since he wasn’t quite comfortable with me yet on an emotional level.

I wasn’t bothered. We laid naked in bed and just talked throughout the endless hours of the night and attempted sex again. He left at 10:30 am in the morning. We did not sleep at all. we couldn’t sleep. It was a passionate and exciting night. Meeting someone for the first time and just ..yeah getting to get to have sex again from a 3 year dry spell.

After that, the next time we met, I was over at his place. We had sex first thing (after I showered) when he saw me. We hung out, talked, played games. I think a week after our first date, he asked if I could be his girlfriend. I said yes. And now, April 25th Friday, what we [didn’t] have is over.

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The Middle: We hung out, did things together: experienced eating new foods and activities. He showed me new places, I showed him new places. We played games together. Even when we weren’t playing the same mmo, I still sat by next to him playing my own game and doing my own thing. In the beginning we were sexually into each other. I guess that is like any new relationship. You just want to fuck the other person’s brains out and explore their body. It was an exciting feeling. He sometimes felt overwhelming where he actually wanted it way more than I could handle. I believe it was like 6-7 times of sex I had most at one day. That doesn’t count all the blowjobs either. I was in consistent pain. My vagina was being stretched out more since it hasn’t been exposed to that length of dick before and I must’ve tightened up since not having sex for 3 years So yeah, I felt raw, sore, some blood here and there and I couldn’t experience keep up with him and his pleasure needs. I was fine though. I enjoyed being around him. (though sexually frustrated I couldn’t enjoy as much)

I started nuvaring birthcontrol in February. At the end of the first ring cycle, I began to bleed constantly. I have been bleeding for literally about 2 months straight and still have been bleeding up until now. I think it is a side effect of the ring, but I read about how it is supposed to subside after a while since my hormones were still adjusting. Anyway, because of the bleeding, he couldn’t access my vagina that much as far as oral or fingering. I wouldn’t let him as much and I felt embarrassed. I didn’t mind still having vaginal intercourse though. He wanted his dick sucked on/ face fuck me a lot more. I felt like I was rejecting him more of his requests more often. I think part of me was the way he just was blatant about expressing his desires and made no effort to really try to “soften” me up to make me in the mood to where I felt aroused and wanted to do it eagerly/willingly. I expressed my concerns about how I wish he could be more affectionate/romantic with me, and it would make it easier for me to be more willing. He then said it wasn’t in his persona to work to do that. Like he grudged having to dance around the point and put effort.

He also started smoking pot again; he said he was going to finish it all by 4/20. He still have some leftovers, and said he was not going to buy anymore after that. Obviously I haven’t stuck around him longer than this period to see if he lived up to his word. I was bothered that he even took up smoking pot (even if temporarily) again after his 6 month quit. I felt like he sorta changed in the sense that when he started smoking it again, he was less productive in terms of keeping his priorities in line, going to work consistently and having a consistent workout schedule. He kind of neglected sticking to his regimen because he felt more lazy? I think that is when I also noticed the sex to kinda, I dunno, be less than what it used to be.

Sometimes I would ask myself, am I ready to love him?, though in the back of my mind I felt some sort of distance between us as far as intimacy and affection goes. I was passive and I was expecting him to do more for me or just be there more for me on some things.

I felt like we were still okay. We never yelled or treated each other like shit. I wasn’t a total bitch to him nagging at him all the time. There were some small things that bothered me, but I held it in and didn’t get on to him. We never had any argumentative differences to where we just loathed being next to each other. It didn’t get to that point. This Wednesday, I hung out with jack and his boyfriend. I told him my perception and feelings on how I felt my relationship was going, asking questions. But in the end, I thought we were doing fine and nothing really got in the way of us not being together anymore.That is how I perceived things were.

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The End/ Aftermath: On Friday, around 9:30 am, he texted me asking if I wanted his cock in my lil pussy during his lunch break. I said, “yes!”. He came over, we fucked. After that, he left to go back to work. We had plans to see each other again in the night. I was going to go down to see him in Norman. I was going to spend the night and we would attend the Norman Music Festival on Saturday. Because I work night shift, I had to sleep a little more in the afternoon before I got ready to pack etc. It was still 6:30 pm and I was still in bed. I was still tired and trying to squeeze some extra sleep in. I was starting to try to force myself to get up, but still lay in bed.

I heard the door open to my apartment. Andy came in. I wasn’t expecting him to immediately come over to my place after work. I didn’t mind and was excited to see him again. He came in my room. He immediately started talking and the words that came out of his mouth, “I’ve been doing some thinking. I need this relationship to end. “ The first thoughts that came in my mind were, what the fuck!? Huh? I asked him if he was serious. He said, “yes”. I felt like I did something wrong. He assured me that there was nothing “wrong” on my part that was the reason. Like there weren’t any flaws about me and that he simply said, “I still don’t feel like we are connecting.” There was no connection between us, he came to the conclusion. He contemplated the thought about breaking up 3 weeks ago.. or a month he told me. But he kept trying to wait or felt guilty. He finally came to the decision to end it that night with me. He was waiting for a feeling to emerge between us, but evidently it never occurred. He said it was for the best to end it now so we both won’t get more hurt later on when we were around longer. He also mentioned that he felt like we were more friends and our relationship was based on the premise on sexual activity.

I feel in shock, surprised, caught completely fucking unaware he would even break up with me at this point. I feel like in disbelief. My body felt numb, weak, and shaking. Is this really happening? Please tell me more. Please give me more fucking answers. But he said that with situations like this, we can’t nitpick everything and pinpoint things. When it comes to trying to develop a connection or feeling with someone, sometimes you can’t work to obtain it, to force it to arrive. I didn’t want to lose him. I hate losing him. But I understood what he was saying. I couldn’t force him to drag himself in this relationship further. I couldn’t bear to bring myself to beg for him to stay. I wish he could stay, but I couldn’t verbalize that I wanted him to toss his ideas aside and try. Of course I suggested that if he told me he felt no feelings earlier, we could have tried harder. He said it would only make the relationship feel more estranged, uneasy and not go further.

I am in denial that it couldn’t work between us. But at the same time, maybe I knew it wasn’t blossoming into something further, but I felt too complacent, too scared to lose that feeling of having someone around to just be there for me all the time. I’m afraid of the idea of losing a regimen a consistency in my life. But am I really afraid of actually losing him, Andy?

Most people hate being alone. We crave affection, intimacy, not even that, but just having a consistent closeness with someone whom we can share our experiences daily. I tell myself: I need to make myself happy instead of relying on others to make me feel good. I forget that a lot about myself, Andy had to remind me that night that I am my own priority.

He was a good guy in the end. We never said we loved each other or felt that way. I am still a novice when it comes to figuring out my feelings and emotions with someone. But I felt like that would be something that would grow more over time. I felt like we were able to have more time to find out. He felt like it would be better to end it now before time was wasted and nothing got better. Though, I was still sorta peeved how just the whole Friday, he just fucked me earlier that day and then later on came back to say he wanted to break up with me.

We had a long talk about things. He sat next to me trying to comfort me. Answer any questions or give insight about things. There are still a lot of things I wonder about. I tell myself that there must be something wrong with me. It is my fault and I could have been the one to make things better if only I had known. And I hate myself for not being a good enough person for him to want to keep me. He still tried to assure me that there was nothing wrong with me. Sometimes I wonder if he is saying that to try to spare my feelings. I also think about questions about if he is truly over his ex that he was in a 3 year relationship, and that hindered his progression with me and trying to develop feelings.

I made him delete all the naughty pics and videos of me from his phone and computer. I made sure to see that he delete them in front of me. I also deleted the stuff of his videos from my laptop as well. He packed up his remaining stuff at my place. We exchanged our final thoughts and words. He gave me a couple of sweet kisses for the last time. For the first time, I realized, it seemed like he made those kisses actually mean something or have emotion in them compared to the other kisses I got in the past. For once (in a long time), I felt an emotional kiss, but it is also painful to know those would be my last from him.

A million thoughts race in my mind constantly. I want it to stop. I want the pain to go away. I ask questions about what if, what could have been done differently. My mind is struggling to accept it, to move on. Mentally I understand what is going on, but I cannot bring myself to emotionally feel at peace right now. First day of surviving a breakup, I don’t expect things to get better overnight.

I think about scenarios about him asking to take me back or even Andy just texting me something to see how I am doing. I have random moments of the warm memories I had with someone. I then realize that I can no longer have that kind of memory with that person anymore.

I try to go to sleep. I wake up a couple hours later and realize, I’m alone now. I’m single now. I’m fucking alone with no one. I get in a panic. It hurts. it hurts so much. I cry so much. It’s hard. It’s difficult trying to recover, to accept, to move on. The knife has already penetrated my heart, but I am feeling the bleeding sucking out my life and energy ever so slowly and painfully.

I talked on the phone with my two best friends. They gave me their opinions. Jack said how he felt like Andy wasn’t going to be the one with me, and how it probably wouldn’t have lasted long. He said how on our meeting Wednesday that I had a hint of unhappiness. He also tried to cheer me up and encourage me that the next guy I meet, it will be better than the previous one.

I need to stop thinking of things that I shouldn’t have done or could do to salvage the relationship. It just causes more convoluted thoughts. Granted, maybe there were some things that could have been different or changed, but there is no definite answer. Sometimes I think if I moved too fast just jumping into the sexual activity and then subconsciously forcing a built relationship foundation to justify being constant with that. I have no regrets on what I did. I realize that everyone is different. I hear stories about how people just fuck for while and then something grows more between them.

Sometimes I think with my approach to sex first, I would eliminate forced feelings with someone so early. The whole idea of holding out sex for a month and then finally having sex with someone for the first time after that then you convince yourself you are in love with them or have feelings. But it’s just the elated feelings and excitement about the sex perhaps.

Perhaps I will try to take a different approach and wait for the sexual activity later in the dating scene. I now feel like I feel more intimidated when it comes to meeting new people. Will I ever meet a good guy like andy again who exhibits a lot of the qualities I am looking for? How can I compete with an ex who has had a better connection and made someone feel like they were in complete heavenly love before? What can/should I do better? Not only do I have to find a guy who is good to me in the sense of treating me well and being faithful, but I have to find someone who I can experience a deeper connection with and love. This shit is hard. I wish I could experience what love feels like but love should never be rushed.

Of course I need to try to be single for a while. I need to heal. It just. fucking. Hurts. Being. Rejected. I was the first one of his exes in which he was the one to make the decision to leave the girl first. It makes me feel like I was the inferior one in the end. I was inadequate. He said that I exhibited several appealing qualities that were better than his exes, but he just didn’t give him a feeling of connection. I feel so defeated. Like since I was the first one for him to breakup with it must mean something about me. I wasn’t that good enough. I feel like I was a terrible girlfriend. But I know I am not.

I know that someday I will find someone better. It just sucks, not knowing, just waiting. The uncertainty. The doubt. I will feel better about this over time. I know in the end, Andy did me a favor by backing out now before things hurt even more between us. There are no lingering feelings of animosity or grudges, just pain and hurt of being let go.

I need to be my own person, focus on myself. Make myself be happy. I need to accept who I am. Eventually I will learn to let go.

Goodbye Andy. Thank you for giving me my first relationship experience in life. Thank you for letting me in your life and accepting me. Even if it was for 4 months; It was a good run. I have no regrets. I'm glad that I still have respect for you in the end.

#breakup #relationship #boyfriend #1st boyfriend #ex #ending #1st #emo #sad #depressed #fail

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stopforamoment · 6 years

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Duty

Duty (Part of September School Days Series but takes place after “J’envoie Valser” and “Broken”)

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three)

Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OFC Rinda Parks

Word Count: 2,142

Rating: M for Sensitive Content, Reference to Death and Loss

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this.

This takes place the first week of school, immediately after the “Broken” story when Bastien discusses the death of King Liam’s mother. I recommend catching up with “J’envoie Valser” first and then “Broken.”

Summary: Bastien remembers Queen Évelyne, the mother of King Liam.

Rinda gently released her hand from Bastien’s and put her arms around him. He just sat there, not returning her embrace, but that was okay. She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, and after a minute Bastien reached for her hand to move it to his chest and hold it over his heart while her other arm stayed around his shoulders, still comforting him. His other hand gently rested on her knee, and he kissed the top of her head. Men were supposed to be the strong ones. He was supposed to be the strong one who took care of everyone. But it didn’t work that way with Rinda. She refused to let it work that way. When she cared about someone they were a team, and team members helped each other no matter what.

She kept her head on Bastien’s shoulder and focused on his heart beat. “Bastien, everything with this weekend. The book, the maze. I’m so sorry I was a part of bringing up those memories of her.”

Bastien shook his head. “It’s okay. Everything changed after Évelyne died.” Bastien suddenly blushed, remembering that he never earned the right to call her by first name only. It only happened once, and Jackson quickly corrected me. The Queen was so gracious, so understanding. But after that, I knew she could only be Évelyne in my dreams.

“No one talks about her anymore so it was nice to remember the good memories, like her favorite book and her maze. When you found that letter it meant so much to Liam--and to me. It reminded me of how much she loved him, and I never wanted Liam to forget that.”

Bastien was lost in his thoughts, remembering Liam climbing onto Évelyne’s lab as she showered him with kisses. Leo wouldn’t climb on her lap so she would playfully chase him, catching Leo to give him the kisses that he pretended to hate. She would sing with them. Play her guitar or piano for them. She would play Debussy when the boys couldn’t sleep. “Girl with the Flaxen Hair” was their favorite. It was only two minutes long and Évelyne would patiently play it again and again, until they could sleep. But Chopin was her personal favorite and she would play his nocturnes when she was sad. Those were for her only, no one else. But she played them so often.

Queen Évelyne was always so loving, so unconstrained with her affection toward her family. Especially her husband. But only toward them. And only for him. She was warm and caring to everyone, but her faithfulness was above reproach in every way, even though the slanderous rumors still spread. The rumors meant to shame her, isolate her, and run her from court. But Évelyne was a devoted wife and mother. She would never leave her beloved husband and precious sons. Yes, she loved Leo like he was her own. Bastien was there when Évelyne promised Leo that he would never lose another mother as long as she was alive, and he remembered how Leo was affected by her death. And Liam too. Of course Liam, her Little Angel. After her death, Bastien felt responsible for Leo and Liam. After Jackson’s death, Bastien felt responsible for his children too. That’s when the weight of the world fell on Bastien’s shoulders, and he was never able to set it down. He couldn’t set it down because too many people depended on him.

. . . . .

“Bastien?” It was Rinda, squeezing his hand and making sure he was still okay.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking about her. The maze by the palace. I never thought about it as a place for people who needed to feel like they belong, but it makes sense. She was French, and not a noble woman by birth, so she never felt completely at home in Cordonia.”

Bastien pulled away so he could look at Rinda, but he kept his hand on hers. “The Queen loved children so much. She wanted every child to feel safe and loved, and she used her power as queen to advocate for education and social reforms. She would be so happy to know that Queen Riley is continuing her dream. That you are too, Rinda.”

Rinda smiled when he said that, but then her brow furrowed. “Bastien, I am amazed at how strong you are to get through everything you’ve experienced. No, Bastien. I need to say this.” Rinda saw Bastien was getting embarrassed so she gently moved away from him to grab the squish ball and hand it back to him. Then she stood up and walked to her desk, pretending to be interested in a picture on the wall. Bastien saw that she was trying to protect his privacy by not looking at him. “I know I’m restating what you already know, what you may not want to remember, but you need to hear it from another person. You saw your mentor and a woman you deeply cared for get killed. You were shot defending King Liam in a terrorist attack, and I’ve been told your rehab was . . . challenging, but you were too stubborn to let people help you. Then you helped people escape after part of the palace was bombed, and you were in the hospital from those injuries. And those are just the things I know about. I know there’s a lot more.”

She sat back down by Bastien. “No one can get through those things alone, and I . . .” Rinda stopped to gather her thoughts. “Bastien, I need to try this again.”

Bastien smiled. “Okay.” He loved to watch Rinda work through her rambles, when her emotions were so intense that she couldn’t find the right words to express them. There was so much about Rinda that she kept to herself, so when she shared her feelings about something he wanted to give her the space to say it in her own way.

“I don’t know how it is in Cordonia, but in the United States there’s still a stigma in law enforcement and the military that needing help is a weakness. They’re the ones who are supposed to be strong for others, and they can’t do that if they are weak. If their head isn’t in the right place, or if they have an injury, they’re a liability to the others who depend on them. Then there are the things that chip away at them, and they don’t want to talk about it at home because they want to protect their families. But with everything they see, everything they do, they’re the ones who need support the most.” He looked at Rinda. Yes. She understands.

“I care about you Bastien. You and Laura are the closest people to me here, and you both are always there for me and Henry. But everyone already relies on you, and you have a stressful career.” She looked into his eyes and Bastien was shocked by her intensity. “Bastien, I need to know that you have someone you can rely on when you need it. And I want you to know that you can rely on me too. I need you to know that I’ll be there for you.” Rinda stopped, embarrassed by how emotional she must sound. “I mean, if you want me to be.”

Bastien smiled and gently stroked her cheek. “I know, Rinda. And I do want that. I’m used to being the one who has to take care of everything, so it’s hard for me to let my guard down and trust someone else to be in charge. But I do trust you. There aren’t many people who even understand what my career is like. But you do, and you’ve already done a lot to help me. Thank you, Rinda. No one has talked to me like that in a long time, where I knew it was so genuine. I don’t know if I’ve really had that since Jackson died.”

Bastien took a deep breath, trying to think about what to say. How to explain how much Jackson influenced his life. “When I was a junior guard Jackson would always invite me to his house to have supper with his family. Sometimes I would babysit the kids. Jackson was my mentor, but I became a part of the family. That was a happy time in my life.

“But when the Queen was killed, there were so many other things going on. Having a queen assassinated in the palace would have been a political liability. Instability of the crown would plunge the entire country into chaos, so there was a cover up. Rumors were casually circled that the Queen was poisoned when she was outside of the castle. A Code Locusta. There was never a breach of security in the palace.” He shook his head. “That hiding place you found? That was supposed to be a panic room for the Queen. Jackson thought of it because the library was one of her favorite rooms, and I never even knew. Rinda, because of this weekend I’m finally able to figure out more of what happened that night. How it could have happened.

“And even though Jackson died a hero protecting the Queen, that story couldn’t be official. So after he died, there was a lot of pushback to force the Walker family out of the palace.” Rinda sucked in her breath but didn’t interrupt. “But I fought for them to stay. Liam fought for them to stay.”

Bastien stopped, unsure of how to continue. If he even wanted to. Rinda sensed that, but she had to know. “Bastien, is Drake . . . Jackson’s son?”

Bastien nodded. “I tried to be there for them as much as I could, but I was promoted and had more responsibilities. I couldn’t be there for them as much as I should have. Drake and Savannah were like a nephew and niece to me. Especially Drake. After everything Jackson did for me they were my family, but it was so hard for their mother to deal with the cover up, and she wanted to move back to America with the children. But Drake and Savannah wanted to stay in Cordonia, and ultimately she thought they would have better opportunities staying in Cordonia at the palace than they would if they moved back to her ranch in America. So . . . she left them. I shouldn’t judge her because I did see how badly she was hurting. But she left them.” Évelyne never left her children. Until she was killed, and that was partly my fault. I’m so sorry, Évelyne. I failed you. “And I couldn’t be there for them either.” I’m so sorry Jackson. I’ve failed you too.

He shook his head, speaking more to himself than to Rinda, fearful that his words would hurt her. “No child should grow up without a father or without someone who can be a father figure for them.”

There was a long silence. Bastien looked up at Rinda, afraid to see her reaction. But she was just looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Rinda, I didn’t know what kind of support system you’d have in Cordonia, and I wasn’t sure if Henry had anyone else he could talk to about losing his dad like that. I thought it might be good for Henry to get to know Drake. Maybe they could talk about things once they get to know each other better.”

Rinda looked down quickly and bit her upper lip. She took a few deep breaths and nodded her head several times, processing, not able to speak. How can I even begin to express to Bastien how much this means to me?

She finally looked up at Bastien, eyes shining. She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thank you for thinking of Henry like that. There are things I know he doesn’t tell me because he’s too afraid of hurting me. He wants to protect me, but I’m his mother. I’m the one who should be protecting him.”

Rinda’s voice was shaking. “Bastien, having you think about Drake and how he might be able to help Henry in that way. Introducing all of us. Helping Henry connect with Drake this weekend. You are always helping me, and I am so grateful. But you also do so much for Henry.” Please let him understand something that’s impossible to put into words. “As a mother, seeing someone who helps Henry. Helps my son. That means everything to me. Everything you do means . . . everything.” Rinda looked down, defeated. I don’t have the words.

Bastien gently tilted her chin up, compelling Rinda to look into his eyes.

I didn’t need the words. He knows.

#bastien lykel #choices trr #ofc rinda parks #long post

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izaswritings · 6 years

Text

Title: Dreaming of Flowers

Fandom: D.Gray-man

Summary: In which Alma Karma is recovered not by Central, but by a young Bak Chang determined to save the boy whose life his parents destroyed.

AO3 version is here.

Chapter One is here.

Chapter Two is here.

Chapter Three is here.

Chapter Four is here.

Notes: Woo, an update!! I’m really excited to share this chapter with you all—these next few chapters, starting here, mark a big turning point for Alma. I’m so excited to finally start writing it, and I hope you all enjoy!! Thank you as always for your views, kudos, and lovely comments. They never fail to make my day.

Warnings for a detailed description of scars/trauma, traumatic flashbacks/panic attacks, and Alma’s usual brand of murderous intent.

Chapter Five: After the Storm

In the aftermath of Central’s investigation and Lvellier’s departure, things finally begin to settle. As if, after that first week of strife, Central’s leave-taking marks the start of a new period— finally healing now that the worst of the damage has been contained. It does not make their wounds ache any less, or the grief any better, but it does mean they can breathe a bit easier, now that Lvellier’s presence at the base is gone, like a sigh of relief echoing in his wake.

Time, no longer a danger, seems to flow normally again. No longer does Bak count the days and hours like a man gone mad, tracking Alma’s wavering hold on life or the time between CROW’s shifts and Fo’s speed. No longer does he count the days until he can rest. The restful days are here, and Bak can finally breathe easy—for now, at least.

Lvellier will be back. Bak is certain of it. The man’s parting words had not been a goodbye, after all—they had been a warning.

Still, the rest, limited though it is bound to be, is sorely needed. Bak finds his days settling into a pattern. His mornings and middays are spent slowly but surely rebuilding the morale and stability of the Branch, restarting projects and continuing tasks that had been stalled by the tragedy. He hires new help to replace the missing, fills the power vacuums in the research and science divisions and sends those too distraught to focus home for some much-needed vacation. Some leave for good. Some don’t.

In the afternoons and evenings, Bak visits Alma. Wong sees to the boy the most, being the primary caretaker for Alma’s injuries, but though it hurts to see Alma, Bak cannot ignore him. People say the pull of grief lessened with time, but Bak isn’t convinced. Nearly a month has passed, but the pain has not, sinking in and settling instead of fading, like a blood stain. Grief is a constant needle-prick, an eternal pull, and just because he’s learned to live with it doesn’t make it any easier. But Bak’s grief is not Alma’s fault, and neither is his guilt—and so even though it aches every time he looks the boy in the face, Bak keeps going, day after day, like clockwork.

Alma, for his part, remains mostly confined to the ruins. His wounds, numerous and deep, take twice as long to heal any other humans' would—but they heal, mending slowly but surely. Alma, on the other hand, goes from quiet and still to almost sullen, resentment and exhaustion always weighing on his shoulders. He talks more, but his voice is either emotionless or bitter or furious, with no in-between. It has been three weeks since the incident, but he has asked for nothing from them.

Bak worries about that, but there isn’t much he can do about it at this moment. He is still doing damage control for Alma’s existence, waiting for the memories of the strange boy who’d appeared during the massacre, injured and screaming, to fade from the minds of his doctors and surgeons, with a little help from time and old magic. And, he suspects, the Order’s memory drug, though he is not brave enough to ask Fo directly.

Underhanded it may be, but Bak will take no chances. Lvellier is cunning, for all his pride. He had not questioned the doctors and nurses then, because they were little more important than finders, and as such expendable and invisible to his eyes. But once the man realizes that Alma’s body is not among the dead, that will soon change. Bak does not intend to be blindsided.

Until then, Alma will have to stay to the ruins. He is hidden from prying eyes, and the remote area is reachable only to those Fo gives access to. It is the safest place to be, right now, and at this point in time that is all Bak can hope for.

Of course, most of Bak’s visits with Alma end in awkward silence. How could they not? But Bak hopes—hopes with every fiber of his being—that maybe the visits are doing some good. That maybe Alma understands Bak’s promise wasn’t a lie, or looks forward to his company.

At times visiting Alma is harder than all of his Branch Chief duties combined. But as Bak walks down the halls towards the ruins where Alma lies hidden, he can’t help but think that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

For all of the difficulties, it is worth it. At least with Alma, Bak can rest assured that is he doing something good.

When he reaches the heavy stone door hiding Alma from view, Bak stops and takes a fortifying breath. The first few times he’d come here, hives had broken all out over his skin. Now it is only nerves that twist his stomach, his skin clear, hands steady. Every day it becomes a little easier to look Alma in the eye.

He knocks on the stone door, the rough material scratching at his bare knuckles, because it is polite and he wants to give Alma some warning before he enters. Then he takes another deep breath and pushes open the door, striding inside.

He doesn’t look at Alma, instead busying himself with pushing the door back in place. Only when the door is shut, and Bak’s clothes brushed free of any dust he could have picked up on the way over, does Bak turn to meet Alma’s eye.

“Hello, Alma,” he says, remarkably calm. Movement on the other side of the room draws his eye; Wong is sorting supplies into a cabinet. Bak had been wondering where he was. “Wong. How are you today?”

Alma remains silent, as usual. He almost never responds to Bak’s questions. Wong merely shakes his head.

“His wounds are healing well, if slowly,” he says simply. “I believe we will be able to remove young Alma’s bandages for good tomorrow, in fact,” Wong adds, smiling down at Alma. The boy looks studiously at the sheets, one hand tightening in the fabric. “After that, I think we can begin rehab.”

“Really?” Bak says, startled but delighted at the news, and this time the smile he gives Alma is small but genuine. Alma’s slow healing has worried at him for some time, and the progress is heartening. “That’s great!”

Alma’s shoulders rise up to his ears, and he turns away, saying nothing.

This time Bak doesn’t let Alma’s lack of enthusiasm bother him, even if the lackluster reaction is… less heartening to see. He pulls up a chair and settles down slowly, hands braced on his knees. “Once we remove the bandages,” he tells Alma calmly, hoping this news will comfort him, “you’ll be able to move around again very soon.”

The longer Alma doesn’t react, the more worried Bak becomes. “I… I think, after that, you won’t have to stay here anymore. The ruins, I mean. That is, if you want…?”

For a moment he thinks Alma will ignore this, too, just as he has all other attempts at conversation, but at this the boy pauses, sucking in a tiny breath and finally turning his head to look at Bak.

“I,” he says finally, haltingly. “I… I can leave soon?”

Bak exchanges a look with Wong. “Yes,” he hedges. “It’s taken awhile, because your injuries were so severe, but your recovery has been… steadily improving.”

“Improving,” Alma repeats, and his bandaged hand lifts to gently touch at his stump.

“Yes,” says Bak, but he’s looking at Alma’s missing arm too, brow furrowed in thought, mind whirling. He hadn’t really dared to think about it, too caught up in Branch politics and making sure Alma was safely hidden from the Order, but now that things are calm…

He bites his lip, unsure, but before he can give voice to his suggestion Alma looks up and meets his eyes head on.

“So you mean, since I’m improving,” he says, voice suddenly so much stronger and yet strangely stripped of emotion, “that means I can leave soon?”

Bak straightens. “The room? Yes. I… I don’t see why not. You might have to stay in the medical ward for a bit, but after that—yes, of course.”

Alma nods over his blankets. “Okay,” he says. He sighs, tension bleeding from his small body, shoulders slumping. He looks relieved. It makes something in Bak twist with guilt, to see that heartbreaking relief in the boy’s drawn face. “Okay.”

“Soon,” Bak promises, stronger now, surer now. The look on Alma’s face, the quiet plea in his voice, has soothed over his worries. He’ll get the boy out of the room as soon as his bandages are removed, and not a week later. “You’ll be able to leave very soon. I promise.”

Alma smiles at his bandaged hands, head bowed and his remaining hair hanging in his face. Bak cannot see his eyes.

“Okay,” says Alma.

He is running.

Alma is running, bare feet slapping tile and a winter coat flapping at his heels. The hallway is long, endless, cold as ice. Yuu is front of him, his jacket billowing around him like a cape, inky hair fluttering in a breeze of his own making as he sprints down the halls.

“Yuu!”

Yuu laughs, short and mean, small face turned briefly in Alma’s direction. His eyes are clear and curved in laughter. His smile is all teeth, childish joy clashing with mischievous malice. The halls stretch on before them, endless, dark with uncertainty.

“Yuu, wait!”

“Idiot, it’s not my fault you’re slow!” Yet Yuu is already stopping, feet slipping on the tile, hands pinwheeling to keep him steady. He looks back at Alma, watching him, his shorn dark hair fluttering around his face.

Alma just laughs, breaths panting, trying to catch up. He is almost to Yuu’s side when Yuu suddenly turns away.

“Yuu?”

Yuu isn’t looking at him. He is staring off down the endless hall, peering into the darkness with clear blue eyes. His brow furrows, and his mouth draws down into a frown. Some nameless emotion flickers across his face, and then Yuu is running again, faster than before, flying down the hall like there are hounds at his heels.

“Yuu!” Alma cries, and reaches for him, but all of a sudden, his steps are slow and Yuu is so far away, and his fingers close on empty air. He tries to run after him but cannot keep up, cannot gain ground—the floor like ice beneath his feet, slippery and cold, and no matter how hard he tries Yuu is just so far away.

“Yuu, come back!” Alma calls, but this time Yuu doesn’t hear him, and he runs and runs until the darkness of the hall swallows him whole, devours him in an instant, not even the reassuring thuds of his footsteps left behind.

“Yuu, wait!” Alma pleads, terrified at his absence. “Yuu, I can’t keep up! Where are you?”

There is no response. “Yuu, I think I’m lost. Where are you? Are you here? …Yuu?”

There is no answer. There is no sound. Only silence, and Alma, alone. He is walking an empty hallway. The walls are taller now, taller than anything he’s ever known, the blank and unfeeling stone rising ceaselessly, endlessly. There is no ceiling but there is no sky, either; just the dark. Still, he knows, somehow—that same unfeeling stone sits above his head. There is no fabled blue here, no clouds or wind or sky. Just stone, and ice, and Alma.

“…Yuu, this isn’t funny. Please come back. Please come back. I don’t want to be here alone! Please, Yuu…”

His voice is dying, withering his throat, too quiet for anyone to hear. But there is no one to hear. There is no one else.

Alma walks, and walks, and walks. No one comes. No one is there. Not the scientists or Doctor Edgar or Yuu. He tries to call out again but his voice is silenced. He tries to speak but no sound comes. Even his footsteps have been hushed, his bare heels slamming without sound on the brittle ice.

Yuu, he tries to call. Yuu, where are you?

He walks. The walls have no end. There are no doors. There is no sky. No Yuu. No scientists.

No one.

Just Alma.

He walks on forever into the gloom, but no matter how long he searches, no one ever comes.

There are one hundred and forty-seven cracks in the ceiling.

Alma knows this the way he knows that there are thirty-six bricks that make up the wall his bed is pushed against, forty-nine bricks on the opposing walls, and another twenty-one bricks building up the last wall, excluding the door. He knows because in the past three weeks he’s been awake and aware, he’s had almost nothing to do but count them.

Granted, most of his time is spent asleep—Alma sleeps all the time now, for hours and hours on end. In the beginning, he could barely stay awake for longer than two hours at a time; by now he can stay awake for almost six, but those six hours are so boring he prefers to sleep instead, no matter how disturbing his dreams are.

Recovery, Alma is quickly discovering, is awfully slow.

Today, alas, is no different.

Alma is roused from slumber by Wong, who is normally the one who wakes him these days, to change his bandages. As usual, Wong greets his awakening with a warm smile.

Alma fights against the instinctual urge to smile back, irritated by the reflex, and turns his head away. This does not deter Wong. It has never deterred Wong. Another annoyance.

Well-used to this routine, Alma pushes himself up upright with his one remaining arm. It takes him a bit to regain his bearings, his body wavering in the air from the imbalance, but Alma rights himself quickly. The bandages across his chest pull at the motion, but there is no pain—there hasn’t been pain for quite a few times now, if Alma remembers right.

As if aware of Alma’s thoughts, Wong turns to smile at him from where he is fussing with the medicine tray. “Things will be a bit different today,” he informs Alma brightly, and Alma cannot quite help the brief strike of fear at those words before he hears what Wong says next.

“Your bandages are coming off!”

Alma blinks at him, so startled he forgets to be unfriendly. “Off?” he repeats, voice squeaking high in his surprise. He’s forgotten that was to be today; in truth he’s been trying hard not to think about it. In all the time he’s been aware, he has yet to have his bandages removed fully, nor been able to see what’s beneath without wanting to cry.

Wong looks delighted at the simple response, and Alma’s cheeks flush. He ducks his head, biting his lip between his teeth to starve of further outbursts. He can physically feel his cheeks burn red.

“Yes,” Wong confirms warmly, and lifts up a new item from the tray, a handheld mirror with a clean surface and carved wood handle. “I couldn’t fit a large one through the ruins, but I hope this will suffice. Master Bak brought it my attention that we have yet to give you a mirror—I apologize for the oversight.” He hesitates, then offers the mirror to Alma, his face suddenly stoic and uncertain. “Ah… would you like to see?”

Alma stares at the mirror, fear coiling in his gut. His throat is tight. All this time, it hasn’t occurred to him that… well, he looks different now. Another side-effect of the no healing thing.

Hesitant, his remaining hand shaking from either strain or nerves, Alma reaches for the mirror and slowly brings it up to his face. He turns the handle in his hand awkwardly, still not used to having only one arm, until the reflective face is within sight.

For a moment, he cannot even recognize himself.

When the image finally clicks, Alma’s first thought is, bizarrely, Good thing it wasn’t Yuu who got cut up,if only because Yuu has always been a little vain, and he’d have hated looking like this. But all that does is remind him that—that these scars, it was Yuu who put them there, and then any humor in the thought is lost.

At second glance, he doesn’t look that different, just… off. His hair has been cut short, near shaved, probably to avoid getting stuck in his wounds. Most of his face is okay, at least half of it, but the other half of his face—the side with the bandaged eye—is less so. Even with all the bandages, he can see the ends of long, straight, slashing scars cutting down his skin, tapering off at his chin and reaching up into his hairline. There’s even one particularly nasty cut right across his lips, the wound raw and red but sealed shut. The line he’s always had across his nose is still there, and remarkably unaffected, but even that, he suspects, is now bisected by a few trailing cuts, judging from how the left half is hidden beneath the white bandages.

The sight makes his toes curl. If his face is this badly off—even if it’s only half—just what about the rest of him?

Yuu had cut at him over and over and over. That sharp sword had fallen on Alma’s head for what felt like ages, the tip scouring Alma’s face and digging ruthlessly into his body. Alma has the sudden notion that question is not, what parts of me are scarred, but rather, is there any part of me that isn’t.

Silent, he watches without reaction as Wong carefully takes away the bandages, peeling them back layer by layer. His eye is gone, as he suspected, a mess of ruined and torn flesh that will never probably heal. His shoulders and chest are similarly scarred—his right side, with his missing arm, is colored pale and wrinkled, with those veiny scars running across the right side of his chest and crawling up his neck like tree roots, from the Innocence. His left side is no better—it is a mess of straight, clean cuts, vertical scars running all the way down his torso. Even his remaining arm has not escaped unscathed—the same slit marks dot up and down the arm, fewer but no less deep than any of the others. His back, and only his back, is the only part of him left mostly untouched.

His remaining right leg is the most intact of his limbs, with only one long cut running diagonally across his leg. His left leg, on the other hand… that bears no mention. It is gone above the knee, the worst-off of his limbs beside his arm. He missing an eye, an arm, and a leg in full—and missing pieces everywhere else.

The whole time his bandages are being removed, Alma stays still and silent but for the slight tilting of his mirror to get a better glimpse of the damage. He sees every scar in full, every red-inflamed still healing slash in its entirety. Only the ends of his missing arm and leg are left bandaged, the amputated limbs still healing. The rest of him is bared free for him to see.

All those scars. All that damage.

Alma looks them full in the face, unflinching, and only when the last bandage—the very last, the final, revealing one last cutting mark—only then does Alma place the mirror down.

He sits still and tall on the bed, swathed in the starch white blankets, back stiff and tall as if someone has attached a string to his spine and pulled him straight, pulled him upright, refusing even a second of weakness.

He stays that way for only a moment before he buckles, shoulders falling, back bowing, his scarred visage crumbling like a broken doll’s.

Alma leans over the bed and vomits bile on the cold stone floors, but no matter how much he tries, no matter how much he expels, until he left crying and dry-heaving over the dirty floors, he cannot rid himself of the awful sickness swirling in his gut.

Bak is slowly starting to like his new office; this is regrettable for many reasons, mainly that despite this, he is still unable to enter without wanting to flinch or cry, respectively, some days worse than others. But he does like it, even with all the bad memories.

It’s the screens, Bak decides, arms resting on the oak table as he scans the numerous feeds above him. Being able to see the whole of the Branch in one room does wonders for his nerves, and it helps to know where everyone is. It’s also rather nice and comforting in what he can’t see. Alma is no-where in the feed, which means no golem has found him or even bothered to float down into the ruins, ergo no slimy Central spy (Lvellier, first and foremost, though from his mother’s complaints Bak suspects there are numerous slimy spy types in Central) can possibly find him.

A strange comfort, to be sure. But still a comfort nonetheless, and Bak will take whatever comfort he can get, thank-you-very-much.

The office is also nice for another reason—the seclusion. It is dark, and safe, and very secretive, which makes it much easier to have compromising conversations in it. Like this one, for example.

“We need to talk about Alma.”

Fo doesn’t look impressed with this statement, but whether it’s the subject or because of the way Bak presents it—feet on the desk, fingers steepled together, swirling to face her in his chair like a theater villain—Bak isn’t quite sure. Might be both, really.

“Stupid Bak,” is all she says. The three weeks of no Central have done wonders for Fo, which includes but is not limited to the return of her normal humor. “What else is there to discuss? Haven’t we already talked about everything?”

Bak raises one finger. It must be suitably dramatic, because Fo’s face pinches with irritation at the sight. “Not,” he says delicately, “about this. Not yet, anyway, which is why we’re having this conversation here, right now.”

Fo clicks her tongue, but she settles in the chair regardless. She does put her feet up on his desk, though, with a slam that makes Bak draw away on instinct and lose the nice ‘leader-pose’ he had going. He scowls at her. She smiles back, all teeth.

“Well, stupid Bak? Spit it out.”

He sighs at her, but lets it go. “Alma,” he says again, and when Fo nods at him, all attitude, yes, I know already let’s hurry it up here, adds, “We need to talk about how to move him into the base.”

The legs of Fo’s chair hit the ground with a thump. Her hands fall away from where she’d hooked them behind her head, and even her feet slide away from the table. She is wide-eyed with surprise, unease rising and then fading from her face almost faster than Bak can blink. “Come again?”

“We need to talk about how Alma will join the base,” Bak repeats, patiently, trying to hide his own unease at her reaction. He knew she’d have some arguments against it, but he hadn’t been expecting… well, that.

He pushes on, regardless. “Cover story, role, background…” Her continued silence makes him falter—this is Fo, and he knows Fo, but Bak is still new to leadership and it makes his voice taper off, waver with uncertainty. “Its… I thought about him going to one of the outside villages, but it’s not safe there. And he’s my responsibility, and the Asia Branch is the most protected place in China from akuma… So…”

“So, you think he should stay,” Fo says, voice blank.

Bak sighs. “I know he probably doesn’t want to,” he admits, voice falling quiet, his own humor fading. “But I don’t…” he scowls down at his desk, furious and uncertain and frustrated in equal measure. “Fo, where else could he go?”

Fo opens her mouth, pauses, and then presses her lips together tightly, looking irritated again. She sinks down in her chair like a limp doll, boneless and sagging in place. “I hate it when you’re right, stupid Bak.”

Bak gives her a thin smile in return. “I know. But, well. Ideas?”

Fo leans forward, chin pillowed in her unnatural hands, eyes distant in thought. “Hmm… researcher?”

Bak bites his lip, grimacing at the thought. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

Fo’s brows furrow, and then her eyes close with a heavy sigh. “No,” she agrees sadly. She draws back and rubs a hand over her face. “Ugh, this is hard.”

“Yep.”

“Hmph. Assistant?”

Bak blinks, surprised. “To who?”

“To you, stupid Bak.”

“Wong is already the Branch Chief Assistant, and I don’t think—”

Fo waves a hand, scoffing. “No, not like that! Alma’s like, mentally ten; that wouldn’t work at all. I mean like… an actual assistant. Let the kid file paperwork, pass along messages, stuff like that.”

Bak considers it. It’s not a bad idea, all things considered—it’d keep Alma as a part of the base, while simultaneously keeping him mostly off-record and away from anything that might upset him, namely experiments and scientists. Plus, if Central ever comes again, later down the road, Bak would have a perfectly good handful of excuses and meaningless tasks to keep Alma busy and far away from them.

It’s a great idea, except for one glaring flaw.

“He’s not well enough yet,” Bak says finally. “His wounds are still healing, and he’s lost… his arm, leg, left eye… Those kinds of wounds take time to get used to. Especially if we want him to go running around the base on a daily basis.” He rubs a hand over his face. “He needs prosthetics.”

“If he wants them,” Fo points out. “A wheelchair is also an option.”

“With just one arm? He’ll need a prosthetic anyway, or have someone push him around every moment of the day.” And Bak may not know Alma very well, but he knows enough to suspect that Alma would despise that. “We’ll still ask, of course, it’s his choice, but…”

Fo must agree, judging by her grimace. “Okay, prosthetics. So what’s the problem, stupid Bak? We’re in the most developed research branch of the Order. There’s more scientists and researchers here than anywhere else.”

The question makes Bak smile, for some reason; it’s not often that Fo shows her lack of understanding about humans. “Prosthetics need to be fitted,” he tells her, trying to hide his amusement. “It’s not a one-size-fits-all deal.”

Fo wrinkles her nose, looking irritated. “Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, stupid Bak, what the hell are you going to tell them?”

He winces, rubbing a hand over his face. “I… was hoping you had some ideas.”

“Oh, hell,” says Fo. “What about Wong? He’s way better at this stuff—”

“Well, he said to ask you.”

“What the fuck!” Fo shouts, and jumps to her feet to pace around the room. “Ahhh, that asshole, pushing this on me…”

Bak watches her, trying not to smile. “Well, you have been in the Branch the longest. You know what is and isn’t, well… normal. For lack of a better word.”

“Tsk, you think I actually pay attention to what shit you humans get up to here? Unless it’s something big—” She stops, breath hitching. The pause that settles over them is heavy, the massacre and the project hanging over them like a shroud. Fo swallows, her smile gone, her fire dying.

“A test,” she says finally, voice dull. “Or— a project? I don’t know all that science lingo. But you have a lot of new members, right? Lots of new people and new promotions. Tell them Alma is… a test, of sorts. Designing his prosthetics, or a wheelchair for him, tell them it’s, its…. Team-Building Exercise, I don’t know. Exorcists lose limbs all the time, after all… some even survive it. Say it’s the first step to a project like that.”

Bak considers it, trying gamely to ignore her slip. “That… could work,” he starts, slowly. “But how do we explain his presence? Or, his background? And his wounds…”

“How else?” Fo snaps, sounding annoyed. “Stupid Bak! You’re overthinking this. They aren’t going to assume the worst about him, just the obvious.”

He blinks at her, mind whirling. “You mean… Akuma attack?”

Fo waves a hand at him, as if to say, see?

“But why is he here? And why now? And—”

“We don’t have to tell them that,” Fo says blandly. “At least, not right now, and… I don’t think we can decide that without Alma, either, since he’ll have to remember it all. Tell ‘em he’s been traumatized, leave him be, and figure it out later.”

“You don’t think they’ll ask anyway?”

“In this place?” Fo asks, quietly. “Would you?”

He presses his lips together in thought, then sighs and dips his head in a nod, her point made. If there is one thing members of the Order understand, its loss. “…Okay. Okay, this could work. But—”

“Seriously, stupid Bak, if you’re overthinking this again—”

“What are we going to call him?”

Fo stops.

“Alma… he can’t use his name anymore. He just can’t. It’s too much of an indicator. So, if we bring this team in to design his prosthetics, assuming Alma even wants them… and, even if he doesn’t… what are we going to call him?”

Fo looks at him. Her foot taps restlessly on the ground, eyes distant. “Something similar,” she says, finally. “They’ll only need a first name for now; that’s all we’ll give ‘em. Privacy rights or something like that. But for his fake name… something similar.”

Bak bites his lip. He wants to argue, say this is too risky, but he doesn’t have the heart to change Alma’s name completely, make it unrecognizable. Besides, it’ll be easier for him to remember, most likely.

“Alan, Aldo, uh… Alistair? Allen?” Bak is so bad with English names. “Al…ly?”

Fo snorts at the look on his face. “Ask him,” she advises. “Even if he’s forced to pick, at least it’ll be one he chose.”

It’s good advice. Bak relaxes, relieved; making a mental note to ask Wong later for help with picking other Al- names. Maybe there’s a Chinese one, though none comes to mind at the moment.

For the first time, Bak finally feels like things are coming together. That he has a plan, now, and one that might actually work. The past few weeks of peace has been kind, yes, but it’s been a bit like living in stasis—suspended in time, immobile, neither moving back nor moving forward. Just… stuck. This—this plan, this idea, this new name—it feels like Bak is finally moving forward with his promise, and he hopes that Alma will view it the same way.

Things still aren’t better, not really. Bak thinks they won’t be better for a long time. But this feels like the first step, perhaps, in a better direction. Towards a brighter future. One where Alma can live in peace, protected and maybe even happy, hidden from Central and allowed to live as he pleases.

Maybe it’s too optimistic, too soon. But hope, Bak thinks, can never be a bad thing.

“That works,” he says, an honest and real smile on his face. He feels relieved. For all that Fo had argued against Wong suggesting her for advice, she really does have some good ideas. She’s not just a fighter, after all—she’s a watcher. She knows more than even Bak can guess.

“Thank you, Fo,” he says, pathetically grateful. “This helps so much.”

Red blooms across Fo’s cheeks, and her head ducks down as she scuffs her foot across the ground. “Whatever,” she says, but her voice is higher-pitched than normal. “Just… do me a favor?”

Bak blinks. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

Fo looks uncomfortable. “Well, see… there’s this one guy, this one scientist—if you can, can you add him to the team to design Alma’s prosthetics? He’s crazy smart, but mostly… don’t ask me why I’m sure, but he’s kind. I think… it would do him good to meet Alma. And Alma, to meet him. He’s dumb, but he makes people laugh.”

Bak muses on this, but nods. “Sure,” he says easily, trying to push back against the prick of discomfort at the idea of others knowing about Alma. After weeks of spending every waking moment panicked about possible discovery, the idea is something he still needs to adjust to. “Who is it?”

“You just promoted him, I think,” Fo says. “Maybe you know him? His name is Komui Lee.”

Change is coming.

Alma is not sure how he knows this, only knows that it is. It’s something in the air, and itch in his skin, that tells him that something is coming. It’s the same feeling that drove him to spy on the doctors the day Yuu collapsed, the same feeling that led him to the Innocence.

It’s only a week after Wong has removed most of the bandages, and while nothing is all that different, Alma suspects it will not last. There is… something. Anticipation, maybe? That makes his heart race and his palms sweat, makes his skin itch and stomach roll. Bak and Wong and even Fo, they’re preparing for something, distracted when they enter his room, when they speak. Even though nothing really changes, and Alma doesn’t really speak, they look nervous, uncertain, more distracted than usual. Of all of them, Bak is the worst—his chatter trails off and his visits run shorter. One day, he doesn’t come at all.

It’s terrifying.

Alma doesn’t know these people, not truly, and even if he did it wouldn’t really help. They wear the same white coats, the same gentle smiles, the same faces, even, when it comes to Bak Chang. The only difference is in action, but Alma held little hope for that lasting, considering what happened last time. This change in the air—this mystery— their silence, and distraction… the very idea of it terrifies him. He can barely sleep. All he can think is that Fo lied, Bak lied, they all lied, and hell never really went away after all.

They can say whatever they like, but Alma knows better now. He knows better than to believe them, no matter how kind their words, or how carefully they smile. Alma is mending, his wounds scarring shut and his mind pulling itself back together. He can sit up without help now, can stay awake for nearly a full day where once he could barely keep his eyes open for an hour. He is mending, and so their kindness will fall away like the mask it always was, and Alma will once more be cast into hell. The experiments, the torture, and the pain.

He’s not surprised, not exactly; he’s expected this to happen from the moment he woke up here instead of dying. Mostly he’s just angry. Hateful.

…Terrified.

Each day Bak walks in, Alma waits with bated breath, heart pounding. Each day he leaves, and nothing happens, Alma finally relaxes. The fear never fades but it varies, still, is strongest when Bak is there, because Alma knows that whatever Bak decides will change Alma’s remaining life forever.

He knows when Bak is due to visit him, and just like every time before, when Bak arrives, Alma freezes. He’s not sure what about Bak irritates him so much, angers him so greatly. Maybe it is the look on Bak’s face, the gleam of his eye. Maybe it is the smile on his face.

He looks so much like Doctor Edgar that for a moment Alma is blinded by his hatred, so angry he doesn’t even hear what Bak is saying, his hearing a mess of white noise and a steady pounding, right up until Bak says, “Is that okay?”

Alma stares at him, uncomprehending and a little thrown; he does not think he has ever heard those words before, at least not directed at him. No one has ever asked Alma if he was okay with something, or least never asked the question about anything important.

“What?”

Bak doesn’t look irritated at his confusion, merely gives a patient sort of smile and repeats, “Is that okay?”

Alma feels stupid and suddenly ashamed for not listening, and then angry all over again, because he hates feeling stupid. “What did you say?”

“Ah,” says Bak, realization on his face, and before Alma can muster the energy to be upset about that too, continues, “I was saying that we—ah, that is, Fo, Wong, and I—we were thinking of moving you out of the room soon. Out into the… Main Branch. Sometime later this week, if all goes well, but to do that we need to give you an alias.”

Alma blinks. “Alias?”

Bak frowns in thought. “A… fake name, if you will.” His gaze settles on Alma, calm and almost pitying. “I wish we didn’t have to, but your name is… known by Central, even if your face isn’t. So. A new name.”

Alma stares. “A… new name.”

“You don’t have to pick a full one now!” Bak assures, hands half-rising from his knees in assurance. “Just a first name. I… we thought it would help if the first two letter remained the same, Al-, to make it easier, but you can take any name you choose.”

Alma ducks his head. “Al- names are fine,” he mutters. “Pick whichever you want.”

“It’s your choice,” Bak pushes. “I—I made a list, if you’d like to look and pick, but there is no need to—”

“What names are on the list?”

Bak pauses, startled into silence. “Ah, um. Alistair, Algor, Allen, Aly—”

“Aly’s fine.”

Bak hesitates again. “Are you sure? There are—there are many other names, if you’d like to...”

“Aly’s fine,” Alma repeats, trying to sound sharp, but he just sounds tired, instead. He brings up his one good arm to lay across his face, hiding his expression from view. The fact it hides him from Bak too is merely circumstantial.

Bak is silent for a long while. “Aly it is then,” he says at last, gentle. “That’s all we need for now. The rest of your story… we have time for that. People here… they know not to ask about the past. You’ll be fine for a while, as they get to know you.” He hesitates again. “Alma…”

Bak trials off, goes quiet. When the silence stretches on too long for his liking, Alma takes a fortifying breath and says, voice only a little strangled, “What is it?”

Bak doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then he sighs, slow and careful. “Alma,” he repeats. “Would you… would you like some prosthetics?”

He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to ask, except—

“Prosthetics?”

“They are—they are artificial uh, devices? They’re built to replace lost body parts, like your… arm and leg. Or eye, even! We could—we could build you an arm. A leg. It wouldn’t be the same as the real thing, of course, but it would give you more mobility if—”

“Okay,” Alma says, and Bak falls abruptly silent, sucking in a breath and whatever else he meant to say, fingers tightening on his coat.

“Right,” he says. “I’ll get on that, then.” His hands tighten again, then relax, and Bak stands from the chair, the legs scraping back against the stone with a soft screech. He’s messing with a nearby side table, and after a moment he pulls out a silver pen, triumphantly holding to above his head, reaching for some paper with the other. “I’ll need some time to—”

But Alma isn’t listening anymore. The moment Bak stands, hand held high above his head, aboveAlma’s head, the little silver pen gleaming in the light, in the corner of Alma’s eye, Alma’s thoughts stutter and halt, the planet stilling. It’s as if the world has gone blank and hazy, reality warping before his eyes. Like standing in a room and spinning until you can’t stand, limbs weak and head aching, and no matter how hard you try everything is still changing around you, distorting before your dizzy eyes. The lights are dimmed, the walls far away and too close in equal measure, and for a moment the cloth bedsheets against his back almost feel like stone—

His mind is filled with white noise, his vision blurring and ears ringing. Alma cannot breathe. He is drowning, drowning all over again, the world dark and cold and lonely, his back against stone and blood in his lungs, limbs burning, and the only thing he can hear is Yuu crying and the wet thuds as Yuu’s pretty silver sword, now turned ugly red, digs again and again into his chest, and then nothing, nothing, because Yuu is gone, Yuu left him there—

“Alma? Alma!”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, a familiar voice ringing in his ears— “You’re so young,” this voice whispers, a hand brushing his cheek, “Oh God, look at you, you’re so young,”—and Alma curls in on himself to escape that hand, to escape that lying voice, crying; near screaming, wanting nothing more than to get away.

I can’t breathe.

“Alma, please—”

“Stupid Bak, what did you do—”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, he just—”

And then a new voice, soft and gentle, low and rhythmic, closer than the others and calm where they are frantic, says, “Young man, can you hear me? I am here with you. Can you hear me? Alma? Alma, listen to what I say.”

In Alma’s ears he can hear the ringing of white noise, the pounding of his heartbeat and footsteps, the dull thud of a sharp sword hitting flesh, the scrape of his Innocence along the floor, the crack in Yuu’s voice as he says—

But this voice, calm and controlled, mingles with the others, breaks through the noise. “Breathe in,” this voice is saying. “Breathe out. Breathe in.”

But I can’t breathe.

“Yes, you can. Deep breaths, Alma.” Something cold presses against his hand, wet and dewy against his clammy palm. “Alma, you are holding a cup of water. You are in the Asia Branch with me, Master Bak, and Miss Fo. You are here, safe, in this room.”

The voice is wrong, he must be, Alma is in— he is in— he is in a dark room—but there is light in his eyes, and the glass is cold against his hand, icy on his skin, solid and real, and why is there? It wasn’t there before, he knows this, it was—

“Alma. With me. Breathe in. Slow inhale, and exhale.”

It’s so hard to breathe.

“I know. It always is. But you can do it. Breathe in.”

Yuu—

“Breathe out.”

Alma is drowning. Alma’s lungs are filled with blood and bone and ash, and Yuu is gone, the shining silver sword gone with him, and there is stone under his back—

Except no, that’s wrong. Stiff cotton sheets, and lit stone walls instead of empty corridors. No screaming, no crying, no flash of that shining sword—just white coats, a cold-water glass, and a calm voice, Wong’s voice, saying “Breathe in, young man, breathe in.”

Alma opens his mouth and breathes.

He sucks in air as though he is starving, as if he hasn’t breathed in years. It’s too quick, too uncontrolled, and he gasps as if he truly was drowning, chokes and coughs and tries to keep from sobbing. He pulls his hand around himself, a makeshift hug, his fingers clenched white-knuckled on the glass of water, and turns his eyes to the sheets so he doesn’t have to look at them.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the world, since everything went—back—and it terrifies him, because Wong and Fo are here when they weren’t before and for a moment Alma thought—Alma truly thought—

“What,” Alma whispers, because he has felt that before, he knows he has, back when remembering a life that is no longer his, but those were memories of long ago and so it made sense to remember them, but this—but this—

“Flashbacks,” Wong says. His voice is as calm and controlled as ever, but there is a sheen of sweat on his brow and a nervous tremble in his fingers. “They are—a usual symptom, after… traumatic experience.” A pause.

“Human,” Bak says suddenly. Alma looks at him. Bak is standing stiff and still near the door, looking the most rattled that Alma has ever seen him. His hands are twisting around again and again, and there are strange splotchy patches on his face, white and red and sickly-looking. Bak looks dizzy, leaning against the doorway like his knees are weak, and the sudden loss of control startles Alma more than he can name. In this moment Bak doesn’t look like Chief Twi or Doctor Edgar. He looks unsure, weary, and guilty—things that they never were.

It makes Alma uncomfortable to see Bak like this. He doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t even like him. But he looks into Bak’s face and has a sudden sense of—of understanding, maybe, and the thought makes his skin crawl.

Alma looks away.

“Human,” Bak says again, undeterred by Alma’s avoidance. “It’s a very human reaction to… trauma. I—That is— The Order has… much experience with it.”

Alma stares at his sheets. He isn’t sure what to think. “Oh,” he says, and leaves it at that.

There’s a rigid silence that falls after that, tense and uncertain—Wong, quiet but worried; Bak, who Alma won’t look at, who still seems so frightfully different from what Alma expects; Fo, whose knowing eyes are boring into Alma’s back.

“A-Alma,” Bak says, and then takes a deep breath. “Alma, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did or said to, to trigger that, but….” He hesitates. “I, I’m sorry. Was it…” He falls quiet. “No. No, never mind.”

Alma curls his fingers into the cloth sheet. He has some idea of what Bak is wondering, and the reminder makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t know what, exactly brought it on, but he doesn’t think it was the talk of scars. But even if it wasn’t his scars that brought on—that—that doesn’t mean they aren’t…

He can’t look at himself in the mirror. It’s not—it’s not as bad as the flashback, not really, nothing so sudden or awful as that. But he still can’t do it. He feels sick whenever he tries, dizzy and nauseous and light-headed. His missing arm is mind-boggling, but it is the only part of him he can look at without feeling like he’s seeing a stranger, like his body is not his own.

It’s not so much his new appearance, though that is part of it. It is deeper than that. It is the fact that Alma is scarred now, and that alone he could live with, but every scar—every single one, except for the root-like remnants from the Innocence—they are from Yuu. Yuu’s sword. Yuu’s attacks. Proof, in a way, of just how thoroughly Yuu tried to kill him.

Yuu has cut Alma to shreds.

Yuu… You hurt me so badly. Did you hate me, for trying to kill you? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But does that mean… do you still…

…Do you hate me, Yuu?

These questions swirl and tumble around his mind like a whirlwind. He doesn’t know the answer to them, doesn’t even want to acknowledge them, not really. It’s a fear he ignores, but no matter how hard he tries it remains in other ways, like the sick churning of his stomach every time he sees his face and remembers what happened, the tightness in his throat when he becomes aware of his missing leg. But worst of all is the strangling hold of his chest, painfully tight, that creeps in whenever he thinks about Yuu.

Yuu, Yuu, Yuu. All of it, Yuu.

How easy it would be, to tell them this. But they don’t deserve his answer. They don’t deserve to know Alma’s memories or his regrets or his fears, even they’re eating him up inside.

They can ask and wonder all they like. Alma will say nothing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alma says. He breathes in, breathes out. His hand is trembling. “Get out.”

“Alma—”

“Please,” Alma says, and hates how his voice cracks, how his hand is still shaking, how afraid he is. He is so angry. He is so scared. He is all of these things, and he hates most of all how he just sounds weary instead, like he’s about to cry. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Bak stares at him, then sighs, slow and careful. “All right, Alma,” he says, soft. “Just know I am… truly sorry for… that.” He waits. When Alma doesn’t reply, his shoulders slump, and he waves Wong and Fo from the room. They go quietly, solemnly, eyes darting back as if Alma in his grief is too fascinating to look away from. He hates it.

Bak lingers by the door.

“We’ll start the prosthetics soon,” he says. “By the end of the week if all goes well. Let me know if you would like more time.”

He waits, but when Alma does not reply, reaches again for the door. Before he exits, he pauses.

“Alma,” Bak says. He opens his mouth, closes it, then grimaces and tries again. “I hope you—I wish…” He sighs. “Good night,” he says finally, “and… I hope you have sweet dreams, Alma.”

He is gone before Alma can think of a reply.

A week later, Alma opens his eyes to a new room.

Bak, Wong, and Fo had moved him here only a day before, in the dead of night, or what passes for night when the whole population is living inside a mountain. The journey had been nerve-wracking for more than one reason— even with Fo subtly shifting the halls and corridors of the Branch to keep any wandering feet far from their path, the rattling noise of Alma’s bed as they dragged him through the rubble of the ruins, the click of the squeaky wheels on the stone: all threatened to give them away. Worse yet, for Alma, was the pain—with every time the wheel would catch on stone, or the bed jump, his newly-scabbed wounds would ache, his severed limbs throbbing and his eye and head going dizzy. He’d spent the whole journey gritting his teeth, and Bak had spent the whole thing murmuring apologies until Alma was just about sick of hearing of them. An exhausting night, to be sure.

For Alma, though, the discomfort has not ended. Where in the beginning he could not seem to stay awake, now he cannot seem to sleep. The new room does not help—just through the walls he can hear the soft breaths of other people, patients and nurses bustling down the halls. The stone walls and carved columns do not hide the fact this is still a hospital, and the presence of the equipment, along with all those strangers, so close…

The fear clogs up his throat. The paranoia keeps him awake.

(Or maybe it’s the nightmares).

Either way, the result is that Alma is not nearly as happy with this change as Bak and the rest seem to be. It’s necessary— for all that Alma has no wish to stay here, to live here, he needs some mobility in order to achieve his goals—and the prosthetics will help with that. Besides. After almost a month stuck in bed, Alma is starting to get restless. He needs out. Which is very hard to do when Central is still looking for him, and when one is missing an arm and leg.

Bak had explained it clearly and carefully to Alma when he’d asked. The scientists can help create an alibi. They’ll assert Alma’s presence at the Branch, and the month since the massacre will help solidify Alma’s new identity. In a way, his slow healing has given them time. What would take others weeks to heal takes Alma months; they’ll assume his wounds are from something fairly recent, not from the massacre.

It’s necessary, but that doesn’t mean Alma has to like it.

Today especially is a bad day. He’s been dreading it since the moment they moved him here. Today is when he first meets the… scientists.

Alma does not have high hopes. Bak has assured him he’ll only meet with one person, for now—he’s about as worried about this as Alma is, though Alma has no idea why. But one person is still one person too many. Bak, Wong, Fo… Alma has gotten used to them, but even they make his skin crawl. They are all guilty, all liars, and just because he’s used to them doesn’t mean he likes them. Or trusts them. And the more people that learn about Alma, the more people that know him…

He’ll kill them all, if it comes to it. If that’s what he needs to do to be free, to die without complications. Alma has done this all before, and Fo may have the Innocence, but Alma doesn’t need the Innocence. Damn the Innocence, anyway. He’ll teach humanity a lesson if it’s the last thing he does, be it with God’s Crystal or a normal knife. All Alma needs is time.

But the longer the list of names grows, the harder it will be.

As the morning creeps on, Alma grows more and more nervous. His fingers pick at the sheets. He tangles the stray threads around his hand and tries his best to keep from throwing up, or God forbid, crying again.

He hears them coming before he can see them. Hurried and heavy footsteps, and far-off laughter, and then before Alma can react the door to his new room flies open.

Bak storms in, face flushed and pale in equal measure, ears burning red and teeth grit. Alma flinches back, but Bak isn’t looking at him, just stomps to one of the chairs shoved in the corner and sits down with a huff.

The laughing voice draws ever closer, and a new man bursts through the door, Fo following close behind him, her smirk wide and fierce with a mean amusement.

“Bak~” sings the newcomer, arms thrown wide and a beaming smile on his face. He says Bak’s name in a cutesy sort of drawl, drawing it out childishly. The innocent sing-song does not match the downright manic grin on his face. “I meant no offense!”

Bak turns bright red, stutters a little, then shouts “Shut up!” in a voice so high pitched it’s practically unrecognizable.

Alma looks at Bak, a man he has thus far seen as a male and more nervous version of Chief Twi, then looks back at the newcomer. His stare is shameless.

The man stares right back, not even pretending to hide his interest. His hair is dark and slicked away from his forehead, hidden under a white hat. His lab coat is more gray than white, stained with strange colors. On his nose, thin spectacles rest, and above them his dark eyes shine like new coins. He’s far older than Alma, maybe Bak’s age, but something about him makes him seem much younger.

He is dizzying in his intensity. Alma has never known a man like this. Even the most eccentric scientist in the project was subdued, quieted by the secrecy of the whole thing, but there isn’t a single thing about this man that seems in-check at all.

“Hello there!” the newcomer says brightly—too brightly, too loud, and his booming enthusiasm is so different from what Alma is used to, he can’t help but cringe away when the man’s hand is shoved in front of his face.

For a single second, the man pauses, something strange passing over his face—and then his hand pulls away, waves in the air, as if brushing something away.

“Hello,” he says again, but there is something calmer about him now, more settled, more controlled, something softer and kinder. Behind him, Fo is smiling, soft and pleased. “I am Komui! Ah, well, Komui Lee. Has Bak~” here he abruptly switches back into sing-song, drawing out Bak’s name in a teasing way that makes the man snarl from his chair, “—told you about me?”

Alma watches him warily, uncertain how to respond. “You—you’re… making the—the—” He can’t remember the name. He’s trying, but he can’t remember the name. He feels the heat climb up his cheeks.

“Prosthetics!” Komui supplies brightly. “Yes, exactly! I mean, not alone, of course—apparently I am not allowed without supervision.” He sighs, heavily, as if this is a great loss. “But! I promise you I will do my best to keep their boring close-minded hands off what will be the greatest prosthetics ever created. By me, of course.” He beams. “Now, Bak~ over here hasn’t told me anything—very rude, but, well, he’s my boss for now—”

“Act like it!” Bak mutters from the wall. Then his voice rises. “Wait, for now?!”

“—So, I will simply have to ask you myself!” Komui continues, as if Bak has not spoken. Alma watches, fascinated, eyes darting back and forth between them.

Komui merely smiles. “What’s your name?”

“Al—” At the last second, he remembers, Bak’s suddenly serious expression jolting him from the dream-like daze Komui’s entrance had wrought. “—ly.”

“Aly?” Komui repeats, and smiles again. His eyes are softer. “That’s a good name. Well, Aly—I promise to do my best for you. Let me know if you have any requests, yeah?”

Alma searches his face. Komui’s smile never falters. “…All right.”

“Me specifically,” Komui presses, leaning in as if to share a secret, on hand rising to hide his mouth from Bak. In a loud whisper that isn’t really a whisper at all, he says, “Don’t tell dear Bak, yes? He’s so boring, he might veto all of it!”

“I’m WHAT,” says Bak. Fo starts laughing.

Alma stares at him, bemused, but he can’t hold back the quick-silver smile that flashes over his face, tugging at his lips and creasing at his single eye. Komui beams, wider. He is— he is ridiculous. He is so over the top it’s dizzying, so free with his words and emotions that it doesn’t even occur to Alma to wonder if they are fake. He is just so much.

“I will,” Alma says, biting down the smile before it can grow, but unable to keep the laughter from his voice. Bak’s furious muttering suddenly hushes. Fo’s eyes are wide.

Komui Lee just smiles.

“Great!” Komui stands, spins on his heel, points at Bak. “You! I need measuring tape, pencils, a ruler—”

“Why are you pointing at me!?” Bak yells, broken from his surprised silence, and in the doorway Fo laughs and laughs, and outside a nurse is yelling out at them about the noise, and Alma— Alma can’t take it anymore. It’s been building since Komui burst in, with every time he said Bak’s name, with every instance of bright red on Bak’s face.

Alma laughs.

For the first time in months, it is not hate or pain that brings the pinprick of tears to Alma’s eyes. It is joy, joy that bursts like a firework in his chest, bright and glowing. His eye curved shut in perfect happiness, his back bent double with the force of it, Alma laughs. He laughs like he never has before, fierce and childlike, hiccupping on his laughter and shaking from head to toe. He bends so far, his forehead brushes the sheets, and he’s wheezing from the lack of air, ribs aching from the strain. His laugh is loud and bright and stuttering, and it rings out clear in the sudden silence.

And for a single shining moment, Alma is happy.

#d.gray-man #dgm #alma karma #kanda yuu #bak chang #dgm fic #fic: dreaming of flowers #iza fanfic

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wclfwiife · 1 year

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Rehab sucks - pt2

Fluttering eyelids let in quick, shallow beams of light as she blinked awake. Everything was a blur as she tried to remember what was happening. As her sensitive eyes opened up a little more with each groggy blink, the hazy room came more into focus.

Oh, right. This place. God, what day is it? My head is killin’ me... does it even matter? The date? I’m stuck here till who knows when they decide to let me out. Why am I even here? Oh yeah... this or jail. Is jail really that bad? It’s...Wednesday, maybe? Jail probably has better food to be honest...it’s the twenty first century, right? Inmates probably definitely get better food...They can give us a bunch of drugs for detoxing from drugs but they can’t slip me a fuckin’ ibuprofen or something for my head? Bullshit... This whole place is sh---

“Ah, nice of you to join us, Miss Collinson.” the older voice interrupted her thoughts, she was getting sick of these people doing that. “Welcome back to the land of the conscious.”

She followed the voice with slight movement of her neck, her eyes landing on the old man in a white coat, dress shirt underneath, ugly shoes.... must be Doctor Douchebag, as Ted so lovingly calls his boss man. She groaned, bringing her hand up to her rub her temple, temporarily surprised that her arm was free to do so. She realized quickly that was sat in a wheelchair, two other patients on either side of her and more on either side of each of them. It was a circle of sweat pants and varying white tee shirts worn in different ways, probably to try to grasp at the remaining bits and scraps of personality they had left. Ash noted the sleeve of her oversized hoodie falling around her knuckles, something she hadn’t remembered putting on...then again, she didn’t remember getting out of bed either. She couldn’t remember how she even got out here or who put her in this chair to bring her to the therapy room. Without a word, she attempted to stand up, wanting to go back to her own room, but her legs had a different plan, giving out from under her and landing her back in the chair. The wheels must’ve been locked as she hadn’t rolled backwards with the fall, but it did scoot back a bit across the tile, jostling her enough to trigger a wave of nausea to compliment to already dizzying pain in her head.

“I want to go back to my room.” she croaked from her dry throat. The doctor continued to smile in a way that made Ash super uneasy. It was strange, not a genuine kind smile, but an unnerving forced smile that he was programmed to use with patients and their families to reassure them that this place wasn’t absolute shit and they were ‘truly in the best care possible.’ The young woman was so used to fake smiles and forced cheer, she had to paint a fake smile on everyday at work, well, her former place of employment, but this man... his smile was off..not fake, just...weirdly off.

He continued, “You can’t, my dear, it’s group time. And you are part of the group today.” The smile never leaving his wrinkled face as he spoke, only a tilt of the head while he moved forward. “You had quite the mischievous morning, I’ve been told. It makes sense that you’d be tired, a bit groggy, but you’ll come out of it soon. Ah, Ted, thank you.” He gestured to Ash’s least favorite pseudo nurse as he walked up with a large round tray of plastic cups that looked to be filled with different juices. “You didn’t seem to like your orange juice this morning, didn’t touch it at all, I hear. How about some apple juice instead?” She glared at Ted as he approached her with the tray, flashes of earlier cutting through and she wanted to flip the tray right up into his smug face. She couldn’t remember that morning, couldn’t remember what the doctor was talking about, but her memory did give tiny tidbits of familiarity as the large man walked closer with a tray. She wanted desperately to run back to her room, lock the door, and wait out her time in this facility full of lies. If only her stupid legs would budge. Her mind was so hazy, too, throat so dry she didn’t even fight the damn juice, taking the cup closest to her and guzzling half of it right there. Her stubbornness normally would’ve let her wait, but the pain was getting worse and the irritation of her throat caused her eyes to water, which caused her to blink more, which honestly made her migraine worse. So she just drank the apple juice - ignoring the doctor, ignoring the group, and waiting for this hour to pass.

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

“I’ll have to tell them, you know, if you’re uncooperative. If you don’t receive full treatment I cannot vouch for your sobriety and mental stability.” The old man said, a more serious look was planted on his face now, though the softest hint of that creepy smile was still waiting its turn to come back out. “The police expect updates, young lady, updates that you’re improving, willing to be helped. What do you expect me to tell them about your little quarrel with my staff this morning? Fighting with my staff is not a productive use of anyone’s time, Miss Collinson, I assure you things will go much more smoothly for everyone involved if you just---”

This time she interrupted his thought mid sentence. “--if I just let your people force drugs on me that I don’t want? If I just go along with your asinine rule book? If I eat your shitty food and take your shitty meds and maybe then possibly stay out of jail on your word?” She snarled, looking away from him, sick of the look on his face. “All I had to do was get clean. My deal is mine with the cops. You don’t get a say.”

The man sighed, although it was hollow, as if just for show. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. I do, in fact, have the final say in your freedom, young lady. It is at my hands that you are let out of here a free woman or a convict. The past two weeks have shown me that you may just prefer the latter with your behavior. Is that what you’d like me to tell them in my progress reports? That you’re uncooperative with treatment and with staff? That surely won’t help your standing with them. Nor with us.”

“What is that, a threat? Are you threatening me, doctor?” She asked, turning her head back to him, begrudgingly. “Not real professional, for your line of work, seems a little unethical, and whatnot. I know real threats, doc. The guy I worked for made good on his and got away with it for years and years....you have red medical tape and an oath to uphold, right? Your threats are shit. Just like your staff.”

The man took a deep breath in through his nose, pushing his fingertips together in front of his chin. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Collinson. Darla will take you back to your room now while I think about what to put in this report. I’ll have to tell that officer that you’re not quite up to visitors today. A shame, he seems to think you’ve been making such progress, I’ll hate to have to tell him otherwise when he arrives.”

“You arrogant sonofab---” Her chair was turned around before she could finish her sentence, presumably by Darla, thankfully one of the only staff members Ash actually liked. But who knows, she could be just as fake as the rest of them for all Ash knew. The nurse leaned down to speak softly in her ear as she wheeled her back to her room, “He’s mostly talk when he’s in this mood, doesn’t like when his boys can’t handle the job. Don’t worry about him, I’ll make sure the cop man gets in to see you himself. You’re doin’ just fine here, baby. Just fine.” Darla was older than Ash, a little older than the stupid brute twins, but younger than other staff members she didn’t know as well. She was sweet from the time Ash had arrived, or at least faked it really well, but it seemed like she actually cared about the people here, as opposed to the drug riddled nuisances the others acted like they were. If she wasn’t faking it, she definitely deserved a better job somewhere far way from these jerks. Ash looked up at her as she closed the door behind them. “Thanks, D.” She even smiled a little at the older woman, even if she was as fake as the others, it hadn’t faltered just yet and for the moment, she was still being kind. She respected her for that. “Do y-- do you know...what they gave me this morning? I feel worse, I...my legs feel like lead bricks. That doesn’t happen on the other stuff, the usual medley of, y’know..meds.” Darla looked genuinely concerned at that. “Did you tell the doctor about your legs? That’s not a usual side effect of the detox medication. It’s really just supposed to suppress nausea, ease aches and pains, stuff like that.”

Ash shook her head. “This stuff makes me feel like shit, D, and today its worse. I..I don’t even know what day it is. I know time moves differently when you’re in a place like this but I usually know what day it is... I can barely move, I’m so tired and my head...my head’s been killin’ me all day and I can’t remember getting up this morning. And my legs...”

“Sounds like you’re havin’ a really bad day, honey. I can see if I can get you a different dose tomorrow, or a different pill maybe. Right now,” she helped the young woman up into her bed, lifting her legs for her and covering her with a freshly laundered blanket. “you drink a lot of water, I’m gonna leave this pitcher right here on your table here, okay? A lot of water and get some sleep. You do look exhausted. I’ll send that cop that likes to visit you up later when he stops by with a little bit of caffeine for ya.” Darla smiled and it sent a wave of relief over her, a real genuine, albeit sympathetic smile on the woman’s lips. Ash was seriously grateful for her in that moment, for the promise of future caffeine but mostly her kindness. It was a blessing, to say the least. She even wanted to hug her, but refrained, if she was faking it, she wasn’t gonna put that much trust in letting her get a clear opening to her back and neck. For now, she just thanked her again, turning onto her side and within minutes, fell back to sleep.

@staysaliive

#staysaliive #th; rehab sucks #v; scout #au; scout #;para

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geminimoonbeamx · 6 years

Text

In the Land of Gods and Monsters: Part Three

A/N: I really wanted to get across in this chapter that she knew. That she was aware of all of the warning signs, and that she ignored them and went ahead and fell in love with this man that she knew she shouldn’t anyways. There’s something so…cosmic with that, I feel. Like they just cant help themselves and it kills my ass and I want it to kill you guys too. So this is kind of like a filler chapter, but it’s important to the future of this story because it sets up that notion that she really cant feel bad for her self because THAT BITCH KNEW. SHE WAS TOLD. SHE WAS AWARE.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: As with all of my stories there’s a permanent warning of cursing. I have a mouth like a sailor and express myself through the word fuck. Heavy mentions of Drug Use and Drug Addiction. Starting to stray into the NSFW realm, just heavy petting in this chapter but still. Mentions of Death(murder) of a parent.

Summary: You knew what you were getting yourself into when you met Bucky Barnes. He was a known wise guy. A feared mobster. Everyone in the neighborhood knew his name. Funny, in retrospect, you think that might have been why you couldn’t help but be drawn in like a moth to a flame. This first and foremost, is a love story. Blood stained and littered with bullet holes, but the story of how you fell in love with the man none the less. Mobster!BuckyxPlus Size Reader

All my friends tell me I should move on, I’m lying in the ocean singin’ your song- Dark Paradise, Lana Del Rey

-Past-

Problems with addiction ran in your family; you had an aunt who drank a half pint of vodka a day, a handful of junkie cousins, and a mom who had been in and out of rehab because of her love of prescription pills your entire life. The L/N’s liked their high’s. That was just the way you’d grown up. Even Grandma Viv loved her pot(she had a killer bong collection that would make even the biggest stoner gasp).

And you- you weren’t any different. You liked peaking; smoked weed regularly. Dabbled in coke, more so since you’d met Wanda, and other drugs. Nothing scarily hardcore, nothing in your veins. No needles. Even the words heroine and meth scared you shitless… but you enjoyed being high. Loved the rush of endorphins that came with it. Loved feeling…disconnected from everything bad, even if just for a minute.

Bucky Barnes was your new drug.

He made you feel so much better then anything else you’d ever tried did. He made your heart race and your brain fog over, made your stomach clench in anticipation and all of your inhibitions slip away. And you were starting to crave your fix, more and more. The two of you were together every moment you could be; when he wasn’t “working” and you weren’t helping out in the shop or hanging out with Wanda. It was almost ridiculous; you went at it like teenagers. The moment you were together, you couldn’t keep your hands off him, couldn’t help but revel in the kisses he showered you with. Kisses, and gifts.

You’d come to learn that Bucky was an old school kinda’ guy. He liked spending his money on you; “I’m just givin’ you what you deserve, baby” he’d reassure whenever you’d eye something suspiciously. The most you’d ever been given by a man before him was a headache and a box of chocolate they’d picked up at the local 7-11. And then here Bucky comes; drowning you in bouquets of flowers, taking you to the nicest restaurants. It was honestly all a whirlwind, the last month with him had been something out of a fever dream. More then you could have imagined-and sometimes more then you could make yourself believe, accept.

How was Bucky even real? He was almost perfect…almost.

Wanda continued to warn you, to ground you and remind you exactly what you were fucking with.

“He’s not perfect, Y/N. He’s been to fuckin’ prison before!”

She was…wary, of the relationship you seemed to be building with him. Not in that annoying, whiny way. Where she’d bitch at you constantly about breaking it off, but in a way where she had your back. Made sure you checked in with reality every once and a while.

And the reality of Bucky was that he was a gangster. His flashy car and nice apartment came from blood money. You weren’t ignorant to that, and he knew it. Of course you knew, he’d decided. You were best friends with Wanda- there was no way not to know.

It should have deterred you; knowing about the gambling and killing and crime. He was a dangerous man, you should have taken that in to consideration. And you did, sometimes. When you got a moment where your mind and body weren’t buzzing from his touch…

But mostly,

You just got high.

Like now; he had you pressed up against the side of Wanda’s house, the brick biting your bare shoulders a delicious contrast to the pleasure that came from his hands that were drifting under your top. His lips are pressed to your neck, sucking kisses into the skin there and you let out a breathy whimper when you feel him cup your breast through the thin lace of the bralette you wear, your hardened nipple scraping against his palm.

You and Bucky had messed around, a lot. He told you he couldn’t get enough of you, and he was constantly grabbing you. Turning you into a puddle of goo with his mouth and hands…but you hadn’t gone all the way yet. You were just…scared. That if you let him have that part of you, he might change. Change in the way he seemed you yearn for you.

And you weren’t quite ready for him to stop looking at you like you were Aphrodite reincarnated yet.

“Bucky-” You gasp, your hands that had been bracing themselves on his shoulders begin pushing at them, weakly “Stop, we have to stop”

“No!” you think he says, but it’s muffled by the mouthful of your skin. He nips at your plush flesh and you swear your eyes roll into the back of your head, your nails taloning through the material of his shirt.

Fuck, he just made you feel so good. Your hands travel from his shoulders, planning over the strong muscle, up his neck, making their way to tangle in his hair. You love messing up the pretty, styled locks. Running your fingers through his mane until it stuck up in disarray - you liked knowing you could get him here. Rowel him up this way.

“We’re gonna’ get caught. Wha-” your sentence is cut off by the hiss that leaves your throat as he squeezes your breast, tweaking the bud under your top “What if someone comes out?”

You and Bucky…hadn’t really made anything “official” yet. Another reason you were hesitant to sleep with him. He called you his doll, slung his arm around you and flirted openly with you in front of everyone. The two of you went on a handful of dates; you’d drug him to the museum and he’d taken you to all of his favorite restaurants, up and low scale, you’d even been to his apartment. But there hadn’t been that conversation yet. You know, the big important one. The ‘I want to be with you, and no one else, one.’

“I don’t fuckin’ care, let 'em” He pulls away from his assault on your neck to whisper in your ear, before giving it a wet, languid lick that had your knees shaking and your mouth seeking his needily. He happily obliged and slotted his to yours, the kiss deep from the get go.

See, the dilemma was; Bucky turned off your brain. You couldn’t think, logically, with him. Especially not with him kissing you. So you allow yourself to get lost in the kiss, in his touch. In his smell and the sweet taste of his tongue. Ignoring the fact that Wanda was waiting for you upstairs in her room. You’d told her you were going to take a call, and instead you were getting dry humped against the side of her home.

The Stark and Maximoff families were doing business, their partnership sold as of the moment. Which meant you we’re running into Bucky a whole lot lately. Not that either of you minded, it just made it easier to get sucked into his trap. Under his spell.

You tear your lips away, dragging your head to the side as he tries to recapture them “Wanda’s gonna’ be so pissed at me, I have to go back in”

He huffs out a whine and you smile at your work. For as much as he affected you, you knew(his reactions clear), that you affected him right back. “She’ll get over it. She get’s you all the time”

“Well she’s my best friend, so…” Your eyes trail away as you say it. Not looking at him, not wanting him to read the uncertainty in them.

“And what am I? Chopped liver?” He nuzzles your cheek, pressing a small kiss there. You know he had to be running your face makeup, as usual.

“I don’t know, Buck. You tell me” Your words were knife like and you could feel him hesitate. That just fueled you on though, your hands dropping from his hair.

Did he want to be with you or didn’t he. What the fuck was this?

Bucky wasn’t a stupid man, actually, one of the things you had learnt about him, first and fast, was how insanely smart he was. Like 'Good Will Hunting’ smart.

So of course he picked up on the change of the vibes, on your shifting mood. He just tries to push himself closer though, pressing you tighter to the brick, his body pinning yours even though you were staring to squirm.

“Baby doll…” He breathes, running his nose along your cheekbone and you just close your eyes and retreat from it “Don’t be like that”

“I’m not sure what it is you want from me”

He sighs, the hot air he exhales fanning across the side of your face “Whattya’ mean? I want you, I want you so bad-”

That’s not enough. It’s not enough for him to want you, your body. Not when you want so much more from him.

“I’ve gotta’ go back inside now, Bucky” You push him away, and he can tell your serious so he lets you out of his cage like arms.

“Y/N-”

“It’s fine” You’re re-arranging yourself. Smoothing your shirt back to its previous state and making sure your boobs weren’t popping out due to his ministrations .

“Talk to me then”

“I don’t have time right now”

That earns you another sigh and you look over to see him running his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. It wont exactly stick back into it’s style; into the neat way it had been before you’d messed it up.

Good, some vicious side of you acknowledges. He can’t fix what you’d messed up.

“What about later? We can go get somethin’ to eat”

You hate that you’re so petty sometimes. That because you were feeling insecure, you couldn’t stop yourself from being a bitch.

“I’ve got to work later”

“Baby” This isn’t pleading, this is strong. He’s demanding you, using that tone that you barley ever heard from him. It forces you to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong? I’m not gonna’ beg for you to fuckin’ talk to me when I don’t know what I did wrong, Y/N”

It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, that commanding, strong side of him. Because you knew this was the side that he used in his “work”. This was the Bucky that pepple whispered in fear about.

…And yet there you were, with wet panties.

It made your head spin. Your Bucky high could be too much sometimes…

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s fine”

“That’s bullshit”

“Y/N!” Wanda’s voice comes bellowing from somewhere out of sight and you’re happy for it because you didn’t know whether you were about to start an argument with him or let him fuck you against this wall.

His jaw tenses and un-tenses and its your turn to sigh, to reach out for him and run your hand along his arm as you leaned in.

“I’m fine, okay? I’m just- fuck. I’ll text you later okay?”

He doesn’t look convinced, and he’s still doing that jaw thing but he nods and you press a quick smooch to his lips before you step away from him, intent on hurrying back to Wanda because you knew she’d come looking.

You only get a couple steps away though, before you’re being yanked back, into his arms.

You giggle into his mouth as he kisses you, as his hands squeeze at your doughy hips for moment.

“You’d better text me later” He commands, but its playful and light, accentuated by a lick.

“I will” You promise and he glowers down at you so you give him one more peck, dragging his bottom lip out with your teeth as you pull back “I will”

And then you’re walking away, giving him a faint smile before rounding the corner of the house.

When you find Wanda(which is like a game of Where’s Waldo in this big ass fucking house), lounging against the railing of one of the balconies she has a smirk and a raised eyebrow waiting for you.

“Your hair is fucked” She informs you, before she takes a drag of her cigarette and you chuckle and give her a dry “thanks”

You go and lean next to her, not smoking yourself, but staying with her as she does. Raven, Step Mommy number six, had made the house a no smoking zone due to Wanda’s father’s ever worsening lungs. Wanda had of course been livid, but had agreed to light up outside. She hated Raven, but she loved her dad.

“That was a mighty long trip to the bathroom”

“That Mexican we had earlier didn’t agree with me?” You reply lamely, feebly lying and she just busts into laughter.

“Yeah right, you little hooker. I know Bucky had to come by for a drop off”

You shrug and turn so that you face her big back yard. You’re feeling very conflicted.

“Did something happen?” She’s so intuitive it’s like she’s reading your mind sometimes.

“No. Why?”

“Because you usually cant shut up about him” She retorts, turning too so that she’s facing the same direction as you. You snort. It’s pathetic, but it’s true.

“I just don’t know…you know?”

“No, I don’t know. Care to elaborate?” She pries, but she cares. So you don’t totally hate her for making you talk about feelings you couldn’t even comprehend yourself.

“It’s like he wants me, and I know that. But does he want to be with me? I mean you’ve told me about all the girls before and I totally fucking believe it. He’s like- ugh, Wanda. I feel like I’m being an idiot”

“What you need to be thinking about is if you want to be with him” Wanda starts, flicking the ash of her cigarette “It’s not like normal relationships, Y/N. Committing to a man from this life is hardcore. It’s not something you should do on a whim, because shit can hit the fan really fucking fast. If you two are together, like really together, and everyone knows about it- you become a weak spot”

Wanda seems to be fighting to keep herself calm and you feel bad. You hadn’t even really thought about this, about the harsh truth she was about to lay on you.

“And other families, other branches- like to exploit weak spots. You’d be in danger. Constantly. Your name would be connected to his. It happens all the time, someone wants to get back at someone else, they do it through their loved ones-”

It had happened to her. You knew very little about Wanda’s mother and her death. Only the bits that Pietro had reveled to you one drunken night- Wanda, herself, had never brought up the woman. You knew their father loved her, and you knew that she had taken a bullet that had been meant for him. It was sad, in an ironic way. Mr. Metals wife killed by metal.

“I’m not saying Bucky’s the greatest dude, and for all we know he could be talking to other girls, but I think this is the reason he’s being weird about being with you. You’re not an idiot- well I mean you are, for willingly involving yourself with him in the first place” You glare at her and she chuckles.

“But I mean these guys have wives and girlfriends all the time? What if it’s just…me” Your insecure mind forces your mouth to utter the words.

“What do you mean you?”

“I mean I’m obviously not a fucking super model- OW!” When Wanda throws her elbow, very hard you might add, into your boob you cut your sentence short.

“Shut. Up. You are gorgeous and you know it”

“You’re my friend, you have to say that” You continue in vain as you rub your now sore breast. Funny, it’s the one that Bucky had been playing with. Little guy was gettin’ a lot of attention today.

“I really don’t, and you know I wouldn’t if I didn’t think it was true” Honesty rings in her words and you know it to be true. Wanda could be a bitch, you could just picture her telling someone they needed to go powder their nose. She’d told a girl at a party that she should consider brushing her hair every once and a while.

“Y/N” She breaks you out of your silence, out of your thoughts and you turn to her. “You’re my best friend. My only friend, if we’re being real…so I’m going to tell you this, because I love you”

Oh no. You’re not sure you want to hear what she has to say but you stay quiet and brace yourself for it anyway.

“Falling in love with him is a bad idea-”

“I’m not!-”

“But you’re going to. I know it. So I’m telling you now, it’s a bad idea. It’s a truley shitty fucking idea. I love my father, I really do- but he’s a bad man. He does horrible things- daily! And Bucky’s the same”

Her words taste like poison, nothing like the honey sweet ones Bucky filled your mouth with. Her bitter clashed with his sweet and left you torn. You just nod, because you knew damn well she was right and lean into her, your head resting on her taller shoulder.

You don’t say anything, because what is there to say? You cant tell her that you were going to stop seeing him, because you both knew that wasn’t the truth…

“You lesbians want to smoke this blunt with me?” Pietro asks, joyously, obliviously, as he bounces out onto the balcony with the two of you. In his hands is a thick, already rolled weed-gar and on his face is an excited grin. He waggles his eyebrows at you and you cant help but laugh.

Leave it to him to break the tension, to raise the mood.

When it came to the twins; they really were night and day. Where Wanda was unapproachable and slightly antisocial- Pietro was loud and made friends with everyone he met. They balanced each other in a way that was almost unhealthy because you really couldn’t imagine one of them being able to survive without the other.

And so, you opted for a different kind of high. Trying not to think of Bucky as you faced the blunt with both twins. You didn’t know what kind of weed that was, but your completely, stupidly, fucking stoned for hours.

Even when you head into to the Bodega for your shift. Grandma Viv just shoots you one look and tells you to go put some eye drops in so you didn’t scare away her wholesome customers. Time seems to pass both too fast and too slow and you vow to yourself that you’re never smoking with the silver haired twin again because he had to have roofied you.

You’re finally coming down later that night, after a long shower. You’re clad in a matching pair of black pajama shorts and a tank top as you’re sprawled across your bed. It’s starting to get hot, summer time sweltering, and your window is cracked open because the air conditioner is on the fritz yet again and the maitnence man wasn’t going to come until the end of the week.

You grab your phone and scroll through the contacts.

And even though Wanda had warned you- even though you fucking knew what you were playing at, you texted Bucky.

-Hi. What are you up to?

His reply is fast, and unexpected.

-Come outside

That had you sitting up, fast, you’re eyes widening as you hurried to the window. He wasn’t serious- he couldn’t be.

And yet he was. His familiar car is parked in it’s usual spot a few cars past the Bodega…

“Fuck” You hiss as you run to the mirror and look yourself over. Your hair is wet from the shower still, and your face looks chubby and young and bare. You forsure hadn’t gotten to the “No Makeup” part of the relationship yet “Fuck, fuck, fuck”

Your phone buzzes again and you reach over to grab it

-C'mon doll, come outside

-Ur fucking insane you text back, fishing out a bra to throw on quickly under your tank top.

-I know. Hurry.

And so you slip on your furry slides and make your way outside. Your grandma had gone to sleep hours ago, after the store had closed, so you didn’t have to worry about her. You take the stairs down to the ground floor at an embarrassingly fast pace, almost tripping more then once.

God, you were running to him. Litterally. You’re acutely aware of how much of an idiot you are as you step out into the late night air.

He’s standing there, waiting for you outside of his car. A box of roses in his arms. You approach him hesitantly, spearing your lip between your teeth. He grins at you, the closer you get. His eyes drinking you in and you try in vain not to flush under that scrutiny.

“Hi” You say, as you close the gap. Til’ you’re standing right in front of him

“Hi” He breathes back “These are for you” he extends his arms, giving you the flowers that you’d envied on luckier girls social media’s for ages. You look down at them with big eyes. You’d never though anyone would get you something so beautiful…

“Bucky, you didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to”

“But-”

“I want you” He interrupts and your chest clenches and you feel like you need to shut your eyes. Straight to the point. He never seemed to bother with inbetweens. It was all or nothing with him, you’d guessed his severity had been picked up from his “job”.

“Bu-”

“I want us to be together. I do, you know that, right? That’s what earlier was about?”

When you don’t reply his hands grab at you, pulling you by you hips until your bodies are pressed flush against each other- well they would be, if you didn’t hold the box of roses between you like a protective barrier. You cant seem to properly function. So you just grip the flowers, tight.

“My life is messy though, and I don’t want that for you”

“So you want to be with me, but you don’t?” You glare up at him suspiciously.

“No- I just want to be with you. That’s all” He assures, as thought it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“But you just said-”

“I know. And I’ve been thinking that since our first date because, shit, Y/N, I’ve wanted to be with you since then. I don’t want you gettin’ caught up in the cross hairs of all my…shit. But you’re already best friends with Wanda so I figured…screw it. I want to be selfish with you, because I fucking love the way I feel when I’m around you”

You are SCREAMING.

On the inside of course.

Your heart literally feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest, like you’re about to start throwing palpitations.

“Just me. No one else?”

He shakes his head vehemently “No one else. Fuck. Is that what you were worried about?”

You don’t answer that, just purse your lips. He takes the roses gently from your arms so that he can place them on the hood of his car. Pulling you close then, once the protective barrier is gone- his body heat plus the early summer air has you sweltering.

“I haven’t been with anyone since we started datin’, Y/N. I promise. And even before that- well none of the women I’ve been with have mattered in a long time”

“That’s horrible” You sniffle into his chest, ever the feminist. You can feel his chest vibrate with laughter.

“I know. I’m not the greatest guy…do you want to be with me, baby girl? I’d understand if you didn’t. It would hurt like a son'uva bitch, I’m not gonna like to ya’, but I’d understand” He soothes as his leather gloved hand rubs circle on your back, playing with the ends of your wet hair.

“I do” You tell him, strongly, pulling away so he can see your face. So he can see how serious you were.

You shouldn’t.

You know that.

But you do, it’s all you want.

When his lips press to yours, in a kiss that’s sweet and passionate and full of something…different, you know you’re fucked.

That’s the thing, you always knew with Bucky.

You hoped for the best.

But you knew, that most likely, this would end in flames. And you’d walked into them with a smile on your face.

@buchonians @geekyweed @kelly96q @missrobyn81 @iamwarrenspeace @docharleythegeekqueen @beccavesper @buckysforeverprincess @yslbucky @plumfondler @prettybubblesintheair @4theluvofall @huntressxtimelady @curiositywillbeethedeathofmee @welcometothelordsden @jacks-on-krack @peacefulwriter88 @thejenniferincident @nopevilleluas @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @eshia16 @shayla-markele @xotaku-baekx @rcsgcld @ruffdog921 @manlyflower @my-anxious-world

This story is already absolutely painful to write- just because I’ve already written up the outline for it. I know exactly how this is going to end up and it’s like…fuck. Why? Why lord? Next chapter will flash forward to the present and connect back with the Intro.

So yes, Y/N is a confident plus size woman, but she is also a human being. And self doubt is a very prominent human emotion. And I mean come ON, if you were dealing with a guy like Bucky you’d have some questions for yourself too.

Do you guys love Wanda as much as I do? LMFAO I think she’s my favorite character to write.

I’m all but pouring my soul into this story and I really hope you guys can feel that, and enjoy reading it. Let me know! Leave me some love, ya’ll know I’m a slut for comments. I love you guys times a billion. Oh, and ps I'm on winter break so expect a few more updates this week if I get some juicy comments!💛

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drreporting · 6 years

Text

Echo Pt.15

15th June 2019.

“Amy?” Derek called as he entered the empty skills lab, “You paged me, is everything alright?”

Amelia turned around in her chair. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what’s wrong?” he concernedly asked, coming to her table and sitting down next to her.

“Is it possible to have phantom pain and not have an amputated limb?” she asked in a soft voice, looking down at her lap.

Derek smirked, unsure of where this conversation was going. “You’re a neurosurgeon, you already know the answer.”

“My hand hurts,” she whispered, squeezing her hand, “A lot.”

“Well,” he mused, leaning back in the chair, “It’s only been two weeks since the accident, that’s expected.”

“It wasn’t hurting before,” she added, tears coming to her eyes, “It started hurting yesterday after the meeting.”

Derek sat up, treading lightly, afraid to say the wrong thing. “What kind of pain?”

Amelia shrugged. “Pressure. Sometimes I can physically feel the window of the airplane squeezing my wrist.”

“Maybe you should consider other diagnoses,” Derek said, slowly adding, “Like…PTSD…”

Amelia chuckled bitterly. “Funny, you’re not the first person to tell me that.” She looked down at her hand, feeling it squeezing, as though the blood circulation was being cut off from it. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to take her mind off of it.

“It’ll go away,” he assured her, taking her hand in his. He ran his thumb along the back of her hand, around her wrist, then along her palm. “How’s it going with Owen?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, momentarily distracted by his massage, “Oh, it’s okay. He told me he remembered something else yesterday.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Something about me making waffles.”

Derek chuckled, reversing the pattern of the massage. “Your waffles are hard to forget, I’ll have to admit.”

“The waffle maker does most of the work,” she dismissed, smiling a little.

He shook his head and smirked, stopping his massage. “Let’s go for lunch, it’ll take your mind off things.” She nodded and stood up, joining him in his walk to the cafeteria.

---

“Derek, Arizona and I got more than that when our plane crashed,” Meredith commented as she, Maggie, Arizona, Alex and Owen sat at the cafeteria table, having lunch.

“I don’t want the money,” Alex grunted, stabbing his fork into his salad, “I just want to forget the thing ever happened. Our kid almost lost both her parents and I hate thinking about that. No amount of money can ever make me forget that.”

“Just your kid?” Maggie commented, taking a bite of her sandwich, “Owen and Amelia’s four kids almost lost both their parents too.” Looking over at Owen, she added, “I don’t know if I’d actually have been able to fulfil my godmother duty for all four of those gremlins.”

Meredith chuckled. “Agreed, huh Owen?” When no response came, Meredith looked over at where Owen was sitting and noticed he was staring intently in another direction. “Owen?” She tapped him on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” he hummed, looking at them dumbfounded, “What were you saying?”

“Who were you looking at?” Maggie inquired suspiciously.

“No one,” he lied. Being directly opposite to Owen, Maggie looked over his shoulder, only to see the two Shepherd siblings having lunch across the cafeteria.

“He’s looking at Amelia,” she announced, pointing her fork in his direction.

“No I wasn’t,” he denied, his cheeks turning red already.

“Amelia and Owen, sitting in a tree,” Arizona teased, making Alex and Meredith chuckle, “K-I-S-S…”

“Not funny,” he said, cutting her off, “Amelia and I aren’t sitting in trees and we definitely aren’t kissing.” He looked over at the table she was sitting at and, longingly, sighed.

“Not yet,” Meredith added.

“Not at all,” Owen corrected her, turning back around.

“But you want to kiss, don’t you?” Arizona continued the game, enjoying it.

“No, I don’t!” he exclaimed, their teasing making his entire face turned red.

“He definitely wants to suck her face,” Alex pointed out.

“And so what if I do?” Owen finally confessed, stabbing his fork into his pasta and almost breaking the plastic, “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Other than the fact that you guys cheated on each other and then got divorced in like, a month?” Meredith said, stating the obvious.

“It’s a shame you can’t remember how heavy you and Shepherd used to go at it in the on-call rooms,” Alex sighed, taking a sip of his coffee, “At least you would’ve had the memories to keep you satisfied. Now, all you probably have is fantasies.”

“I don’t fantasise about Amelia,” he said, which was true. He didn’t fantasise about her, just occasionally wondered what it would be like to have his tongue brushing against hers. Or other parts of his body.

“Of course you don’t,” Alex humoured him.

“Hey, at least this is better than the bickering,” Arizona chimed in, “That was annoying.” The other doctors hummed in approval while Owen stared at all of them in confusion.

“You guys fought a lot,” Maggie informed him, “Like, every day, more than three times a day.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Everything,” they all answered at the same time.

“Little stuff like leaving the toilet seat up, closing cabinets, putting stuff back in the right place,” Meredith mused.

“Then there was the big stuff like lying, cheating, you drinking,” Maggie added, “Oh, and Megan of course.”

“Why would we be fighting about my sister?” Owen wondered.

“You didn’t tell Amelia she was alive,” Meredith told him, “Not to mention, every time you visited her in DC, you’d come back drunk.”

“You came to work drunk , a couple times,” Arizona piped in.

“Wow,” Owen said, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. He turned around and looked at Amelia once more, feeling even more terrible for what he’d possibly put her through. He watched as she spoke with the Derek, the way her dimple popped when she laughed at whatever joke he made, and he smiled, her happiness infectious.

“He definitely wants to bang her,” Alex chimed, noticing the dreamy look on Owen’s face.

“How do I fix this?” he asked them once he turned around.

“I don’t know if that’s possible at this point,” Arizona truthfully remarked, “Once you stop loving someone, there’s not much more you can do.”

“I find it hard to believe that I ever stopped loving her,” he said, “I just want to know what happened, so I can fix it.” In a softer voice, he added, “I don’t think our story was meant to end like this.” The four doctors looked at him, pity on all of their faces.

Ceasing the jokes, Meredith said, “You should ask her for the whole story. Maybe that will help.” Owen nodded appreciatively at her.

---

Owen and Amelia stood side by side as they washed the load of dishes together. Having put the kids to bed a little while ago, Owen was glad to have her all to him, so they could talk.

“Amelia,” he said softly, the noise of dishes hitting each other louder than his own voice, “Can we talk?” His ex-wife froze midway through washing a plate. He watched as she slowly began to scrub the plate again.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, handing the plate to him to rinse.

“About what happened between us,” he said.

“I told you what happened already,” she reminded him.

“No, I want the whole story,” he clarified, putting the plate to dry and taking the other one from her hand, “You only told me about the cheating and the divorce. I want to know what happened before that.”

“Owen…” she sighed, closing her eyes briefly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Please,” he begged, setting down the dish now as he faced, “I know you’re not supposed to tell me everything about my life, but I deserve to know what happened to me. To us.”

Handing him the last plate, she shut off the water and sighed. “What’s the point?”

Owen paused for a bit before answering her question. “I may not be able to fix our marriage, Amelia, but I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I’m tired of apologising; I want to do something about it.” He put the plate away and faced her now. “Please tell me what happened, so I can be a better person in the future, for myself at least.”

“Let’s go sit,” she suggested. He followed her to the living room and they sat on the couch. Not wanting to push her, he watched as she fiddled with her finger in her lap, intently focused on them. Quickly, she wiped a stray tear from her eye as she mustered up the courage to talk about the painful five months they’d been through that eventually led to their divorce.

“Megan’s in a rehab facility in DC,” she began, unsure of how exactly to bring across the story, “You would visit her on the weekends.” She smiled sadly to herself as she recalled, “I remember dreading the weekends and the days following it, because that was when you’d be at your worst.” Owen internally cringed at her statement. She made him feel like he was an abusive drunk.

“The problems started from when you first visited her,” she told him.

#omelia #omeliafics #au #au fics #rymelia #rymeliafics #owen hunt #amelia shepherd #derek shepherd #ryan shepherd #rosie shepherd hunt #arizona robins #meredith grey #maggie pierce #alex karev #jo wilson

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builder051 · 7 years

Text

No sympathy (a Spiderman sickfic)

I was super enthused about how much love the first Spiderman fic got, so I had to run and write another one. This one is Halloween themed, and it’s EXACTLY 2100 words.

Ned’s texted Peter four times in the last hour. He’s as dead-set on inviting Peter to do something for Halloween as Peter is dead-set on saying no.

“Geez, how many times do I have to tell you,” Peter mumbles as he taps out another reply. I’m busy. Stark internship. Already told you.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go trick-or-treating in Ned’s building. To be honest, he kind of does. There’s that one neighbor that gives out full-size KitKats, and he has the best costume. And it’s not even a costume, it’s, like, his work uniform… But there are way more important things to do.

If urban legends and underground news reports are anything to go by, Peter has dozens of black kittens to save from satanic sacrifice and chocolate-stealing thugs to beat up and kids to help cross the street and baskets of candy to check for broken glass and LSD… With that agenda, goofing off on Halloween doesn’t stand a chance of making it onto the timetable.

Peter turns his phone upside-down on the desk so it won’t glow at him when Ned inevitably texts back. Again. He rests his elbow on his partially-finished algebra homework and drops his forehead into his palm for a moment, until he remembers he shouldn’t do that because it’ll give him acne. But cool-hand-on-achy-forehead kind of feels good, so maybe it’s a wash.

The sun’s falling into its late afternoon position, warning that dusk is near. And that people with headaches should close their blinds to avoid being shot in the eyeballs with extreme sunset glare. Peter doesn’t think the blinds on his window have worked since he moved in, so he splits the difference and pushes out of his desk chair to head for the kitchen.

May’s working late, so Peter’s on his own tonight. She’s given him free reign to do whatever he wants to celebrate as long as it’s legal and he’ll be ready for school tomorrow. Usually Peter would be ecstatic about the breadth of his freedom, but today he’s just glad he’s alone so he can dry-swallow three ibuprofen and eat cheese shreds straight from the bag.

With hunger taken care of and medication yet to kick in, Peter checks his watch. The neighborhood won’t start bustling with Halloweeners for another couple of hours. His homework’s as good as finished; no one will show up with completed math assignments tomorrow morning. Peter doesn’t feel like giving the school population at large another reason to call him a geek. And he doesn’t feel like he’ll be able to concentrate especially well anyway.

Flicking on the TV to a random rerun of The Simpsons, Peter flops down on the couch. He intends to hang through the 30-minute episode, then put on his suit and jump through the window to start his patrol. But somehow Peter blinks and the TV’s playing Hocus Pocus and it’s dark out and he’s missed something. Like two hours of passing time.

“Fuck,” Peter curses himself, jumping to his feet as realizations of the date, time, and fact that he’s not feeling well all crash into his head. He tornadoes into his room and strips, almost tripping over his jeans as he tries to scramble into his suit. He’s groggy and his reflexes suck. The logical voice in his head, the one that’s usually reminding him to do his homework, tells him this is not smart. He should think about staying in tonight. Or hit up Ned for something safer to do. But the louder impress Mr. Stark and justice for Ben voice makes him keep going.

Peter throws his jeans and hoodie into his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and tosses back the blinds to open his bedroom window. He crawls up onto the small ledge of the sill and shoots a line of web to the next building over.

He swings to his usual hiding spot in an alley near the school building and drops his backpack behind a dumpster. Everything seems to smell worse than usual, and it’s not helping Peter’s head. Or his stomach, for that matter.

“Ok. Here we go.” Peter revs himself up. He jumps on top of the dumpster and swings himself onto the roof the bodega to survey the streets from above. A few people in costumes are running around, and there’s a pretty comical looking group of small-scale Power Rangers standing on a street corner, but beyond that, everything looks normal. There aren’t any black-robed Satanists brandishing bloody knives or kids dropping to their knees from poisoned candy. At least not that Peter can see.

He sits down on the edge of the roof and watches for a while, then webs himself two blocks over to get a different view. A couple taxis honk at each other. Some guy re-lights the jack-o-lantern on his balcony three separate times because the wind keeps blowing it out.

Peter rolls his mask up to his nose so he can catch a little bit of the autumn breeze. It feels nice, especially seeing as the pressure of the tight spandex over his face is doing little to make him comfortable. It’s actually making him pretty uncomfortable. The throb that was just between his eyes earlier is now playing across his whole forehead. And his stomach’s starting to feel frothy, like it’s full of shaving cream.

There’s a sound coming from the sidewalk on the other side of the building. Not of someone in peril, more of sound of frustration. But with the lack of anything else going on, Peter decides it’s his business to investigate anyway. He looks over the vertical line of brick wall and sees what he thinks is a scruffy homeless man lounging on a dirty bedroll and a stroller-pushing woman expressing disdain that he’s blocking the sidewalk.

It’s not the large-scale, Halloween-themed rescue mission Peter’s been expecting, but he knows how to diffuse this bomb. He puts his mask back down and jumps to street level. The impact reverberates from his feet to his head, and Peter tries not to cringe as the headache flares into momentary vertigo.

“Ma’am, he’s not gonna hurt you,” Peter says, addressing the gum-chewing young mother first. A candy bucket for her sleepy baby clad in a skeleton onesie is slung over the stroller’s handle. Peter imagines she’s really trick-or-treating for herself.

“Yeah, but he’s blocking the sidewalk,” she complains.

“I know, I got it,” Peter placates her. He bends at the waist to tap the man on the shoulder. He’ looks like he could be dozing, and he has a smoldering pipe held up to his lips. The fumes coming from it smell a bit more illegal than just tobacco. “Hey, dude?” He says. “You can’t sleep here. People want to walk here.”

“Hm?” the guy says, exhaling a cloud of smoke and looking quizzically at Peter’s masked face. “What’re you supposed to be dressed up as?”

“Hi, I’m Spiderman,” Peter introduces himself. He holds out his hand, and when the guy shakes it, Peter puts his other hand into the guy’s armpit and pulls him to his feet. “There’s an alley right up here where you can be without being in everybody’s way.”

The guy fumbles so as not to drop his pipe, but doesn’t resist Peter walking him ten yards down and depositing him around the corner between a trash can and a drainpipe. “I’ll go get your sleeping bag,” Peter promises, hustling back the way he came.

The young mom is already gone when Peter dashes back around the corner to grab the filthy bedroll. He shakes it hard over the ground, muttering, “Could’ve at least stuck around to say thanks.” Once most of the dust and stray flecks of weed are lost to the sidewalk, Peter re-traces his steps again.

The homeless man is braced against the wall and losing what sounds and smells like a full stomach of liquor. “Oh, god,” Peter cries in surprise, turning his head away as soon as he realizes what’s happening. “Ok. Um. Yeah.” He sloppily folds the sleeping bag into a rectangle with too many corners and sets it on the ground. He can feel his own stomach asking to rebel, and his headache’s screaming a whole new tune. “I’m not the one to help you with this.” Peter’s mouth is full of spit. “There’s a shelter with rehab stuff down on 35th by Steinway…”

The guy just pukes again, and Peter turns around to stumble out of the alley on shaky legs. He swallows hard. Vertigo threatens to take him down, and Peter leans against the cool brick wall. He can hear blood pounding in his ears, but it doesn’t drown out the homeless man’s next retch. That’s all that’s needed to send Peter over the edge, and he has to scramble to flip his mask up fast enough.

He heaves a couple times and watches dazedly as a small puddle of thick whitish spit forms between his boots. His stomach empties before it settles, and Peter leans heavily into the wall. He wipes away a moustache of sweat with the back of his gloved hand. The spandex fabric still carries notes of the homeless man’s smoke and BO, and Peter almost goes down retching again. But he just coughs and gasps for a moment before deciding he has to get out of here before he becomes a Halloween disaster himself.

Peter starts the stroll back around the block to pick up his backpack, feeling too dizzy to web himself around. He briefly clocks in for another good deed and helps a couple third-grade ninjas cross the street, but practically undoes it when a yellow cab almost slams him on his way back across. Peter halfheartedly flips the driver off and continues on his way to grab his stuff.

After struggling to pull his jeans over his suit, Peter zips up his hoodie and stows his gloves and mask. He realizes he forgot to pack shoes, so he just has to hope his Spiderman boots won’t be noticeable.

Peter enters his building through the front door and pauses for a moment while he considers the choice of stairs or elevator. He goes for the stairs, and even though his quads are burning by the time he reaches his floor, at least his head is still on his shoulders.

Light’s streaming from under the door when Peter approaches the apartment, and that can only mean that May’s home. He tries to think up a good, believable story for what he’s been up to, but nothing comes easily, and he’s eager to get inside and shower and go to sleep. Or maybe vomit his slimy guts out for the next millennium.

“Hey, May,” Peter says as he pushes open the door.

“Hey yourself,” May says. She’s on the couch, eating popcorn and watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. “You do stuff? Have a good time?”

“Yeah, just, uh,” Peter starts, “Ran around with Ned for a while.”

“Great costume,” May says, nodding to Peter’s getup.

“Thanks,” he replies absently.

“That wasn’t…” May trails off and starts over. “What’re you supposed to be?”

“Um.” Peter looks down at his rumpled hoodie and finally understands. He scrubs his scrambled brain for an answer. “Um. Dead tired?”

“Dead tired,” May repeats. “Well, you’re doing a fantastic job with that. You look awful.”

“Yeah, I’m not feeling all that great, so I thought it would be kind of appropriate,” Peter says in a mixture of truth and joke.

“Would you happen to not feel great because you ate all my cheese shreds? And now I can’t make lasagna for tomorrow night?”

“Sorry, May,” Peter says, passing his hand over his forehead, which is beading with fresh nauseous sweat. He almost starts to unzip his hoodie, but stops himself before he reveals what he’s wearing underneath.

“Want some popcorn? There’s candy corn, too.” May asks, inviting him to join her in front of the TV. “We got plenty of that. Could have snacks for dinner all week.”

Peter’s stomach rolls, and he has to swallow hard to push down the rising bile. “You know, uh, I’m not sure I’m really in the mood to talk about food right now.” He starts down the hall toward the bathroom.

“You do feel sick, huh? You think you need help or anything?” May makes to stand up.

“No, I’ll be ok,” Peter insists. “Just, uh, maybe don’t eat all the candy corn. I might want some.” He suppresses a gag. “But, probably not till later.”

#mcu #marvel #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman #spider-man #peter parker #aunt may #sickfic #fanfic #fanfiction #emeto #emetophilia #spider man: homecoming #spiderman homecoming

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