#the only time it ever came up was during the shattered event where red straight up beheaded grung

[rxng]

plot: red alert has been planned as a herald of primus (with all the benefits thereof) ever since primus stopped him from trying to kill himself but i keep forgetting to actually write anything on the manner

it’s background stuff, guys

#January 12th 2021 #text #ooc; #tw: suicide mention #the only time it ever came up was during the shattered event where red straight up beheaded grung

[starlessea]

I See Red (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: “If you hurt my brother, I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you all.” Requested by @alex-sulli​​​, numbers #25 and #29 from this post.

Summary: You’ll threaten anyone who dares mess with your little brother; and Daryl is left to pick up the pieces when you feel guilty for doing so.

Words: 2078

Warnings: Language.

Never before in your life had you found yourself at a loss for words. Whether it was rambling to Daryl during the early hours of the morning whilst he grumbled to let him sleep, or giving your father grief like it were an older sibling’s duty, you always had something to say. That was, however, until now.

Carl had his hands held up, directly in front of his face so that they were visible. He shot you a look, urging you to do the same. You didn’t. Instead, you glanced back and forth between your brother and Ron, like you couldn't quite comprehend what was happening.

"It's fine." Carl said, trying to reassure you. "I've got this."

He didn't. 

You'd been upstairs, watching over Judith whilst your father and Michonne were on their patrols, when suddenly you heard shouting coming from Carl's room. You sighed, thinking you'd have to scold your teenage brother and his friends for being too rowdy when your little sister was fast asleep in her crib. At first, you let them off the hook, but when glass shattered in the distance you decided enough was enough.

You'd bound down the stairs with the practiced heavy footsteps of an older sister, already preparing your best yelling voice. Except, rather than the row you were expecting to give, you were rendered speechless as you flung open the door.

Ron stood with his arm outstretched, pointing a pistol directly at your brother. Carl glanced back at the sound of you entering his room, and pleaded with you to follow his lead. The other boy remained silent, but shifted his weight on his feet as you glared at him. 

Ron was no killer; you watched as his hand trembled over the gun, and he chewed his lip between his teeth. He was no killer - but he was certainly an asshole.

"Put it down." You demanded, taking a few steps closer to him. "Now!"

The boy flinched as you yelled, and Carl glanced back at you nervously. You didn't care what he'd told you; there was no way you'd allow him to diffuse the situation alone. Your innocent baby sister lay asleep upstairs, and your younger brother was facing a loaded gun downstairs. You thought your father would actually kill you if anything happened to either of them on your watch.

Ron fumbled with the gun, narrowing his eyes at you like he was debating your words. You'd expected him to surrender it immediately, and let you march him home to his mother by the ear. Except, he didn't. He trained his aim on you instead, and his shoulders shook even more as he did so. You let out a bitter laugh in disbelief, and raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't back down, but neither did you. 

Carl watched the exchange as you walked even closer to Ron, until the barrel of the pistol lay flush against your chest. He didn't pull the trigger; you knew he wouldn't. You could feel the cold metal quivering against your skin, and you took it from him without hesitation. 

He let you, and took a few steps back in response to you getting even nearer to his face - so close that you could see his skin prickle from your breath on his cheek.

"If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you." You whispered, letting him feel the gun against his own torso this time. "I swear I'll kill you all." 

The boy looked down at his shoes, as your foreheads pressed together.

"You think you can pull a gun on my family?" You questioned, forcing his chin up with your knuckle. "Then wait until you see what I can do to yours."

You unloaded the gun, letting the magazine fall to the floor as you watched the bullets scatter out from it. You took a step back, and watched as Ron seemed to take his first breath. He immediately glanced over at Carl for some support, and you laughed in his face as he did so. You couldn’t believe he dared have the audacity to look to your brother for help not even minutes after threatening to kill him.

"Get out." You spat, and the boy did just that.

Your jacket caught on the handle as you snapped open the door a little too forcefully, and you growled below your breath. You'd been looking forward to returning home all day, and having some time to yourself to relax - but now all you saw was red. You kicked the door shut behind you with your boot, and grimaced at the sound of it slamming, and the glass shaking in the pane.

Daryl looked over at you curiously, raising an eyebrow where he stood in the kitchen. He was covered in grease, and you guessed he'd been working on his motorcycle whilst you were with the teenage firing squad. 

"How was yer day?" He drawled, pouring you a glass of water from the sink.

You sighed, and slumped into his chest when you reached him - letting your forehead drop against his shirt.

"I think I just threatened a sixteen year old." You mumbled there, and heard him chuckle as you did.

Daryl took a sip of the water, forgetting to offer you some first.

"Yeah, mine was good too." He replied, nonchalantly, and you hit him over the shoulder.

"Daryl-" you whined, not having the energy for playful banter.

He smiled at you sheepishly, and rubbed the back of your head, gently playing with some strands of hair between his fingers. There were oil-stains over his clothes, and he looked like he needed a shower. Though, at this moment, you didn't really care that the grease had rubbed off on you, or that your hair probably looked like coal dust.

"What did Carl do this time?" He asked sarcastically, but it made your blood run hot merely thinking about it.

"My brother didn't do anything." You snapped, and immediately regretted your tone. "It was Ron."

Daryl let out a low laugh, and you felt it rumble through his chest. He squeezed your shoulders, feeling the tension that had built up there.

"Does seem like kind of a lil' shit, don' he?"

You sighed; if only he knew the half of it. Daryl pressed his knuckles against your lower back, relieving the stress from your muscles. You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling.

"He pulled a gun on Carl." You admitted to the man, and instantly noticed as he stopped massaging your skin. "Then aimed it at me when I told him to drop it."

It was like you'd shown a red rag to a bull. Daryl went from completely loving to positively menacing in a matter of seconds, and stormed straight past you towards the door. 

"Daryl, stop-" you called out, panicked. "He's just a kid." 

You grabbed onto the man's shoulder, and he turned on his heels as you did so. His brow was furrowed, and you watched him narrow his eyes like he couldn't at all understand why you held him back.

"And kids should know their damn place." He growled, making your shiver.

You placed your hand over his chest, spreading your palm flat to feel his pounding heartbeat.

"He does. I made sure of it." You said quietly, trying to convince the man. "I'm just regretting the way I handled it."

Daryl immediately noticed the way your voice trailed off, and how your eyes dropped to the floor like you were ashamed. You weren't proud of what you did; but it needed to be done. You couldn't risk anything happening to your family - not when you'd all fought this hard just to stay together.

The man brought his hand to your cheek, coaxing you to look up and meet his eyes. You did, and he placed a soft, chaste kiss to your forehead - which you could feel him smile into ever so slightly.

"Is he still breathin'?" He mumbled against your skin, seeming to have calmed down enough to comfort you, instead.

"What-" you stuttered, before registering his words. "Yes, of course." You spoke, a little too loudly and a little too quickly.

Daryl chuckled, and wiped away some oil he'd gotten on your face with his thumb.

"Then ya handled it jus' fine."

There was a knock at your door not even an hour later. You'd told Daryl you would get it, but he bounded there before you had the chance - instructing you to stay on the couch and keep your feet up. He'd gotten a blanket and tucked you in so tightly that it felt like you were on an army base. You giggled to yourself, wondering if there was anything that man wouldn't do for you.

"Is she there?" Ron asked Daryl, mustering every ounce of confidence he had. "I want to apologise."

He scowled back, and practically snarled at the boy barely half his size but twice as stupid. Daryl was sure he could knock him on his ass as easy as the wind blowing a piece of paper through the breeze. He was scrawny, and fumbled with his hands like he couldn't dare to meet his eyes.

"Listen here, ya lil' prick." Daryl spoke, biting out the words. "Ya pull that shit again an' you'll have me to deal with."

You flipped the page of your magazine, re-reading the events from over a year ago and mumbling something about 'yesterday's news.' You tried your hardest to relax, but you had a nagging feeling that you couldn't escape from - making you feel antsy and on edge.

"Hi." Came the voice, wobbling through your living room like it was coated in a layer of shyness. "I just came to say I'm sorry." 

Whipping your head around, you caught sight of Ron, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. Daryl stood behind him, like he was blocking any escape route he may have planned - but in reality, he looked like a grouchy guard dog having come to make sure you were okay.

For the second time today, you felt speechless, and slowly closed your magazine before tucking it underneath a pillow. Not even an hour ago had you staked your life on how intimidating you could seem, and now you were bundled up near the fire like a grandmother with arthritis. You blinked, and stood up quickly - letting the woven blanket fall to the floor and kicking it under the couch like a poorly kept secret.

"I guess I was jealous of Carl." Ron continued, feeling pressured by your lack of response. "I'll never do anything like that again. I promise."

You met his eyes but he looked away, staring at the photo frames littering your walls - and resting his gaze over the picture of you, Carl and Judith in the centre.

"Damn right you won't." You finally replied, and watched the boy flinch like your words had cut him open.

"Come here." You instructed, and he listened.

When he approached, you slumped back down onto the couch, not caring if he noticed your glossy magazine slipping out from under the pillows. You patted the space next to you, gesturing for him to sit. He did, and the two of you stared into the red flames of the fire, watching them jump and splutter in front of you.

"When we're scared, we do stupid things." You told Ron, your voice coming out a lot softer than it had done before.

You caught sight of Daryl in the corner of your eye, leaning against the doorframe like he was content to watch from afar - leaving you to finish what you'd started. He'd always have your back, but sometimes he just wanted to hang back to see where you decided to take him.

"In this new world, you only have two options." You explained, and gave Ron's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The boy jumped a little at your touch, but soon settled into it when he realised how different it was from earlier that day.

"You can either fight it, or accept it." You said, listening to the crackle of firewood as it turned into red embers. "Fear it, or control it."

A/N For my sweet @alex-sulli who always leaves the most wonderful comments that never fail to make my day :)

Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the taglist!

Tag List:

@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @speakinglikeconstellations @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli @julesmalek @fuseburner @riverscyberwife @browneyes528 @julesclues @diaryofkali @solinarimoon @ssonia13 @phoenixblack89 @srhxpci @jocyc1997 @bvbwestfall @graniairish @bitchynicole

#daryl fanfiction #daryl imagine #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon drabble #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl x oc #daryl fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfic

[drmmyrs]

Remember Me (Becca x MC) Part 2

Hiii I’m back. Sorry again for the delay 😬I had such a hard time writing the ending so thank you so much @samanthadalton for all your help 😘Also, a big thanks to M anon for their suggestions and song request which I used some of.

tag list: @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @noixngn @sillyandcutewizardstuffs @doey-eyes8 @itszdavenport (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Warnings: some swearing

Word Count: 2289

It's been an hour since Emily last came into my room to remind me of my doctor's appointment. And it's been about thirty minutes since I've been ready to go, physically at least. Naturally, I tried to get Chris to come with me instead because he's my boyfriend, right? Ughh fine, ex-boyfriend. But can you blame me, though? How am I suppose to move on when I literally have no memory of some sort of breakup or closure? I stare at the dull beige-colored ceiling, a view which has me panicking in the mornings right after I wake up, before I remember that I don't live at the sorority house anymore. I then close my eyes and get comfort in the memories I have left, my only anchor on the reality I knew, away from this freakish place with the people I don't even give a shit about.

After a couple more minutes, I begrudgingly get up with a groan and trudge downstairs, finding Emily waiting on the couch. She smiles upon seeing me, but I don't return the gesture, being genuinely annoyed at the prospect of having to spend an incessant amount of time with her. So instead, I walk past her towards the door, my heels clattering on the wooden surface. Emily then follows behind me from a distance, careful not to invade my space. Once outside, I walk straight towards the passenger door of Emily's junk of a car, grabbing the handle as I glare at Emily impatiently, waiting for her to unlock it. As soon as unlocked, I sink into the seat, slamming the door close harder than I intended. Emily, though, takes a second before going in, eyeing the seat suspiciously as if it might shatter anytime. Once seated, she places her hand on the gear stick, slightly trembling. And then it dawns on me, I may have forgotten about the accident, but it's probably still fresh from her memory, terrorizing her at every reminder. All this time, I've been complaining about how unfair everything is for me, not once considering how it may have affected her.

"Who was driving?" I ask. It may not be the best thing to talk about right now, but I have to know.

I see Emily flinch at the question, and before she even opens her mouth, I know. She looks out the windshield, her voice cracking when she replies, "I was."

I nod. My mom told me it was a drunk driver running a red light that hit us, so I don't blame her at all, not anymore.

"Is it–" The words come out sharp, so I stop and soften my voice. "Is it the first time you drove since?"

Emily doesn't reply immediately; instead, she shifts the gear and steps on the gas pedal as we begin to make our way towards the hospital. She grips the steering wheel tightly, anxiously looking at the road, her eyes obsessively sweeping for any oncoming traffic at every intersection.

"No. No it's not but..." Emily trails off, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

But it's her first time to drive with me in the car. I turn my head to look out the window, knowing full well I can't ease her fears. How can I when I'm the living reminder of everything she lost?

---------

I immediately regret my outfit choice as soon as we get into the waiting room, the frigid temperature biting at my skin, sending sharp pains like that of a needle across my exposed skin. I try to play it cool, but a shiver escapes my body, desperate for any source of heat. A few seconds later, a jacket appears in front of me, held by Emily who is wearing an annoyingly cute little smile on her face. I mumble thanks and take the jacket, placing it over my shoulders, smelling the scent of lavender as I bask in the comfort of heat.

I take out my phone and browse my socials, catching up on all the events I missed–or forgotten–while ignoring the get well soon messages from both people I know and don't know that have been piling up ever since the accident. A few minutes later, the doctor calls my name, and as I stand up, Emily does as well but then sits back down almost immediately, clearly unsure if her company is welcome.

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

---------

After a useless consultation–apparently, they can't do much to help me regain my memories–Emily suggests we stop by an ice cream parlor not far from here. I assent, but only because I need the comfort of a sugary snack right now, and it's been ages since I had one, or at least I think so.

We reach a store I don't recognize, replacing an office space that, while I never paid attention to before, was a pleasant fixture in my reality, not this... eyesore. I shake my head; I can't keep living in the past. I follow Emily into the store, reminding myself that this is my reality now.

Inside, the floor is patterned with alternating pink and black tiles, and the walls are coated with somewhat fresh pink paint adorned with decors that scream ice cream as if one might stumble into the shop looking for lunch or something.

"Welcome t–ah Emily and Becca! I haven't seen you girls in a while."

I turn around to see a guy, probably in his mid-twenties– smiling at us like...  I shoot Emily a side-eye. She, of course, fails to mention that the guy working here is buddy-buddy with me. So, is this the kind of couple we were? Those who frequent an ice cream parlor enough to be on a first-name basis with the ice cream guy? I internally groan in disgust at the thought.

"–Becca." I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my name. Emily and the ice cream guy are looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry I didn't hear," I mumble.

"You'll be having strawberry, your usual, correct?" says the guy with a wide smile.

I do want strawberry, but I shake my head and say, "Vanilla," just to spite him, annoyed how some stranger knows my favorite ice cream flavor.

"Ooh, trying something new today, are we? One rocky road and vanilla coming right up," he announces in an annoyingly high pitch voice. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, which is met by a look of confusion followed by a laugh.

"You know wh–" 

Emily quickly interjects, "The bathroom's there, Becca," pointing at a door at the back of the store.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, heading straight towards the mirror. I stare at my reflection, nitpicking every tiny detail that has changed throughout the years, changes I don't recognize at all. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away. I'm Rebecca fucking Davenport; I don't cry. I grip the sink tightly, overcome with a new resolution. I know who I am; they don't, convincing myself more than anyone else.

Once finishing up in the bathroom, I head back outside, noticing a different aura in the room. Emily is holding our orders with an apologetic look while the ice cream guy regards me with pity, something I've grown used to in the past few weeks. I take my ice cream from Emily, not meeting her gaze, and walk out of the store, striding ahead of her towards the car, not once looking back.

--------

On the ride home, silence weighs heavily between us as Emily bites at her lower lip, either contemplating what to say or waiting for me to go off on her. After an awkward amount of time, Emily finally breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I–"

"Forget about it," I cut her off, too exhausted to engage with her. I think about the previous encounter, wondering if that would be my norm. Unfamiliar people coming up to me, sharing inside jokes and anecdotes while I stare blankly at them, wondering if I should explain my situation or just ignore them, being the bitch I know I am. I stare out the window, seeing all the changes in the city, musing about the memories I may have had alongside them, memories that I may or may not recover. It's as if an impostor had been living my life for the past two years, and now I'm forced to follow in their footsteps. It's obvious I had changed a lot during those years, my previous enemies becoming my closest friends, my greatest rival supposedly becoming the love of my life. Was she the love of my life? Was I happy with Emily?

It's already dark outside when we arrive home. I notice a few cars parked down the road, something unusual considering this is the only house for at least a couple of blocks. What do I know, though, it's not like I remember much about this place. I turn my attention back to the house; the lights inside are turned off, leaving a lone street lamp and the car's headlights as the primary sources of light, accentuating the jagged grey bricks of the house, almost giving an appearance of something sinister. This is ridiculous; I chide myself for being scared of a stupid house. 

Emily walks ahead towards the door while I follow a few steps behind. As soon as I walk inside, the light turns on, and I'm greeted by a chorus of surprise echoing throughout the house, coming from people whom I only recognize half of. I stare at them blankly, unimpressed but just mostly confused. My mother walks over to me and gives me a big hug.

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

Birthday? I inconspicuously look at my phone. Huh. I could've sworn I've seen the date today at least a few times. A few moments later, Emily steps forward with a cake in her hands.

"Happy birthday babe," she says, immediately followed by a look of horror. "Becca. Sorry."

Of course Emily had planned this. It doesn't really matter if I wanted to have a stupid party. She had to go ahead and decide for me.

"Go ahead and blow out the candles," my mom urges.

I blow out the candles, faking a smile for my mom. As much as I want to storm into my room, I'm not about to break my mom's heart by causing some unnecessary drama.

--------

Just a few moments into the party, and I'm already exhausted–people lining up to greet me, asking how I've been doing since the accident. I realize that most people here don't know about my condition, which means I have had to engage in quite a few conversations about the things I've supposedly been doing for the past few years, things I have no recollection of, to which I gave vague answers to avoid having to explain everything. 

I down my fourth glass of virgin cuba libre, eyeing the display of alcohol with contempt, resentful that I can’t drink because of the medicine I took earlier, when Zack drags me across the room to play some truth or dare with a bunch of people, some of whom I don't recognize. Thankfully, if there was one thing the sorority has taught me, it's that you don't have to know someone to ask the right questions or expertly avoid the common ones. That is of course until someone asks you the most unexpected question.

"Do you have a date for the wedding yet?"

I stare at them blankly, fumbling for words. Wedding? 

"I–I–"

But before I can make up an answer, Kaitlyn arrives with Emily in tow, and that's when I notice it, the ring on Emily's finger. I gasp for breath, feeling like the air is taken out of my lungs. And I almost don't notice it when Kaitlyn takes out her guitar and starts singing, joined by the others.

When all the tears are rolling down your face And it feels like yours was the only heart to break When you come back home and all the lights are out And you're getting used to no one else being around

Oh, oh, I'll be there

I look at the unfamiliar faces, singing their hearts out, gazing at me fondly. I then turn my gaze to Emily's ring finger, and sitting on it is a small but glistening diamond and part of me chastises myself for not noticing earlier. I feel the entire room’s eyes on me and suddenly, it becomes too much for me to withstand. I stand up, scrabbling to go to my room, footsteps following behind me. Once I got on the stairs, Emily shouts my name from behind, and I stop at the sound of her voice, turning around.

"We were engaged? Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out harsher than expected and it seems to take Emily by surprise too because she just stands there motionless, speechless. “Marriage is a big thing Emily, that’s not something you can just conveniently not tell me.” I let out a frustrated groan, momentarily letting the anger wash all over me before I’m left with a bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sick of having random people tell me things about my life which I can’t even remember when my own fianc–” I stop, not even being able to say the word, shaking my head as the agony brought by my predicament proves to be too much. “I can’t do this. I'm sorry," I croak before running towards my room, slamming the door behind me. I then curl myself in bed as the tears fall freely.

#becca #becca davenport #becca x mc #the freshman series #playchoices #my work #my writing #my fanfics #request

[angsty-omi]

second best.

tanaka ryūnosuke x reader; tanaka ryūnosuke x kyoko shimizu

genre: angst, heartbreak, cheating

word count: 1.5k

cw: insecurity

She was beautiful. Her silky black hair, perfect nose, nicely framed glasses, and a cute mole on her chin. Anyone could see it, every volleyball team in the tri-state area attempted to get her number. Kiyoko Shimuzu was her name, and you could not help but see the way your boyfriend looks at her.

The three of you went to school together, since primary. A trio, one would call it ever since the third grade. At recess, kids would say, “It’s no surprise that Y/N, Kiyoko, and Tanaka are all partnered together.” and during a specific game of soccer, you accidentally tripped over the ball and skid your knee. You bit your lip hard, trying not to cry in front of everyone. Your eyes were watery, at the fact that your knee hurt like hell and now everyone was staring at you. To your surprise, Tanaka ran over to you to help you up and guide you to the clinic. When you got there, the nurse sat you down and poured alcohol onto cotton balls. Tanaka offered his hand, and you gripped it lightly, with a slight shade of pink on your cheeks. It was a cute moment until the nurse dabbed onto your joint. Then, you tightly squeezed Tanaka’s hand and screamed some very colorful words. That night, your mom scolded you and sent you straight to your room. While you lay on your bed, you could not help but smile at the event that happened that afternoon. This was the start of your attraction towards Tanaka Ryūnosuke.

When you got to middle school, puberty started to hit you like a truck. The rapid growth of hormones made your face acne-infested. While everyone told you it was normal, you could not help but question why does Kiyoko’s face not look like this then? Her skin was clear and had a nice dew to it. The amount of money spent on drug store products could buy you a whole store. Acne was inevitable, already eating at your brain, and planting their seed called insecurity. Tanaka would always call Kiyoko terms like, ‘gorgeous’ and ‘goddess’ while you had what- ‘funny’? The summer going into high school, you decided to get medical help. Immediately, you were put on accutane. You did not want to see anyone during that whole summer, especially Tanaka. Accutane made your face very dry, crackled, and forced you to put on chapstick every minute. Locking yourself into your room all summer, made you lonely.

Sometimes, you could hear Tanaka and Kiyoko walk by your house and hear them say, “Has Y/N ever responded to your texts? It’s like she’s a ghost.” Tanaka asked.

“Nope, she hasn’t even answered to get our nails done, she must seriously be ghosting us,” Kiyoko responded.

You tear up at the guilt of ignoring your closest friends, but it’s hard when you’re in love with one of them and envious of the other. You did not want your toxic mindset upheld against them, so you justified that it was just for the best.

When fall came around, it was back to school. Your first year. The Accutane, though traumatizing, worked. In addition, being trapped in your room all day introduced you to makeup. Looking in the mirror, you actually started to like what you saw in the mirror. You’ve learned self-care and it paid off. Scanning the sheets on the wall, it looked like Tanaka was in your class and Kiyoko was in the honors one.

“Class 2-B” you read aloud to yourself and sat down at a desk. You left the one seat open next to you, just for Tanaka. When you saw him walk in, your heart skipped a beat. He looked different, in a good way. His hair was shaved, taller, and looked more mature. When you waved over to him, he just glared at you and sat at the seat farthest from you. This made your heart drop. Why was he acting like this? Did I do something? Does he not want to be my friend anymore? Questions rambling in your head. During lunch, you headed over to his desk and pulled the chair behind you to sit down. He just stared at you intently, furrowing his brows signifying anger.

“Ryo-channn, look what I brought,” you gleefully rang, knowing that he would never in a million years refuse your mom’s onigiris. When you took out your bento, you grabbed the onigiri with your hand and put it near his mouth. Still looking at you angrily, he took a bite from the onigiri in your hand and looked away from you.

“What’s wrong?” you worried. He did not respond, so you asked again. “You can’t just act like I don’t exist Ryo, especially if you’re eating from my invisible hand.”

“That’s funny, me acting like YOU don’t exist when you ghosted me for three months? I thought we were best friends, Y/N.” Now, you finally understood why he was so upset. Before you could speak up, there was a knock at the entrance, “Ryo, want to grab lunch together?” Kiyoko said in a monotone voice. It seems that Kiyoko too was also mad at you. You could not help it though, you and Kiyoko were basically sisters up until that summer. “Yeah, let me grab my stuff,” Ryo picked up all his belongings and left you in the dust.

That day, you waited for both of them after practice. Kiyoko was a manager and Tanaka was on the team. Two birds, one stone. When they walked out together, they both saw you. Murmuring to each other. You took a deep breath, “Listen, I’m sorry for not texting you guys back and not spending time with you during the summer. I-it’s just that I felt so i-insecure with myself, I didn’t want to bring you guys down with me y’know?” Tears started welling up in your eyes, you continued, “I would hear you guys talk about me when you passed by my house, and it took everything I had to not just run out and hug you guys. But, I couldn’t. I hated myself for the longest time and I was scared that you two would start to notice it. So, I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore, but you guys needed an explanation.” You sighed and started to turn around and leave. You fell to your feet, with two bodies tackling you down. “G-guys?” your eyes are still watery. Laughter emitted from their voices, “Don’t do it again or else we will kill you,” Kiyoko threatened.

It was the final set, both teams were tied. Yamaguchi was serving and Aoba Johsai hit it back with ease. The rally probably lasted around a minute, but to everyone, it was slowed down. Until, Tanaka passed the ball to Kageyama, and everyone thought he’d set it Hinata. Instead, he setter dumped. The crowd was silent, not realizing what just happened. Karasuno just won the preliminaries. Every student screamed and chanted at them. You and a couple of other people ran down to congratulate. You ran up to Tanaka’s arms and squeezed him. He swung you around joyfully, and you pulled your face back. There was a moment where it felt like it was just the two of you. The adrenaline of winning finally got to you, and you impulsively kissed him. It lasted maybe around a second or two before you finally realized what you were doing. Mortified, you were rambling with apologies.

“Can you please just forget this ever happen-” he cut you off. Warm lips were pressed onto your lips. You were shocked at first but slowly sunk into the kiss. This was the start of your relationship with Tanaka Ryūnosuke.

Kiyoko never spoke about her feelings about her best friends dating. In fact, she hated it. But it was out of character for her to be so opinionated. She could not stand the fact that you guys would cuddle during movie night nor how he would hold your hand during the walk home. She did not necessarily like Tanaka that way, but she did miss the attention he gave her. Who wouldn’t want someone calling you pretty 24/7? And to reject them was a power move. No one would ever know, but he was the reason why her confidence shot up. The confidence to reject handsome men on different teams. All started because of Tanaka. Although, now that he was with you, the flirting stopped. She could feel herself start to become jealous and it started to infect her brain. During practice, Yachi would gush about how cute you and Tanaka were while Kiyoko just had to listen.

“Y/N is too cute,” Yachi cheesed. Kiyoko couldn't take it anymore, “Listen, I am way prettier than Y/N and Tanaka could do much better” it just slipped out. She was surprised at what she just said, and even more surprised that she didn’t even feel an ounce of guilt.

“Like you?” a voice appeared. It was Tanaka. “R-Ryo,” she muttered. “We should talk outside.”

Once they were both outside, Tanaka spoke first.

“You don’t get to do this. You rejected me countless times and now t-that I’m with someone you can’t just profess your feelings for me.” Tanaka hissed.

“I-I know, it’s just- I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. Imagine how I feel seeing you guys together, the man I love with someone else. Someone who is inferior to me.” Tears welled up in Kiyoko’s eyes.

“Do you even hear yourself right now? Love? Please. You don’t love me. You never will.” He bit his lip sharply.

Silence.

“Then look at me and tell me you don’t love me. Because not once have you said that you didn’t feel the same way, you only said that you were dating Y/N” Kiyoko sobbed.

“You know I can’t do that,” Tanaka whispered. Then, Kiyoko leeched on him, pressing her lips against his. He wasn’t kissing back, but he wasn’t pulling away either. He was conflicted. He was too dazed and decided to just give in.

Little did they both know, there you were watching at the scene. Well, now you were hiding behind a wall, peeking at them, kissing. You could physically hear your heart-shattering. After wiping the nonstop tears flowing on your face, you left.

Grief turned into anger. You threw every picture, gift, and sweater into the trash bag. Your eyes only saw red. Your room was left bare and cold. The bedroom door knocked in a rhythmic beat that only one person did. When he walked in, his eyes gazed at every spot in your room. It was empty.

You looked down at the ground, “I always knew I was second best in your heart.” You whispered, tears threatening your eyes. “What?” His face contorted in a confused stance. “I should’ve seen it coming y’know? But I just thought maybe— maybe he’d pick me.” You continued. He started getting worried, “What’re you talking about?” The fact that he was here, blatantly lying to you, gives you all the answers you needed.

“Please don’t act like that, not with me”

“Act like what?”

“Clueless. Ry-Tanaka,” you corrected yourself. “If you love her, then go for it. But don’t act like you’re still in love with me. It hurts-” Your voice broke mid-sentence.

“It was a mistake,” He pleaded.

“A mistake? No, mistakes happen impulsively. T-This whole thing with Kiyoko was premeditated. All my life, I have been trying to compete with her. Grades, appearances, and even you. And when I had you, I thought, I had won. I won the best prize ever. You. But now-” You dropped to your knees, “I don’t even have you.”

He wiped your tears with his hands, “But you do, you do have me,”

“No, no I don’t,” you denied.

“Yes you do baby, I’m right here. I choose you.”

You were not some decision, you were his girlfriend and yet, he thought that would make you happier. “Nonono, you don’t get it. I don’t want you anymore. These tears aren’t for you, they’re for me. Seeing you kiss Kiyoko? I felt nothing and that scared me. Maybe I wasn’t in love with you, maybe I just wanted to beat Shimizu that bad. Who knows? But, by the looks of it, I did win. I got to you first.” You punctuated every word, prying his hands off your face. Of course, you were lying your ass off. You’ve loved this man ever since that day in recess. Revenge had poisoned your heart though, and you wanted him to feel an ounce of you were feeling.

“We’re done. There I have let you go, now you are free to do anything you want with Kiyoko. Date her or reject her, it’s not my issue anymore.” Tanaka couldn’t even recognize you anymore. Though it was your voice and your physical look, it was like your soul had been drained, and in replacement was someone who was cold and emotionless.

A/N: I’m back! I’ve fixed my writing style so everything is capitalized properly. Requests are greatly appreciated! Just shoot a message. Also, this story was inspired by my drabble and a person actually asked me to write one for Tanaka, so here you go @aestheticno !

likes & repubs are greatly appreciated. :D

#haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #tanaka x you #hq tanaka #tanaka angst #hq kiyoko #tanaka fluff

[coepiteamare]

you have (1) new voicemail

pairing: jimin x reader (though what their relationship is is unclear) genre: mystery, angst (? as always), fluff (like a wee bit), epistolary fic! warning: mentions of a ballet accident (nothing detailed, just that something happened), jimin is missing, implied!depression beta reader: hana! @cutechim​ this story would not have happened without you and i absolutely adore you. also thank you to noor @papillonsgf​ because you were the first person i talked to about this story and uhhhhh well let’s just say this story may be different than what you were expecting word count: 4.9k (this used to be drabble series lmao)

things you said series: things you said through the phone summary: “Hi, Jimin. It’s me.” (alt. you leave voicemails for jimin when taehyung asks you if you’ve heard from him recently.)

A/N: this is all dialogue, which is ironic—to say the least—because i find dialogue painfully difficult to write (it doesn’t come naturally to me, it conflicts with my writing style, and it’s just difficult to write it in a way that feels real.) nonetheless, i hope it comes across the way i wanted it to, and i hope it makes you feel something. 

December 5th at 14:30

Hi, Jimin. It’s me. 

I know we haven’t talked in a while, but-uhm-I saw Taehyung a couple days ago? I happened to be near where that cafe is—what’s it called—Moodspresso! Do you remember it? We wanted to go when it was new, back when you were taking that coffee-making class with Yoongi. You were such a dork: you wanted to go all around the city to judge cafes by their espressos, even though you weren’t a fan of the bitterness.  

We never did get around to trying it together: I think we tried to make plans, but it was out of the way of where we were, and then life happened, and then, well...it happened. 

When I saw it, it felt strange, as if a fragment of my past found its way into my present? It was kind of funny how I went in there thinking about you, only to see Taehyung. Weirdly fitting, considering how the two of you were always together, joined at the hip in college.

Anyway, he asked me if I had heard from you recently? Told me you haven’t texted him in a while, that you weren’t answering your phone, so I just wanted to check in! You know, say hi! I—uhm—tried to text you, but it wouldn’t deliver, so I figured I would just leave a voice message. I hope that’s okay. I hope you’re doing okay. If you hear this, you should probably text Taehyung; it seems like he’s worried. Said you usually respond within the day, but you haven’t been lately.

I-uhm-hope you’re doing okay. Text me back and let me know? 

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 12th at 15:21

Uh, hey Jimin. I didn’t hear from you, so I thought I would check back in.

I saw on facebook that Jeongguk’s dating. Isn’t that strange? I mean, it’s not strange that he’s dating; it’s just strange that it’s Jeongguk who’s dating. You know, our Jeonggukkie, the one who could barely talk to his crushes without getting tongue tied. 

It seems like not too long ago he was the scrawny high schooler stressing about college applications, but he’s dating now. We used to help him with his personal statements and here he is. Dating. That’s just—wow. Time flies, I guess. 

I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with him lately, so i just wanted to let you know. You know, in case you didn’t see it. 

I-

This is so stupid; I’m so sorry. 

Uhm, let me know if you get this?

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 14th at 19:42

I went to the bookstore today and I saw that your favourite manga released its final volume. That’s so...wild. 

I remember you were reading it when I first met you in high school and to think that it’s over? That’s like Supernatural coming to an end, you know? Something that has gone on for so long that it feels weird that it’s ending. That it’s no longer a part of our lives that grows with us. It’s something that has an ending. 

Speaking of endings, I don’t know if you’ve seen the ending of Supernatural, but don’t do it. It just-wow. 

Anyways, I haven’t kept up with the manga, but when I saw that they released the final volume, I felt the need to buy it? I went in to buy something else and came out with all of the volumes that I hadn’t read. 

I could have just read them online, I know, but I figured, if I see you again, I'd give you the final volume? Unless you already have it. Then I’d just keep it, but...you know. I just-

It made me think of you. How you transferred in late in the school year with crutches, and even though you were new, you weren’t paying attention in math class. I remember my first impression of you being “he must not care about school.” I think I later learned you had just started reading the manga a couple days ago and wanted to catch up because you couldn’t think about anything else.  

It didn’t even matter that you didn’t pay attention that week or that you came in mid-school semester because you aced every class. I thought it was because you were smart without trying, which irked me because I always felt like I was trying and not accomplishing—though I suppose that still applies now—but I later learned how much effort you put in. You always tried so hard that you made things seem easy. School work. Your happiness. Your feelings to a certain extent. 

I just-

I wish-

Nevermind.

I hope you’re doing okay.

*beep*

December 17th at 13:21.

Hey, Jimin.

I tried to make pasta today, and I don’t know how, but I managed to get the sauce everywhere. Everywhere but in the pan. So now, my kitchen looks like a bloody crime scene with red everywhere. I don’t even know how I’m going to clean all of this up, but I should do it before it dries, right?

  I should, but I’ve just been sitting on the floor looking at it for the past few minutes.

  Do you remember when we made pasta for our fakesgiving potluck at your place, and I got sauce all over your shirt?

 I was wearing your white shirt—why I thought wearing a white shirt while making red sauce was a good idea, I don’t know—and I was trying to get the jar to open, but it wouldn’t work. I don’t think i’ve ever told you about this, but I remember that day was particularly awful for me. Just one unlucky event after another—I don’t quite remember what exactly they were, just that they were enough to make me feel like I wasn’t enough—and even though I was so excited for the fakesgiving potluck the night prior, even though I loved our friends, I just wanted to be alone. To not do anything and settle under the covers. Pretend everything could be forgotten if I just went to sleep.

But I saw you, and you were so excited. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I didn't want to go, so I sucked it up and helped you prep. I tried to pretend that everything was okay, but when that stupid jar wouldn’t open, I took my frustration out on it. You tried to take it from me, but I pushed you away, told you I could do it. 

And I did, only I also managed to spill the jar on your white shirt as I watched the jar fall to the ground and shatter. That spill was the tipping point, not because I spilled the only jar of tomato sauce in your apartment, but because I spilled it all over your new, brand name, white shirt.

I remember berating you for spending so much money on a shirt when you bought it—for fuck’s sake, it was a plain white shirt—but I know how much you adored it. I didn’t need to look at your face to know that I had fucked up, that I should have just let you open the jar instead of being stubborn. I started to cry, in anticipation of your anger, but you just held me instead, got pasta sauce on your shirt too as you let me cry on your shoulder, whispering “There, there. It’s okay. We can just make something else!”

You never even mentioned the white shirt, told me not to worry about it when I apologised, that it was the least of your concerns. That you could get another shirt.

Looking at my kitchen reminded me of that. So, I figured I’d give you another call, but it went straight to voicemail again.

I hope you’re doing okay.

I don’t know if you want to talk to me, but I’m just worried.

Call me if you get this? 

Or just send me a text.

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 19th at 21:45.

Hey. There’s a full moon today. And I thought about you. 

I—uhm—think about you from time to time when the moon is bright. I don’t know why—it probably sounds stupid—but I have a lot of memories of you and the moon? Like that time we went to visit Jeongguk by the sea during winter break because all of us didn’t want to go home but didn’t want to be alone. So we made a road trip of it—well, it was kind of a road trip—and drove to San Diego to see him.

When we got to the sea, it was dark and so cold out, and the wind was fucking freezing, but we rolled up our pants and started walking along the shore, dipping our toes in the water and screaming about the temperature. Our teeth were chattering and the water was so so cold, but we did it anyways. 

It was a nice beach, from what I remember. One of the nicest I’ve ever seen. 

I stuck my hand into your jacket pocket and told you my hand warmer was dying, but to be honest, I just wanted to hold your hand. I think you knew, or maybe we had known each other for so long that you knew what I needed without having to express it in words, so you took my hand and held it tight. And even though the water was freezing and the wind was cold, in that moment, I felt so warm. 

I think you and I have always communicated well, like how I saw the way your eyes glinted in the moonlight and, somehow, knew what you wanted to do. Sneaked up behind him and pushed Jeongguk into the ocean together and laughed as he shrieked. 

It was fun, that day. I-

I miss those days sometimes. The earlier days. When there was less to worry about. 

When you were happier. 

Anyway, the moon is really bright today. The radio called it a supermoon, or something like that. I took a picture and tried to send it to you, but your phone still won’t let me send you messages. So if you hear this, just, go outside and take a look at the night sky. 

Call me back? Or send me a text. 

I just want to know you’re okay. 

Bye Jimin.

*beep*

December 21st at 16:28

I went to see The Nutcracker today. It felt like I haven’t seen a ballet in forever. It’s been—what—one year since I saw one? Which, I guess, in the grand scheme of things hasn’t been that long. But you were the one who would take me and I haven’t seen one since...yeah. I know it’s your favourite ballet. Or was. I’m not sure if it’s changed, haha.  

The American Ballet Theatre was putting on a performance, and there were still nosebleed seats available, so I bought one. It kind of felt like fate, like it was a sign that I was meant to be there, because I remember we used to get our tickets months in advance. 

I remembered some of the terms? I recognised the pa-pas de deux—god, my high school french is so fucking rusty—between the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince. I know that part is your favourite, but I still think “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” is mine. All those turns? I don’t remember the technicalities, but I know it requires a lot of skill to pull off while looking graceful. I still find it strange that the Sugar Plum Fairy is the prima ballerina though, considering she barely appears. 

I-uhm-kind of was hoping to see you. 

I know you don’t dance anymore, but—maybe it was just my stupid desire but—I was hoping that you would be dancing with the company. That perhaps you were dancing again and that was why you weren’t answering any of the calls. I kept looking at everyone, trying to see if it was you. I even paid extra attention to the curtain call and looked at every single person, kept trying to find your physique in the line. But you weren’t there.

You weren’t in the audience either. I stayed in my seat until the very end, until after the end, and scanned the crowd for anyone who was lingering and soaking in the energy, like you would do every time we went to see a ballet together. But there wasn’t. It was just me. 

I stayed in my seat anyways, until the ushers told me I had to leave. Because that’s what you would have done. 

I guess I was hoping you would show up. That trying to do what you would do would somehow unlock your presence. Or give me some kind of clue.

But it didn’t. 

Where are you?

*beep*

December 23rd at 17:19.

I saw Taehyung again today. 

He wanted to know if I'd heard from you. I don’t know why he thought you would contact me. I mean, I know I call you and leave you these messages, but you know. I haven’t talked to you since...since, yeah. 

He looked awful, like he’s running himself thin. I don’t know if he’s been sleeping well, Jimin. The two of you have been friends forever, and I don't know if you’d recognise him. He seems so tired, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

He thought it was going to be like last time. That you would show up soon. But you haven’t yet, and it’s been so long, Jimin. 

He called the hospital and they told him you quit a few weeks back, which I don’t understand. I thought you needed residency to get your physiotherapy license. Tae doesn’t get it either. 

He’s been going to your apartment, trying to see if anyone is in there. But there hasn’t been. He’s contacted your apartment manager several times, telling them he’s worried about you, but they won’t let him have the keys. Safety reasons. It’s understandable and frustrating all at once because he—we just want to make sure you’re okay. 

He said he used to have a key to your apartment. Said you gave him your spare, but you took it back? Something about you needing your spare because you locked yourself out. He said that was the last time he saw you.  

I’m not trying to jump to conclusions, but you’re okay right? I know this time of year is when—uhm, the accident happened and you-uh-left the Royal Ballet School. I know this isn’t your favourite time of year, but if you need to talk, I’m here. 

He’s worried, Jimin. We all are. 

Call me back? Or call Tae? We’re just worried and Tae wants to file for a missing person’s report. So just, let us know you’re okay. 

Call me soon, yeah?

*beep*

December 27th at 22:48.

I saw Yoongi today. 

I don’t think he likes me very much, but then again, I wouldn’t like my cousin’s ex either, so I can’t really blame him. He was still as civil as ever. Very polite. He and Seokjin are still dating, but I’m sure you knew that.

Tae had contacted Yoongi a couple days ago? Asking about you. So we all met up in person today. 

I forgot how much food Seokjin makes when he’s stressed. Do you remember when he was waiting to hear back from his job, and Yoongi invited us over for dinner? We were excited because we were college students and living off of the shitty cafeteria food and, also, because it was Seokjin’s food. You thought it was because they wanted to feed us—Seokjin always wanted to feed you—but when we went over, it was obvious they just needed help getting rid of the food. There was so much food. To this day, I don’t think I've ever seen so much food in one place, even during our potlucks, and Seokjin always brought a lot of food to our potlucks. 

I remember stepping in to their apartment, and the heat radiating from the kitchen was too much to bear. The walls were sweating because he had been cooking for seven hours, trying to displace his anxiety into food. We came back to the dorms with tupperwares full of food. I didn’t have to visit the cafeteria for a week. 

God, I’ll never forget the first time we met Seokjin, and he made us fried rice: you couldn’t stuff your face fast enough and choked because it went down the wrong pipe, coughed out fried rice all over their brand new dining table and all over Yoongi. Seokjin and I laughed so hard. I was trying to be polite, kept looking at Yoongi's face and tried to swallow my giggles, but Seokjin's laughter was so boisterous and lively that I couldn't not laugh. 

You laughed too, kept choking on your laughter in between your apologies, and Yoongi just kept glowering at you. But it was full of affection. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you and back at the table and huffed, but it would have been obvious to anyone that he wasn’t really annoyed with you. 

He went back to our hometown a couple days ago, tried to see if you were there. But you weren’t. 

He went to see your parents, but they still think you’re living here too. Yoongi said he went to all the places you used to go to, like your old ballet school and that comic book store you used to go to after school. I even asked him to visit the arcade. You know, where we first met outside of school? Where we would hang out after school with Jeongguk and spend too much money on House of the Dead. Where we had our first date. 

But nothing. 

There are traces of you everywhere, but you? You’re not anywhere. 

Where’d you go, Jimin?

*beep*

December 28th at 2:19

Fuck you.

You don’t get to do this to me. I spent so long trying to forget and trying to move on and you come back in, except—do you know what the most fucked up part of this is? It’s that you’re not even here. You’re not here, and somehow you’re everywhere. No matter what I do, all I can do is think about you because no one knows where you are. Everyone is worried because you’re missing and I-I don’t know what to do. 

I thought this was over a year ago.

So why, why are you back in my life? Why are you reawakening the things I've tried so hard to bury?

Fuck you.

*beep*

-- 

December 28th at 2:23

Hey Jimin. Just ignore that previous voicemail. I’m just--I’m just frustrated. Worried. Everyone is. 

Just call me back if you get this? 

*beep*

--

December 28th at 2:25

You don’t even need to call. Just give me a sign? Let me know you’re okay. Please.

I just want to know you’re safe. 

*beep*

December 30th at 1:13

Jeongguk flew in from New York today. Tae called him yesterday, and he took the first flight here. 

I realised I’ve never seen Jeongguk mad. 

I guess I’ve kind of seen him grow up, but I’ve never seen Jeongguk angry until today. I mean, I've seen him upset and angry, but I’ve never seen him mad. Like mad mad.  I’ve never been on the receiving end of it because he’s always had his emotions in check when it comes to the negative ones. We’ve seen him sad, but you know how he is. He seems like he doesn’t care, but he cares so much when it comes to the people he loves. He’s always trying to only share the good things because he doesn’t want to bring everyone down. And even when he’s upset with us, he tries to communicate. He’s always been emotionally mature in that sense. 

A lot like you. I think he gets that from you. You are his brother after all. 

But when we told him none of us had heard from you? That you were missing?

I realised we’ve ever really seen Jeongguk angry. 

I’ve never seen Tae look so despondent or Yoongi so guilty than when we saw Jeongguk at the airport. They didn’t want to worry him because he had just moved for his new job—I’m sure you know about that—and he’s been so stressed out that they didn’t want to add more on to his plate. 

They thought you would show up by now, that you would come back. Because you always do. Or did. You used to.

 I remember the first time you disappeared. It was a year after you came back, the anniversary of the...the accident. You were a little distant a couple days prior, but still you. Still vibrant and happy and beau-I mean, bright. And then on the day of, you were just gone. Didn’t show up to school. Weren’t at the arcade. Weren’t at your apartment. Just gone. Vanished into thin air. 

I remember asking Jeongguk if you were sick, but he had no idea what I was talking about, and when we couldn’t get a hold of you, he burst into tears. I held him as he told me about your fight last night, how you got your xbox taken away because the two of you didn’t know how to share. He thought you had left because you didn’t love him, because he was your step brother and not your real brother. 

And as we were panicking about what to do, if we should tell your parents when they came back from work, you stepped through the front door with sand in your hair and your backpack over your shoulder, smiling as if you hadn’t been missing for half the day. As if your phone wasn’t turned off all day. 

I remember feeling relieved and exhausted all at once, as if someone had drained all the worry and energy out of me. I remember Jeongguk crying as he ran to hug you. I remember you crying and promising not to go anywhere without telling him again.

And you didn’t. Sometimes you would disappear when something hit too close or when you felt like everything was too much, but we could always turn to Jeongguk for a breadcrumb, for the small hint that you were okay. 

But you didn’t leave him a hint this time. When we called him, let him know you were missing, asked him if he knew anything about your whereabouts, he didn’t say anything. He went so quiet, we thought the line went dead, until he actually did hang up. He sent us a text message a few minutes later, letting us know he’ll be arriving on the next flight there.  

Jeongguk-he’s so cold when he’s angry. He’s so quiet. But that quiet is so loud. It speaks volumes. 

I’ve seen Jeongguk loud with laughter and quiet in contemplation. But this? This was something different. 

I guess the two of you are alike in that sense too. Both of your silences are never just quiet. 

*beep*

December 30th at 15:37

So we-uhm-broke into your apartment. 

Or well, Jeongguk did. But I guess all of us are accomplices because we kind of-well, we stood there as he did it. I don’t know why Jeongguk even knows how to pick locks, but I didn’t really have the chance to ask. 

Your apartment looks normal. Still spotless. It looks like you. Like how it used to. Or how it used to before we lived together, at least. 

I’m not going to lie, I-I’m a little surprised you didn’t move out. I couldn’t even go to the places we used to go to after you told me you wanted to break up. 

I guess it didn’t bother you as much. 

We scoured your apartment for clues as to where you could have gone, which may sound very Paper Towns of us, but—I don’t know—we were just looking for any sign as to where you might be. If you were okay. There weren’t any notes or anything that could give us a hint though, and Tae said it doesn’t look any different than when he last visited. 

Jeongguk also called your credit card company to see what your last purchases were. To see if it would give us any clues. But you haven’t used it since you left. Everything is just blank. 

Blank. Like you don’t want to be found. 

Jeongguk is still upset that none of us told him—I can’t blame him for that—but I think he’s mostly upset at himself that he didn’t know. That you two stopped talking for a bit, and he didn’t notice anything was wrong. 

I think he feels like he’s been drifting away from you too, ever since his job got busy and he moved for work. Or maybe it’s before that. I think he’s always felt like you don’t tell him everything, even though he pours everything out to you, looks up to you. I know you’d give him the world, Jimin, but Jeongguk would give up everything for you if you ask. 

But you don’t ask. You never do. You don’t let people in when you’re hurting. Maybe it’s the ballet training instilled in you to smile through the pain. Cover up the flaws. Put on a performance all the time. You pretend it doesn’t exist and push people out.  

No, you just disappear instead. 

*beep*

December 30th at 21:02

Tae and I are staying over at your apartment. I hope you don’t mind. We just decided we would rather not risk having anyone in your apartment see us try and break down your door and call the police on us, haha. It makes it easier if we’re in your apartment so we can open the door in case we need anything. Or find something that we missed.  

It’s-uhm. It’s weird being here. Feels like I've been displaced from the present and back into the past, only you’re not here. 

I noticed you took down all the photos of London.You used to have that big photograph wall next to your bed, filled with pictures from when you lived there, from when you used to dance. But all your ballet photos are gone too. Tae told me you took them down a while ago, a little after the break up. Said you stopped dancing for fun too, after a while. 

I just-

I hope-

Ah, fuck it. Nevermind. 

It’s so weird to be back here. 

*beep*

December 30th at 22:14

I found my sweater under your pillow. The white one with the moon on it?

I thought I had lost it after we broke up. I wanted to ask you if you had it, if i forgot to take it with me when I moved out, but by then we had already been one month in and- 

And it hurt. To think about you. Even though that was all I was doing. 

It kind of felt like it does right now. How you permeate my every thought and every moment, even though you weren’t there. The quiet was-is-so loud with your absence. 

It smells like you. The sweater. 

I just-

I don’t know what that means.

I don’t know what any of this means. 

I just don’t understand why my sweater would be under your pillow because it was you. You’re the one who told me you wanted to break up. 

You told me you didn’t want to do this anymore, didn’t have the energy to try. You were so sad, and I wanted to argue, wanted to beg you to let me stay until you were better, but you were so sad. So sad and exhausted and defeated and certain in your decision that I knew there was no use fighting it. 

How could I hold on to someone who’s not there anymore, right?

I’ve been telling myself that we can’t understand break ups or feelings. There’s no understanding them. We feel what we feel and sometimes there are no explanations for it. So I knew. I got it. I understood there was no point in asking to stay, but I regretted not asking you for a reason. 

I still do. 

I didn’t have the chance to ask you why because I was too busy staggering from the weight of I don't love you anymore.  Too busy struggling to piece together what those words mean. 

Love is a two way street; it goes both ways. But you made the decision, and all of a sudden, that two way street morphed into a dead end, and I had no choice but to walk away from it, back out the way I came from. 

I wish I could say that I didn’t see it coming. That it came out of left field, out of the blue. But I can’t because I had been bracing myself for the impact for weeks. For months. 

Would it have changed things if I hadn’t known? Would it have hurt less? 

I don’t know. 

I don’t know. But I wish I did.

I wish I knew, Jimin.

*beep*

Message deleted. You have no new voicemails. Main menu.

A/N: come talk to me! let me know your thoughts! once again, thank you to hana and noor. this story wouldn’t exist without the two of you. 

#jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin x oc #jimin fic #jimin angst #bts fic #jimin scenario #bts scenario #bts imagine #jimin imagine #bangtanuniversity #thebtswritersclub #btswritingcafe #heartsforbts

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 4

TW: None

Words Count: 3k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 5

There are several moments in our life that we may call life-changing. And from those life-changing moments, there are the ones that you’ve been waiting for your whole life that you imagine so much on how it’s going to happen. There are also the ones that come when you least expect it, you don’t even have time to react.

But there are also the events where you’ve been been waiting- dreaming for, and somehow it turns into something you least expect.

It’s funny how we think that if we imagine and plan one thing for a long time, when it finally happens, it would happen exactly the way you imagine it to be- spare the few millimetres of difference which you perhaps could look over. Take for instance, a wedding event. People- girls typically- imagine it beforehand and when it happens, it happens exactly the way they imagine it to be.

You might not have the luxury to conjure your dream wedding in your mind ever since you’re young, or plan it meticulously to every detail, or imagining the colour of your dress or how long it would be, but to the very least, you did imagine that you’d be marrying some knight in shining armour in modern version - which translates to a decent enough guy.

Someone who’s kind, can generally be communicated with, not involved in fights - a normal person.

How funny that the dreams can easily be shattered.

Here you are, alone in the large bedroom and contemplating about your life decision. You married Park Jimin three days ago. The wedding was private, only signings of papers involved though Jimin had to do a press conference shortly after which was only attended by him to inform his marriage. He told you it was better off for you to stay out of public so that they don’t follow you after your divorce. Of course, you thought, since the marriage is temporary.

Everything happened very fast that day. Too fast for you to process anything that somehow it still feels surreal that you’re married. You’ve exchanged very few words with your husband too but somehow they’re all etched in your mind.

During the signing of documents, which basically all there is to your wedding, he barely says anything to you at all except when the priest asks and he only stares at you deeply while uttering the word ‘I do.’ When his hands briefly brush with yours to put a ring on your finger, you suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling- you felt scared, anxious of this new life yet there’s also a twisted feeling of you being safe, perhaps because you now have a house though you can’t call it home just yet.

The house had been particularly empty ever since you moved in. Jimin wasn’t around, didn’t even bother mentioning where he would be and you’re left wondering on your own whether he has another house or he’s sleeping anywhere else but his house. If it’s the latter, you can’t help but feel guilty for ‘taking his home away’. He could’ve just stay here and you can sleep in the guest room or the couch at that.

With your newfound freedom and due to boredom that’s starting to take over as well as lack of people to communicate with, you start to roam around and explore the house. You learn that Mrs. Lee doesn’t live here as you originally thought but usually available every one or two days and mostly during daytime. She cooks and leaves the meal wrapped in foils for Jimin to reheat whenever he wants.

Mrs. Lee has also been nothing but pleasant enough to tell you most of the things she know about your husband. She told you that Jimin’s a very private person so she may not know much about his personal matter apart from the fact that Jimin will be inheriting Park Corporations from his father though Jimin himself did build himself together with his group of close friends, a tech company which went public about a year ago.

You find yourself getting more curious about your husband though he’s barely around. You learn about his favourite dishes too, one of them being kimchi jigae stew which Mrs. Lee very kindly taught you how to make. You admit that at first you think it is all useless to get to know about Jimin but then you also think that there’s no harm in learning about him even though the marriage’s temporary, nothing’s stated that you can’t have a civil relationship with him, perhaps as a friend.

This goes on for about a week, of you exploring and sitting down having conversations with Mrs. Lee though some day you’d rest on your bed, your body not entirely well enough to do a lot of activities everyday. Your ribs still shooting jarring pains every now and then and your lips are still torn. You silently thank Mrs. Lee for coming to your room, leaving medicines on the table on days when you feel extra tired.

You’re in your bedroom, standing right in front of your huge closet, eyeing the clothes though there’s none that was originally yours. When you moved in, it had been practically easy, you literally brought nothing with you since you don’t have much anyways. Mrs. Lee did inform clothes for you to wear had been bought prior to your wedding.

Though the thing is… almost every single one of them are dresses. They are pretty, you think. It’s just that you are not used to it. You sigh as you find yourself a pyjama set. They’re all mostly satin and silks too, another thing you have to get used to as well.

You sit on the edge of your bed, playing with your wedding ring, briefly wondering whether this is how your life is going to be from now on. It’s temporary, your brain reminds you. You frown. You’ve been wondering almost every single day without fail on why did Jimin decide to propose a marriage contract with you. There’s nothing you could give back, nothing that could benefit him any way no matter how you think about it. It is temporary, yes but you doubt he would do this if it doesn’t give him any benefit. He doesn’t strike you as someone kind enough to jeopardise his married life out of charity. You still shudder to this day thinking about how he handled your brother to half dead. You sigh, hands tightening on your pyjama as your thought goes to your brother.

A knock on the door startles you, making a gasp escape your mouth. Jimin enters, looking as gorgeous as when you first met him in his working attire without the blazer. He stops dead when he takes you in just your towel and you quickly place your hands on your chest in a meek attempt to cover your modest parts. He looks awkward, looking everywhere but you.

“Get dressed. My friends’ here.” He says simply before turning his back but then he stops and turns again, this time looking straight at your face. You feel a blush creeping at your cheeks immediately. “Put some makeup on or something. They might think I’m beating you.” At his words, you have no idea why your hands instantly went to your thigh, immediately conscious at the ugly slit on your thigh. He clears his throat before retreating and closing the door behind him.

You realise you didn’t breathe at all throughout the whole encounter. As you make your way back to your closet to find yourself a dress, you wonder if Jimin realises this is his first time seeing you in about a week after your wedding. Perhaps not.

Brushing your hair, you swallow a little as you watch your own reflection in the mirror. You still look sick and pale so you make an effort to cover the wound on your forehead with some powder and also put on some lipstick, Jimin’s words echoing in your head.

Bracing yourself, you can’t help but feel nervous as you make your way downstairs. You’re excited too since you haven’t been speaking to anyone but Mrs. Lee for almost a week. Before you could descend the last step of the stairs, you could hear them before you could see them. The sound of laughter fills the house making you wonder how many of them came.

You make your way to the living room and Jimin turns immediately, making you momentarily blinded with the way he’s smiling at you. The others notice you right away while Jimin saunters towards you. He leans down, close to you.

“They don’t really know about our contract except for Taehyung, so act your part.” With the way he’s smiling at you, you’d think he’s the sweetest husband in the world yet the threat lacing his words tells you otherwise. Suddenly, you feel very very afraid.

Still, you follow behind him silently, heart suddenly flutters when you see him wearing his wedding ring. He didn’t really have to.. does he? You only look up when he stops in his tracks. You’re met with six gorgeous guys in front of you.

“Wow, you actually exist!” A guy with very sharp nose and jawline grins widely at you. He seems like a very cheerful guy. “Nice to meet you Y/N, I’m Hoseok.” He waves at you, all white teeth flashing.

Unknowingly, you beam back at him, almost impossible not to with the bright energy he exudes. You reply back softly, not daring to say much since you’re unsure how to act, especially with Jimin around.

“Jimin’s been keeping you in his house so much, we thought we’d never see you.” The next one smiles kindly at you. You wish you could describe how beautiful he is. Tall, all broad shouldered and not to mention such blinding visuals. He speaks with such grace you immediately feel endeared by him. “My name is Jin.” You smile back at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Park. I’m Namjoon. I can see why he’s keeping you at home. You’re very pretty.” A tall guy with blonde hair smiles brightly at you. He even has dimples on each side of his cheeks and you can’t help but marvel at his gorgeous face. You can’t help the blush that creeps to your cheeks when he mentions your new last name as well as his compliment.

You peek slightly at Jimin but he only stares impassively ahead, not giving anything away. You quickly brush off the slight disappointment you feel.

“I’m Yoongi. Nice to meet you.” The guy in red-wine hair smiles at you. He’s slightly shorter than the rest of them but is still handsome. You nod at him as you smile kindly back at him.

“We’ve met before.” Taehyung smiles warmly at you and you nod back several times at him, happy to see someone you know.

The last but not least, is almost as tall as Namjoon and Jin but you can somehow tell he’s the youngest among them. “Hello Y/N. I’m Jungkook. We’re same age!” He says happily and you grin at him too, quickly falling for his bright smile with cute bunny teeth. You greet all of them back, introducing yourself again although they already know your name.

“Please have a seat. I’ll prepare drinks for you guys.” You say softly.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. We’re just here to drop Jimin off.” Jin quickly says.

“And hoping to see you too,” Hoseok winks at you. The rest of them gathers at the front door.

You frown slightly at Jin’s sentence. Then you turn towards Jimin, eyes finding him to ask him a question but unsure whether you’re allowed to. He must’ve sensed your stare, his eyes look down to meet yours.

“Y-you’re.. sleeping here..?” You ask slowly.

Before Jimin could answer, Namjoon cut him off. “Sorry we’ve been keeping him at the office too much. There’s an acquisition ongoing in the company so we’re quite busy at the moment.”

So he’s been sleeping at the office…

“But rest assured, we’ll make sure he’ll be home often now. The crucial part is done.” Hoseok says teasingly at you.

You smile, though slightly weirded how you feel pleasant with the fact that he’ll be home a lot now. Perhaps you’re just happy you won’t be alone now.. yes probably that.

They all say their goodbye and you happily wave them off.

As soon as they left, you’re suddenly hit with the realisation that you’re alone with Jimin in the house. As if on cue, you feel your hair rise when you feel a heavy presence behind you. You turn but immediately regrets the decision because Jimin is now inches from your face. Too close… you think. Nerves run down your spine as he seems to lean even closer to you. You swear your heart’s beating like crazy right now.

“So what did you do around the house the past week?” His question’s innocent but why do you feel like a rabbit trapped in a hole?

To your relief, he straightens. You feel like you could finally breathe, although your heart’s still beating at an abnormal pace. You swallow. “N-nothing much.” Is that the first thing he’s asking after a whole week of leaving you alone?

He stares at you while you make an effort to look anywhere but him. You’d give anything to know what’s on his mind. He then turns without saying anything. You take the time to stabilise your breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply before slowly making your way back to the bedroom, noting how your heart rate is picking up its pace.

You open the door to your bedroom and let out a gasp when you find yourself walking on Jimin shirtless. You turn instantly, unable to think properly and let out another gasp when you knock your head on the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice asks you harshly, making you jump.

You mutter an apology as you scrunch your face, thinking how this has gone completely wrong. You did not want to make such a bad first impression towards Jimin.

“H-have you eaten?” Your voice came out so meekly you almost want to hit your head against the door again.

“Do you think I have some kind of supernatural hearing to hear you from that far?” He snaps at you, making you flinch. You swallow and trepidation starts to fill you whole.

You turn slowly and approaches him, eyes shut tight to prevent yourself from seeing anything you shouldn’t and protecting the innocence of your own eyes but end up almost stumbling. You open your eyes, relieved that he’s now wearing a shirt. You briefly wonder how on earth he could look so handsome just by wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He’s staring at you, obviously unimpressed at your antics.

“I’m asking if you’ve eaten? If you want to I can-“

“I already ate. With the boys.” He cut you off then takes his place on the bed, preparing to sleep.

Oh. Okay. You nod. You stand there awkwardly, contemplating whether you should ask the next question that has been on your mind since last week.

“Are you just gonna stand there creepily and stare while I’m trying to sleep?” He snaps back at you and you flinch. He’s sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard, waist and leg completely covered by the blanket.

You fidget with the hem of your dress. “I- I want to ask you something.” He doesn’t answer you but only looks at his phone. “Why.. why did you offer me the marriage contract?”

He stops his act and is now staring at you sharply. “Having second thoughts now that you realise it’s not all hearts and flowers?” He smirks.

“N-no.. not like that.. I know.. I don’t deserve all that.. It’s just that- I was just curious.. You could’ve just hire me or.. just..” You trail off, unsure of how to put everything into words when your mind is a whole chaos. “It’s just that I don’t see how you’re benefitting from this arrangement.”

“Oh trust me, I do have my benefits in this.” He answers almost immediately and you stare at him, puzzled. He smirks before his face turns sinister. “You’re only here because you owe me a debt. That means I own your little life, mine to do whatever I want.” Psychotic, the word echoes in your mind. “And trust me little one, you’re better off not knowing the reason behind this marriage.”

What on earth have you gotten yourself into?

Your blood runs cold. Without uttering another word, you turn to grab your pyjama you took out before and disappears towards the bathroom. You take your time in the bathroom, trying to calm your nerves as you change. Tonight, you come into a conclusion. Park Jimin’s psychotic.. and a very dangerous man. You should never cross line with him.

Hands balling into a fist, you step out of the bathroom and finds the bedroom in darkness except for the table lamp on your side of the bed. Jimin appears already asleep. You approach silently and takes the time to stare at his face. He’s very beautiful, you would think, if you didn’t know better of it only being a mask.

You stand on the edge of the bed for several moments, contemplating whether you’re allowed to sleep on the bed with him. The King size bed is large enough without the two of you having the possibility of coming in contact with each other yet you’re still having second thoughts about it. You don’t want to wake up being strangled by him just because you decided to sleep on the same bed with him. So you make your way to the couch on the side of the bedroom and curls yourself on it. Using your hands as your own pillow, you fall asleep quickly.

Link to Chapter 5

Posted on 210402 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #bts fic #jimin fic #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #jimin smut #smut #kpop #mafia #jimin mafia #ceo jimin #bts smut #bts au #bts mafia

[insufferablelust]

Pretty Little Thing, (I)

Hi! i’m back to bring new mini series i’ve been working on during my hospital stay! i hope you wnjoy this! and give me your feedbacks! thank you.

Warnings : this series will be filled with Adult content, upcoming smut, murder, psychotic behaviors, dark kinks, traumatic events, manipulation, gaslighting, and isolation. It started out as Professor!Spencer x Reader, but it’ll progress to Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader. WITH PLOT TWIST heheh, enjoy.

MASTERLIST.

——————

Y/A/N was never the one to rush into classes, she always took her time and were never late. She’s the epitome of perfect straight A’s student, many teacher’s pet. And to say that she has a lot of people who would want to see her struggle was an understatement, one of those people would be Spencer Reid.

Weird to imagine a professor who would want to see his student fail, yet something about her irked Spencer beyond belief. Maybe it’s the natural tension between them ever since she walked into criminal psychology, most of his students were either had a slight interest on the subject or just on him— but Y/A/N she seemed to have an interest on both. The moment she stepped into his class, he was intrigued by her, not just her outstanding beauty but also the way she responds, her body language and her overall demeanor.

Spencer was aware that she was your typical good girl, but something about the glint in her eyes just doesn’t settle well with the good girl esque that she was portraying. There was something much darker about her, that much he knew— being a profiler and an iq of 187 would tell him that, but this time it was his guts talking to him. She raised her hand almost every time he asked questions to his class, even when he thought it was a rhetorical question. She managed to frustrate him in ways he gets so fed up that he needed to do some research on who she was. Truly.

And what he had found might as well killed him on sight, digging through files of her faces, confusion rake over his brain like storms. Initially, he was going to do some background check, maybe she turned out to be a child prodigy just like him. But what he found shattered his every thought, There she was, with different hair styles and colors, different contact lenses, styles, her various names scattered through tons of criminal data bases.

Spencer gulped as he saw her amongst the women affiliated with Cat Adams, the woman who put him in jail, the woman who irked him to no end just like Y/A/N now. His eyes kept on glazing over the files on Garcia’s laptop, tying her to more evidence that she was in fact not the girl everyone thought she was— god how old even is she? She’s good at hiding, and he knows it.

“Well genius, have you finished stalking that fellow super genius student of yours?” Garcia popped her head back inside her bat-cave as she carried two mugs, one over sugared coffee and one tea for her. As she sat down, she finally realized that Reid was pale— as in ‘horrified’ looking pale.

“Reid, hey what did you—“ Penelope left her jaw open when she finally saw the two matching photos from the face recognition program of a uni student and next to it was a wanted assassin named,

“Y/N Y/l/N...” Spencer beat Garcia on saying her name, the only thing in his mind was ‘Y/N, Y/N, Y/N’ his head spinning as he tried to rake through his brain, trying to find a reason why he didn’t recognized a wanted assassin- Cat’s close relations in his class. He finally looked up to a seemingly horrified Garcia and muttered a pained, “We have to tell the team.”

—————

“The Unsub is 24 years old Y/N Y/l/N, She has been under the radar since Catherine Adams’s arrest back in 2015, we believed that she is one of the Hit woman working alone with Cat at the time of her arrest even going as far as recent.” Prentiss placed her hand inside her pants pocket as she looked at Tara to continue the profile which being given to FBI agents as well as International crime task force. Her eyes then flickered to Spencer, which seemed to be occupied by the face recognition photos still.

“She’s a very well trained assassin, she was taught to manipulate, to hide in plain sight, and most likely is multilingual.” Tara continued,

“She’s a dangerous serial killer, her targets has always been men with higher status, She’s narcissistic, most likely misandristic, and psychopathic.”

“We believed that she hasn’t been killing in over 2 years, but now started again because her partner was executed few months ago.” JJ took a deep breath as she continued after Alvez,

“Cat Adam’s execution is her stressor, she knows we’ll find her, that’s why she risked on changing her identity to Y/A/N, a student of SSA Spencer Reid. We have every reason to believe that he’s her next target which makes her our primary target, and now that she have our attention, let’s get her before she continue her plans.” Prentiss finished, nodding off to the field agents, before turning back up to the meeting room where Reid was.

“Reid you know that—“

“How can i not recognized her? we profiled her years ago, she was in one of Cat’s list, and how did i missed it?” Spencer stresses, hands gripping the table tightly and breathing heavily.

“Listen to me, you found her, you knew something was wrong and you followed your guts, and we will get her Reid.”

—————

Y/N delicately put on the white knee high socks before slipping into her converse and slip her pocket knife onto the small strap on her thigh— smiling at herself as she applied the pink lipgloss then grabbed her bag and head out to campus. She looked over her watch excitedly as she realized who’s class she’s going to spend the first period at.

She parked her car on the usual spot as she preparing to get out, but something caught her eyes just before she opened her car door,

FBI Agents, everywhere. Her eyes widened as she hurriedly presses the reverse pedal and returned to the way where she first came, hoping none of those agents could realized that was her car.

————

I let out a frustrated scream as i went as far as the gas pedal would allow me to in this godforsaken traffic, my mind race back to the campus that was swarmed with Agents, to other people that might blend in like college kids— but not to me, the earpiece their glasses, and years of hiding from them has taught me well.

“Fucking Adams!” I punched the steering wheel when the red clouded my vision, my knuckles all bruised and my hair out of place. This is not how its supposed to go, i was supposed to be Y/A/N not the Y/N who cat claimed to be an assassin. She could still control my life even from underneath her grave, i chuckled as i sped up down the highway to the one place i could release all of my anger at.

As soon as i reached Cat and I’s old place, i can’t help but to tear the whole place down, smashing every piece of furniture i could lay my eyes and hands on, screaming on top of my lungs and let myself be numb to the pain of the sharp glass nick and slice through my skin.

After i’m sure there’s nothing left to break, i sat on my knees— feeling the hardwood floors dig through my skin and cried as loud as i can. “You fucking bitch, stop destroying my fucking life!”

“Y/N Y/l/N put your hands on the air and hand us your weapon!”

——————

Taglist is open! just message me or leave me an ask!

upcoming fics : the artist and his muse (vii), and few requests that i’m working on.

Thank you for your patience for the past few days, hopefully things will get better soon and i can be more productive!❤️

#criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagines #spencer reid angst #dom!spencer #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #unsub!reader #professor!spencer

[marshmallow-phd]

Scarlet Moon

Genre: Scarlet Heart Ryeo!AU, Time Travel!AU, Alternate History, Royalty!AU

Pairing: OC x EXO OT9

Summary:  This isn’t Gwen’s time. She was from the modern era, with technology and electricity. But during a solar eclipse, she’s transported back into a previous life in a time and place she does not know. Now, as the foreign daughter of a merchant living in a prince’s household, she must tread carefully, watch her back, and guard her heart. But with the princes locked in a battle over the throne, the chances of her making it out alive might disappear.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3

                                            ********

The paper sliced across the skin before any action could be taken to avoid it. A high pitched hiss followed by a short whine. The flap of skin that had been separated was being dyed red. 

Gwen stuck her index finger in her mouth to sooth the stinging. It helped a little bit. Still sucking on the appendage, Gwen stumbled over to the supply closet and opened the thin metal doors with the other hand. She kept this feat up as she opened the first aid kit and pushed around the different types of bandages, trying to decide which one to use. The cut was right on the tip, right where you never want it to be. It was hard to get a band aid on that kind of cut. Eventually, she found a smaller version of a standard design and ripped the paper covering opening. She wrapped the band aid around her index finger before heading for her desk. It was back to the files that had injured her in the first place. 

The pile was tall; by her standards, at least. Gwen had been dealing with it for the past hour. The dates on the files needed sorting, separating the ones could be sent to long-term storage. She almost gave out another whine, but she didn’t want the others to hear and start the relentless teasing. Her coworkers were quick and very witty. 

It was a friendly floor. Everyone joked and played around without the fear of feelings being hurt. If Gwen didn’t have to do the actual work that came with the office space, she wouldn’t mind staying here forever. But dealing with these files and demanding customers and meeting quotas was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. Not that Gwen knew exactly what it was that she did want to do. She’d tried a lot of things over the last few years in her slow going college years. Marketing, history, education - hell, she even took several makeup courses and skincare lessons that focused on natural resources. None of it stuck, none of it held her interest, though the information could be recalled if needed. 

“You alright there, Gwen?”

Drudging up from the bowels of her thoughts, Gwen looked up at Kimberly, who had stopped at her desk on the way back from the printer. 

“Yeah,” Gwen nodded with a sigh. “Just… ready for the week to be over.”

“Ain’t that the consensus,” Kimberly laughed. 

“How are the dogs?” Gwen was seizing the opportunity to distract herself from work. Kimberly owned two dogs with opposite personalities. One was the well-mannered older brother, the other was the skittish, hyper younger brother. She loved to talk about them and there was never a shortage of entertaining stories. 

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Kurt is back to back to demanding his breakfast at five a.m. Oh, but Kent now does this thing where he walks backwards. Whenever he starts doing that, we’ll beep at him. You know, like the garbage trucks? Then he gets all shy and hides his head.”

Gwen couldn’t stop giggling at the thought. “Oh, the poor thing!”

“You’ll have to see it next time you come over.”

“I can’t wait.”

As Kimberly walked away, Gwen sighed. She didn’t get out too much and the humor that most of her socializing outside of work was with one of her coworkers wasn’t lost on her. Just another dart to throw at the board that was Gwen Sinclair. 

It wasn’t like her life was a complete disaster. Really, it could have been worse. She could imagine a thousand different scenarios that she could be living right now that were worse off then her current situation. Truthfully, if glanced at from the outside, Gwen’s life was simply... mediocre. She was blessed with tolerable roommates, an okay job that provided a nice paycheck for a twenty-three-year-old who had yet to finish college. But… the loneliness was killing her and overall, she was craving for something more. 

She was exhausted from obligation and responsibility. She wished to go back to the days where she read about adventure and intrigue and imagined some day living that out herself. After having those words in her hands, she felt empty in her reality. Somehow, each day felt even more draining. 

With the end of another workday, Gwen packed up the files that still needed to be sorted, locked up her cabinets and tugged on her coat as she waved goodbye to Kimberly and the others. A few other coworkers were chatting excitedly about the solar eclipse happening in a few minutes. Gwen, however, was annoyed. Annoyed at the fact that all anyone - online or in person - could talk about was the solar eclipse, as if it was the only one that had ever been seen in this generation. When one person mentioned the eclipse, it was fine. When it was every post and every comment and every conversation, it felt a little ridiculous. Gwen couldn’t care less about the event. Getting home was her current priority. But escaping wasn’t that easy. 

For the millionth time, Gwen rolled her eyes as she scrolled through the newsfeed, waiting for her car to warm up in the parking garage. The weather was cold and dreary, slowing down her progress on getting home. Puffs of steam escaped her lips in the below freezing temperature. Other employees hurried past the back of her car to get to their own tiny sanctuaries. An alert for a new email popped up at the top of the phone screen. From the quick scan of the notification, she saw that it was from her eastern history professor. He wanted to go over the latest paper from class. Oh, no. That was never a good sign. 

Gwen huffed, threw her car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking space. First the papercut, now this. 

Since all her classes were online, Gwen had the minor luxury to not be forced to talk to her professor face to face, which surely would have been humiliating. But it couldn’t be avoided completely. She’d email him back once she arrived home. Or maybe she’d put it off until tomorrow. Dealing with this was the last thing she wanted to do. Stress was already causing her skin to revert back to puberty, she didn’t need this as well. 

Her phone rang and she struggled to answer it while carefully winding down the levels of the garage. It was Jaynie, the favorite of the roommates.

“Hey, Janie, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if you were coming straight home today.”

Gwen smirked, knowing exactly where this was going. 

Over the past several months, a bit of an obsession had developed with Korean dramas. The shows the two of them consumed were different from the same old, boring American television and there were years worth of stories to choose from. Currently, they were in the middle of another romantic comedy. While Gwen loved the storyline and was in a constant state of swoon, as soon as the credits started rolling, she was reminded how pathetically uninteresting her life was. But those sixty plus minutes of pure escapism made it all worth the crash that came afterwards. 

Gwen tried to wait patiently in the line to leave the parking garage, but her frustration was getting the better of her. It was stop and go, stop and go, stop and go.

“I’m planning on it. That is, if people decide any day now to not drive idiotically.”

“Ugh, I had the same problem on my way home.” 

Curious. Both of them worked in the downtown area. “How did you get home so fast?” Gwen asked.

“I got off a little early today.”

“Lucky.” Her accounting job often led to flexible hours. Gwen was jealous of that level of freedom. 

The road was slick from the freezing rain. Weather like this brought out all the stupid drivers as if this wasn’t a yearly occurrence. She was careful to look both ways before exiting the garage and inching into the street. What she didn’t account for was the other emptying lot across the street. A large black SUV pulled out right at the same time, but went too fast, hitting the water that was slowly turning to ice on the asphalt. 

With no time to react, the SUV slammed into the side of Gwen’s compact car. Glass from the driver’s side window shattered and sprayed her face. Her phone flew out of her hand. The crunch of metal hit her ears before she could fully process what had happened. With the force of the collision, her forehead slammed against the steering wheel before the airbag deployed. The sound of screams echoed around her, but the words were unintelligible. Slumped over in her seat, a shadow creeped over the scene. Through the slits of her barely open eyes, Gwen watched as the sun disappeared behind the moon. Then all went black. 

                                           ********

The water was what brought her back. It filled her lungs and surrounded her on all sides. She flailed her limbs, desperate for traction that couldn’t be found. Her clothing weighed her down, the hems being pulled as if hands had gripped tight on them. She needed a miracle. And a miracle she got. Two hands held onto one of her wrists and pulled her to the surface. 

She gasped for air as her rescuer struggled to bring her to shore. The cloth that covered her felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, making it nearly impossible to move. Water made its way up her throat, spilling over her lips. Her lungs were finally clear. They took in as much oxygen as they were allowed, burning with each brath. 

“Lady Gwen! Lady Gwen!”

A young girl blocked out the bright sun. She shook Gwen’s shoulders desperately. 

Gwen’s brain processed that the girl was not speaking English, but… she could understand her. The girl’s damp, dark hair was pulled into halves on either side of her face held in place by wide red straps. She looked at Gwen with deep concern, like a lifelong friend. But Gwen was sure she had never seen this girl before in her life. 

“My Lady, can you hear me?” she asked frantically.

“Who are you?” Gwen finally choked out. 

That made the girl pause in her panic. “What?”

Slowly regaining her strength, Gwen pushed herself up to her knees. As her eyesight cleared, she took in her surroundings. Gone were the tall metal and glass buildings, traffic lights, and speeding cars of her modern home. Now all that surrounded her were trees and a sandy beach of a large, calm lake. In the distance, wooden houses with curved rooftops, painted in bright reds and greens dotted the horizon. The heaviness that weighed her down was a dress made of too many layers and of no western fashion that she’d ever experienced before. 

Whispers bounced around the rocky shore. All the faces that were looking on with concern around were unfamiliar. Gwen grabbed the hair cascading down her back, but it was still the red she knew, darker from the dampness of being pulled out of the water but still her hair. 

“Where am I?” she asked in a quiet, gasping voice.

“My Lady, don’t you remember?” The girl panicked. “You’re in Songak. Goryeo.”

“Goryeo?” Gwen screeched. All the minor details she could summon up of the country came rushing to the forefront of her mind. It was information overload and her brain couldn’t handle it. Her lungs tried desperately to keep up, breathing in as much air as they could, but her throat was closing up from the panic. The landscape blurred and she fell to the ground.

                                          ********

She was in a bed this time when she regained consciousness. The room was cold and dimly lit with soft, orange candlelight. A man, Caucasian unlike the others, sat beside the bed on a stool, worry etched into every facet of his face.

“Gwen, sweet, are you all right?”

English. He was speaking English. But that was a footnote of comfort to the bigger problem. She still didn’t know what had happened to her or how she got here or who these people were that seemed to know her. The man, who was about in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, smiled down at her, though his eyes were confused. “Gwen, does it hurt anywhere? Can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Gwen took a moment, to calm down and to evaluate what she was feeling physically. Her head didn’t hurt, nor did any other part of her body. Wordlessly, she shook her head. The man seemed relieved. 

“Are you all right?” He asked again, a different meaning under the question this time. “Chae Ryung said you couldn’t remember her or that we were in Goryeo? Do you at least remember your papa?”

Gwen weighed the choices in her mind. There wasn’t a mirror around, but she started to wonder if she had taken the place of someone else. Someone who knew these strangers. She could say that she didn’t know any of them - the truth - but would they think her mad if she spilled too much? Perhaps she could say she remembered a few things. Like him, if he is this poor girl’s father. Why am I here? In this time? 

Choosing to comprise with herself, she gave the smallest of nods. “Papa.” Sitting up, she pulled him into a hug and there was something comforting about his embrace. This body remembered him, at least. 

“What happened?” she asked after she let go. 

“Chae Ryung said that you’d wandered off again and she found you, you’d been the water a long time.” The man, Papa, sucked in a breath, his eyes beginning to water. His genuine concern over her wellbeing made Gwen choke up as well. “The doctor said you stopped breathing. That could explain your lost memories.”

Good. The excuse was already in her hands. That should make it easy enough to play along while being forgiven for any missteps. But they shouldn’t be in Goryeo. That didn’t make any sense, historically. If anything, they might have been in Joseon – late Joseon. Was this some sort of alternate timeline? Or maybe she hit her head really hard in the car crash and this is really all a dream from the stress of her paper and too much K-drama. 

Yes. Too much K-drama.

That had to be the explanation. This was all a strange dream. Which meant, she could play along and not be afraid. She could ask questions and live out the day until she woke back up in her own time, most likely in a hospital with a bandage on her head and her mother fretting over her. 

She glanced around the room, taking in the architecture that she had only ever seen in pictures. In person, it was even more stunning and intricate. This wasn’t an ordinary citizen’s home. Interesting. What else could her brain come up with? “Why are we in Goryeo?”

“Your father’s a merchant, remember?” He spoke slowly. Each word was deliberate, giving Gwen time to process. Good filler for her mind. “I made a large fortune here and planned on taking you back home, but… your mother is buried here. We couldn’t leave her behind.”

A wave of emotion hit out of nowhere. Though her mother was alive and well, it didn’t stop a tear from escaping. “Mama.”

Papa wiped it away with a coarse finger. Gwen gasped back, surprised by the realness of the touch. Her dreams were never this intricate. The blanket strone across her lap scrunched in her fingers. It was cold and soft… and very real. 

She wasn't dreaming, was she?

Confused by her reaction, Papa paused for a moment before continuing his explanation. “The eighth prince is graciously letting us stay with him while we wait on the construction of our home to be complete.”

The eighth prince?

Panic grew tenfold. If this wasn’t a dream, then she was in very big trouble. If history told her one thing, it was that proximity to royalty was the most dangerous place to be. Gwen might possibly have been able to skate by if they were simply staying in some unknown village far from the capital, but they were in a prince’s home. Which meant they were in… Songak, the capital city, just like that girl – Chae Ryung – had said. Right under the King’s nose. Breathing became difficult again. Each one was shallow, barely letting in any oxygen. Gwen could feel her chest tighten and her vision blurred. 

“Gwen!” Papa jumped up and tried to keep her straight to give her lungs as much room as possible. He switched to Korean as he called out over his shoulder, “Someone, get the doctor! Now!” Shuffling sounds echoed off the floor on the other side of the sliding door and then faded away.

A minute later, breathing no better, two men and a woman rushed inside along with Chae Ryung. The older man stepped in front of Papa and took his place. He pushed Gwen’s shoulders gently until she was lying down. Two cold fingers against her wrist checked her pulse. The other, much younger man stepped up to Papa.

“What happened?”

Papa frowned. “It seems she’s lost some of her memories. I was explaining why we were here when suddenly she had trouble breathing.” He stopped, struggling with his own breath. “I’m sorry we’ve become a burden to you, Your Highness.” 

Gwen’s breathing was regaining strength and she was able to concentrate on the conversation. So that was the eighth prince. He was younger than she would have guessed, handsome even, if she had to focus on something other than her lack of breath. 

“Do not think such a thing,” the Eighth Prince replied. “Your presence has greatly improved the household. Lady Gwen will get better with time.”

Papa bowed, obviously grateful at the response. He turned to the woman. “Lady Hae, may I enquire after your own health?”

“Today is a better day,” she smiled, though her pale, drained complexion said otherwise. “Please, don’t worry about me. Keep your thoughts for your daughter.”

The doctor released Gwen’s wrist, satisfied with the improvement of her pulse and breathing. He stood up.

“It was a mild panic attack,” the doctor said calmly to Papa. “If it happens again, she should lie down and focus on her breathing. The incident at the lake seems to have taken a toll on her body. She simply needs rest. In time, her memories and her body will recover.”

Gwen didn’t agree with that statement fully. This body might get better in time, but there was no way memories that didn’t exist would ever return. One by one, the occupants left the room until it was only Gwen and Papa remaining behind. Silence hung in the air. After a moment, Papa sat down on the stool and took Gwen’s hand. 

“I was worried I had lost you,” he whispered. 

Gwen’s eyes fell down to the blanket covering her legs. Things were becoming clearer to her now. This was not a dream and she was no longer Gwen Sinclair from the twenty-first century. Something must have happened. She didn’t know what exactly had occurred or what would happen now, but she was here. And little did this man – known only to her as “Papa” – know that he had indeed lost his daughter. The face may be the same, but the Gwen inside was different. She would try her best to be good to him, at least until she found a way to get back to her own family. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

                                          ********

The next morning, the doctor, along with the Eighth Prince, came back to check on Gwen. The doctor commented that her pulse was stronger and that she seemed well on the road to full health. However, he still insisted on keeping her on bedrest.

Bored with these same walls and too curious about her temporary home, Gwen sat up. If she was going to be here for a while, she might as well get to know it. “I’m fine. Please, don’t make me stay in here all day. The sun and air is good for you, isn’t it?”

The sudden rebelliousness against the doctor’s suggestion did not seem to sit well with any of them. Gwen gave Papa a pleading look. A father couldn’t resist those eyes. He sighed, turning to the doctor. “Perhaps, a little exercise in walking around the grounds would be all right?”

The doctor looked reluctant, but he agreed. “But she shouldn’t overexert herself.”

“Chae Ryung will stay with her,” the Eighth prince ordered. “If you’ll please excuse me, I must meet with my brothers.” He bowed and left, followed by the doctor.

Having heard her name from the hallway, Chae Ryung shuffled quickly inside and over to Gwen, holding out her arms for the latter to balance on as she slid off of the bed. “Are you sure you want to go outside?”

Gwen nodded. “Yes. Perhaps seeing more of this place will help jog my memory.”

Chae Ryung tilted her head. “How can your memory jog?”

Gwen snorted, both at Chae Ryung’s confusion and at herself for the slip of the modern phrase. “Sorry, I just meant, maybe my memories will come back.”

“Oh.” The look on her face was enough to make Gwen laugh again. 

Gwen scolded herself internally. She had to be more careful with her words. Every step was one on thin ice. She couldn’t change who she was, not completely, but she would have to pull back. Chae Ryung, however, felt safe, like a shelter from the rain. With her, Gwen could find answers that might be dangerous to seek elsewhere. Straightening her shoulders, Gwen smiled broadly and took her newest friend’s hand. Chase Ryung grinned brightly at her and guided her out of the room.

#exo royalty au #exo royalty!au #scarlet heart au #scarlet heart ryeo #exo time travel au #exo time travel!au #exo angst #exo series #exo x oc #exo x original character #exo ot9 #Scarlet Moon

[justcourttee]

Trigger warning: After posting one too many of Lila’s lies, the ladyblog faces severe backlash and lawsuits. One of the recent is from a respected journalist that Lila lied about being friends with their kid. Alya is facing defamation and the journalists Child had recently passed away further upsetting the latter. Alya tried to explain, but Lila quickly throws her under the bus. This is not Bashing, except actions have consequences and have to live with them. Lila salt is welcome though

I hope this is kind of what you were thinking about. I did my best to keep it as accurate as I could with French Law :)

Here

Alya couldn’t believe she was here.

As she stared at the multitude of cameras, all vying for her attention, she felt the sudden need to make herself smaller. Nino’s strong hand on her back, urging her forward gave her the strength she needed to make it up the courthouse steps. Her eyes scanned the crowd looking for one person in particular but alas, they were nowhere to be seen.

Instead, she found two people she had hoped would miss this little event. Front row stood Marinette and Adrien, they’re eyes feigned with concern as she took the last step before the entrance. If only she could reach them, get them to testify on her behalf, but why would they change their minds now? It’s not like she hadn’t begged them too at the beginning of the month before everything had gone south so quickly.

As the doors were opened, the blinding light subsided as she was quickly ushered to a small room away from her adversaries that had lined the hallways, all ready to testify against her. She couldn’t believe how many there were.

“We should be safe here Miss Césaire, you didn’t talk to anybody on your way in, right? Journalists are like sharks, one small taste of blood and they’ll turn it into a frenzy.”

Alya scoffed at her attorney. She knew how journalism worked. You needed to make the story big and eye-catching otherwise nobody would bother to read it. It’s why she loved Lila so much. With her, the LadyBlog never had a dull moment.

“We have thirty minuted to prepare. Normally, they would not allow this public prosecution, but you and your friend have managed to upset a lot of people, Miss Césaire.”

Alya bit her tongue as she sunk lower in her seat. Where was her friend now? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “All rise for the honorable Judge Bethany Abadie.”

Alya stood slowly, trying not to let her stance waver as the sound of dozens of cameras sounded through the room.

“You may be seated.”

She felt a small hand lightly press down on her shoulder as her attorney tried to get her to sit, but she couldn’t. She felt frozen in place. Seeing the judge made everything feel so real and not seeing her made Alya see red.

“Miss Césaire, I suggest you sit down. Your charges today are quite serious under the eyes of French law and with the number of people attempting to sue your website, you better hope your defense team has an ace up their sleeve.”

It was like something snapped inside of her as she curled in on herself, trying her best to disappear in front of the courtroom.

“Now, let’s get started. In the case of the people of France vs. Alya Césaire, the defendant is charged with defamation of character and defamation of the deceased. How does the defendant plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor.”

Her eyes wandered over to her defense attorney who looked no better than she did when the words came out of his mouth.

“I see, you were given an option to accept the price that the collective individuals offered you in addition to taking down your blog, instead you chose to fight their lawsuits. You do realize Miss Césaire that if the jury finds you guilty on these charges, that could mean up to a year in jail in addition to €12.000 per assailant?”

Alya mustered enough strength to nod much to the judge's dismay.

“Very well then, the prosecution team may lead with their first witness.”

One by one, every scoop she had posted unfolded and crumbled before her eyes. Jagged Stone denying writing a song for her friend, denying ever having a ‘filthy feline’. Clara Nightingale denying her friend’s involvement in any of her choreography, claiming it would be child labor. And worse of all, Nadja Chamack and her claim that her friend never knew her daughter, that Alya saying her child was brash and rude and an overall unpleasant kid was defamation.

“And what proof do you have that my client isn’t telling lies about your daughter, you do know that every child is different when they’re away from their parents.”

Alya breathed a sigh of relief as her attorney laid into the reporter. Just maybe, she had a chance of walking out of here unscathed.

“Because she’s dead.”

An eerie silence fell over the courtroom as Alya’s face ashened. No. That couldn’t be true. She had seen Manon the other day. She just knew she had. She went over to Marinette’s and the girl was there, as bratty as ever. But now she couldn’t remember the last time she had been to Marinette’s.

“How long has she been dead?”

“Councilman, I object!” The judge’s hammer slammed down, echoing throughout the room.

“No, no, it’s alright. Those two monsters need to hear what they put me through.”

Nadja met Alya’s eyes, not even bothering to wipe the tears that streamed down her face as righteous anger poured into her stare.

“My daughter died five months ago, a terrible car accident. I begged my team to leave it out of the report and only told my closest friends and family. The funeral was a week later and my heart remained shattered at the thought that some reckless driver hadn’t paid attention to her crossing the crosswalk, just like I had taught her.”

Nadja took a breath, trying to level her voice as the lump in Alya’s throat grew bigger.

“Three months ago, I ran across the Ladyblog. While it had mostly turned into a gossip column for this Lila Rossi person, I used to check it all the time when it had just started out. I honestly considered Alya as the next big reporter as she was always at the scene throwing herself into danger to get the scoop. It was admirable.”

Her praises caused the girl to flinch as if she had been struck.

“But as I clicked on the newest video labeled ‘Angel or Devil?: Is Manon Chamack really as everyone believes her to be?’, my heart immediately sank. Both girls sat on-screen as Lila Rossi went on for ten whole minutes about the time she babysat Manon during my interview with Prince Ali. She said my baby was a horror show and Alya agreed saying the few times she had helped Marinette were nightmares.”

Nadja lost her composure as the final word fell out of her mouth. Her tears were ugly as she barely managed an audible ‘could I be excused?’. The judge nodded calling for a recess before allowing the defense team to call their testimonies on character, but Alya couldn’t move. Nadja’s face was burned into her mind. She waited until the courtroom was cleared before standing, trying her best to swallow the lump in her throat but to no avail.

As her feet trudged behind her attorney, she kept replaying Marinette’s words from the beginning of the month.

‘You don’t want me to be expert testimony to your character because I’ll tell them the truth. And I’d doubt you’d like that very much at all.’

She couldn’t understand where all that anger had come from, all that pain, but now she did. Alya didn’t even want to know what her attorney had up his sleeve because honestly? She felt like she didn’t deserve a defense at all.

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

“Only one testimony?”

Her attorney nodded weakly as the judge sighed, probably already having determined Alya’s fate. She knew if it was her up there looking down on someone else, she would have given the maximum punishment the court allowed.

“The defense calls to the stand Lila Rossi.”

Alya sat up straight in her seat, her blood running cold as the sly fox breezily took the stand. Her smirk was brief and directed toward the auburn-haired girl, but it dropped into fake sympathy, a single forced tear rolling down her face.

“What can you tell us about Alya Césaire?”

“Oh goodness, where do I start?” Lila brought a tissue up to her eyes, lightly dabbing at the nonexistent tears.

“She coerced me into telling all those terrible lies about the good people of Paris. Every single one of my interviews was typed up and rehearsed several times before we even shot the tape. Here’s the proof,” With a fake sob, she handed the judge several transcripts, all seemingly printed from Lila’s email.

Alya clenched her fists underneath the table. She was lying. Straight through her teeth. Alya was wondering how Lila managed to evade the charges that were on both of them, but here it was lying in front of her. Lila was going to throw her under the bus.

“She’s a monster. She ditched her own best friend because she wouldn’t lie for her on the stand. She threatened to make everyone hate me if I didn’t keep up the lies. She knew about my disease and took advantage of it.”

Alya gritted her teeth as her attorney tried his best to get the girl off the stand, but it was too late. The damage had been done. One look at the jury and Alya knew. She was done for. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . …

The jury took a whole thirty minutes before they returned with her verdict.

Guilty.

€48.000 to settle each lawsuit, the permanent closure of her LadyBlog, and 300 hours of community service. Lila received none of it.

“That’s not fair!”

Alya’s head whipped around to where the voice came from, her eyes landing on her former best friend.

“Young lady, I advise that you sit down and allow this court to adjourn peacefully. The verdict has been decided.”

“But Lila was just as much a part of this as Alya. In fact, if you even bothered to look at the interviews, Lila egged her on, there’s no way it was all scripted. Scrub Alya’s computer, I bet you won’t find a single email.”

“Young lady, I’ll give you one more chance, Sit down.”

Marinette opened her mouth, but she abruptly closed it when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder. Her gaze shifted down to where Alya stood, a small smile peeking through her tears.

“Thank you Marinette, I really do appreciate it, but it’s time I took responsibility. I should have never trusted her too good to be true stories in the first place. I should have never hurt my best friend in the first place.”

Marinette hesitated, but as she stared into the auburn-haired girls glassy eyes, she understood as well. With a nod, she returned to her spot between Adrien and Nino, her own eyes glazing over as she watched her former best friend escorted out by her attorney and a few cops.

Once more, Alya was blinded by the flashing lights as she was ushered to her attorney’s car. As the doors shut firmly, her attorney released a sigh before jumbling his keys around, trying to find the ignition.

“Well, it could’ve gone worse if we’re honest here.”

Alya didn’t bother to respond. She simply stared out the window, her mind racing at a thousand miles a minute. Only one thought stood prominent above the rest.

Alya couldn’t believe she was here.

#miraculous ladybug #lila salt #alya cesaire #mlb fanfic

[searchingwardrobes]

Not the Type - 6/8

Finally! A new update :) Sorry for the delay, but the muse has been fickle as of late. In this chapter, Emma has her first competition of the season, and it's psyching her out. Will Killian be her encouragement, or will she push him away in the midst of it all? This chapter includes another iconic scene from the movie, when Torrance dances around her room to Cliff's song. I wanted to use the actual lyrics to the song, but in looking at it, there were a few lines that bothered me. One literally says "I'd bring you flowers every day just to roll you in the hay." And then there's a constant refrain that says "I'll make you mine." Those lines just don't seem to jive for me with Killian's character when in canon he specifically tells David that he doesn't see Emma as loot and tells Emma that he will win her heart, but not through any trickery. We know he isn't the kind of guy to give a woman flowers in order to manipulate her into sleeping with him. We also know how much agency means to him, so I didn't think telling Emma in song "I'll make you mine" fit either. Anyways, that's a long way of explaining that the lyrics are 99% like the ones in the movie, minus those two parts.

Massive thanks to my beta, @hookedonapirate who takes my confusing sentences and makes them sound purty ;) You’re the best! And thanks also to the @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for putting together this event and being massively supportive and patient. 

Summary: Emma Swan first notices him in the stands at the Friday night football game. She can tell right away Killian Jones is not the football type. Then again, she’s not the cheerleader type either, but here she is with pom poms. Life hasn’t ever gone the way Emma planned. Lately, that’s actually been a good thing. Maybe Killian Jones is a good thing, too.

My loose Captain Swan AU of the movie Bring it On

Rated: T

Also on Ao3

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The room was thick with hair spray, and Emma and the rest of the Storybrooke Knights Cheerleaders were sucking on orange slices. Except for Ruby who was touching up her blood red lipstick in front of one of the mirrors propped up on the classroom’s smart board. 

“I think they’re red enough already, Ruby,” Coach Ava remarked as she sprayed more Aquanet all over her daughter’s hair. MM was having to wear a hair extension so she didn’t look out of place with their “hair” theme, and Coach was paranoid it was going to go flying across the gym floor during their routine. Emma wasn’t sure hairspray worked that way, but she wasn’t about to say so. 

Ruby smacked her lips together with a loud pop. “The redder the better, I say. I want them to see my smile.”

She turned to the rest of the group and flashed a toothy grin. They all laughed, and Belle grimaced. 

“More like a predator about to devour her prey.”

Ruby winked at Belle and growled, resulting in more laughter. Coach Ava rolled her eyes as she capped the hairspray. “Just don’t get it all over your teeth, okay Lucas?”

“No worries, Coach, it’s that long-lasting stuff that isn’t supposed to come off.”

“So why did you need fifty coats?” Tiana quipped.

They were all still laughing when a woman wearing a t-shirt that read, East Maybrook Invitational and holding an ipad poked her head into the classroom. “Storybrooke High in the hole!”

The girls all stood, gathering up their things, tossing orange peels into the trash bins and giving their hair and make up one last glance in the mirror. They followed the woman in the official t-shirt down two hallways to East Maybrook High’s cafeteria where cheer mats had been set up in the same configuration as on the performance floor. The girls took their places as if they were really performing, and marked out the routine while Coach Ava counted out the beats. If something went wrong with the music, they would have to keep going. They only pantomimed doing the stunts, however, not wanting to risk a last minute injury. 

After running through the routine, a nervous silence fell among them. Some girls stretched, others did a few jumps, or even a back handspring. Anything to handle their nervous energy. Emma bounced on the balls of her feet, heart pounding in her chest more than usual. A phone call had followed the letter: someone from the UK cheer staff would be in the stands today. 

And she still hadn’t told her friends about it.

“Storybrooke High on deck!” 

The girls gave each other nervous glances and clasped hands in little groups as they followed the woman out of the cafeteria doors. Emma had Ruby on her left and Mary Margaret on her right, their arms threaded together. For once, Ruby was quiet. 

As they neared the gym, the girls could hear the familiar sounds of competition: loud music, an announcer's voice, shouts as the audience cheered for the cheerleaders for once. It made the adrenaline pump even harder. It usually was at this moment that Emma went into her competitive “zone” where everything around her went fuzzy and her mind became laser focused on the routine and what she had to do. Today, however, she felt like she was on sensory overload, unable to turn off all the sights, sounds, and smells around her. 

Before she could even process everything, Storybrooke was being announced to the crowd. Emma ran out onto the floor with a huge smile, cheers, and fist pumps for the crowd, but it felt like she was outside of herself, watching. She took her place on the floor, standing in prep, her arms straight at her sides and her head down. Her fists were clenched, and she tried to control the nervous tremors coursing through her as she waited for their music to start. 

A synth-pop remix of “Hair” from the Broadway musical started to play, and the Storybrooke Knights whipped their ponytails as they started their back handspring/back tuck peel-offs. Coach Ava always said that the music needed to appeal to every generation represented in the judge’s panel as well as the crowd, and as Emma flawlessly landed her tumbling pass to roaring applause, she saw the two boomer judges smiling and bopping to the music. 

She reprimanded herself for looking at the judges as she jogged across the floor for her next tumbling pass. Nevertheless, she scanned the crowd just before she started her pass, wondering where that UK recruiter was. It was the most difficult pass in the entire routine: a back handspring into an arabian, then a double whip into a full twisting double back. She hesitated, stumbling, before getting started because of her distraction, and by the time she did her second whip, she had a sinking feeling. Sure enough, when she landed her double back, she was way out of bounds. She didn’t need the loud buzzer from the line judge to alert her to the fact. She gritted her teeth in frustration, but then remembered to fake a smile as she got into the dance formation. Her face ached from her forced smile as she swung her hips to the rhythm of “Whip My Hair.”

Emma’s next mistake came in the squad’s first pyramid. It felt like she had a weight attached to her ankle, and she couldn’t lift her leg as high as she normally did to connect to Mary Margaret’s stunt group to her left. She almost lost her balance completely, but Ruby compensated and saved it. Mary Margaret didn’t falter either, thank God. Emma was practically shaking as she went into the twist up stunt - her nemesis in this routine. Kelly Rowland singing “Crown” as Emma popped up, her hand grasping her ponytail, helped her power through, as cheesy as it sounded. 

Despite the mistakes Emma was berating herself for, the crowd was going crazy for the combination of the theme, the music, and the cool tricks. By the end, the entire gymnasium was on its feet with thunderous applause. Emma ended the routine seated on the mat, back to the audience with her head flung back. Since she saw them all upside down, she couldn’t pick out her family or anyone in Kentucky blue. 

Ruby yanked Emma to her feet, screaming loud enough to shatter her eardrums. Mary Margaret and Ariel sandwiched her in a hug, and then they were swept away by the rest of their ecstatic teammates. 

“Amazing job, girls!” Coach Ava praised, gathering them in a big, squirming, awkward group hug. “Mary Margaret didn’t even lose her hair!’’

They all laughed giddily, except for Emma. Her mind was reeling. “I went out of bounds,” she confessed.

Coach Ava waved off her words. “It’s our first competition. It’s normal for there to be kinks to work out. Let’s not worry about that until the next practice, though. For now, let’s just celebrate a solid opening for the season.”

Her teammates seemed to all be in agreement, and so did the judges, awarding The Storybrooke Knights with a third place finish. It wasn’t their best opening - that had been last year’s first place trophy to kick off the season - but making the top three was the goal of every top squad right out of the gate. Even the UK recruiter had congratulated her on a solid routine.

“I could see the nerves a bit,” she told Emma, her smile kind and reassuring, “but the level of tumbling skill you possess is rare. Top five I’ve seen so far, no doubt about it. We’ll definitely be in touch.”

Emma, however, couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that clung to her. 

“I’m blown away, Swan, that was amazing!”

Emma was in Killian’s arms before she could even register that he’d rushed out of the bleachers and onto the floor to greet her. He brushed a kiss to her cheek and deposited a bouquet of white daisies into her arms. 

“It wasn’t amazing,” Emma whispered, staring down at the white flowers. 

“Come now, don’t be modest.” Killian’s grin conveyed giddy pride in her which she found inexplicably annoying. 

“I stepped out of bounds on my big tumbling pass, I almost took down our first pyramid, and I was shaky on every single stunt!”

Killian’s eyes narrowed. “Your team doesn’t seem put out with you.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “They’re being nice. If we hadn’t placed, it would have been a different story. It would have all been my fault.”

“Whatever happened to the whole we win as a team, we fail as a team thing?”

“My team relies on me keeping my head on straight!” Her voice had risen, and she slashed the air with the bouquet of flowers. White petals fluttered to the gym floor. 

Killian cocked his head and studied her. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing!”

“It’s something, Swan.” 

He stepped forward, reaching for her, but she stepped out of his reach. 

“I just let everyone down, but no one will be straight with me. Why can’t you all just admit I screwed up today?”

Killian shook his head. “I don’t think you’re seeing things clearly. I saw an amazingly talented athlete today, Swan. You were amazing.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Of course you’d say that. You’re a high school guy. You’ll say anything you have to to get in a cheerleader’s panties.”

Killian’s eyes widened and his head jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “You really think so little of me?”

She tilted her chin. “I’m no fool. Did you think tonight would be the night? Show up to my little competition, compliment me, throw in some flowers, and I’d spread my legs for you?”

Killian backed away, his jaw clenching, nostrils flaring. “I’m going to assume you don’t mean any of that, Emma, so I’m walking away before either of us can say anything we might regret.”

“Fine!” she yelled as he turned and walked toward the gym doors. “Walk away! That’s what every guy does when a girl won’t put out.” She threw the flowers at his retreating form. She watched the white petals swirl through the air and the green stems hit the parquet floor with a soft swish and crinkle of cellophane wrapper. 

“Emma!”

She whirled around to see Ruth standing there, frown upon her face and her brow furrowed. David stood next to her, his arms crossed in disapproval. Nearby a cluster of her teammates stared as if she’d morphed into some mythological creature with two heads. Her face burned as she realized how loudly she’d yelled at her boyfriend. 

Probably ex-boyfriend now. 

Humiliated, she turned and fled, fingers pressed to her flaming cheeks. 

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

“Go away,” Emma muttered into her pillow.

“What if I were Mom with a plate of brownies?”

Emma grabbed a teddy bear, clutching two tiny red pom poms (a gift from Ruth after last year’s state championship win), and smacked her brother in the head with it. She glared at him through one eye, the rest of her face still smashed into the pillow. 

“I knew it was you because you crashed down on my bed hard enough to catapult me out the window. Ruth’s more subtle.”

David just laughed as he rubbed at his cheek where the bear had met his face. 

“Go away,” she repeated, turning her face fully into the pillow again.

“You left your phone downstairs.”

“So?”

“So, you have like fifty text messages and thirty missed calls.”

Emma rolled over, still clutching her pillow to her chest. “Well, he’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

“It wasn’t just Killian. Your entire team is worried about you.”

“Because I choked?”

“Because you're delusional,” David shot back with equal parts humor and frustration. “You didn’t choke. You didn’t let any of us down. You didn’t give a lousy performance, or any of a thousand other ridiculous claims you’ve made in the past few hours.”

Emma turned to look at her brother. “I made mistakes, David.”

He shrugged. “Who doesn’t? It was one competition, Emma, not the Olympics. It wasn’t even the state championships or regionals. One. Competition. At some tiny high school in the middle of nowhere, Maine.”

Emma groaned as she pushed herself up to the headboard and let her head drop to David’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about Kentucky?”

Emma sighed. When the recruiter had called, she insisted on speaking to Ruth as well. Emma should have known she would spill the beans to her son, especially after Emma acted like a complete lunatic. 

Yes, a delusional lunatic. Her brother wasn’t wrong. 

“I don’t know, it was just . . . a lot to process. And a lot rides on this. I mean, there aren’t any football recruiters looking at you, which means college is gonna be expensive, Mr. Quarterback. If my tuition is taken care of, Ruth can just worry about you.”

“I could get other scholarships.”

“You’re a white, middle class male. You aren't getting any other scholarships.”

He chuckled and poked her in the ribs. “Regardless of all that, Mom just wants what’s best for you. We’ll figure out college and the money and all that, but we’ll do it together. That’s what a family does. Okay?”

This family thing was still new for Emma, so she just nodded in agreement against David’s shoulder. 

“But speaking of Killian,” David said, waving her phone in front of her face, “some of these calls and texts are from him. He sent you a video, too. Then called me and pretty much begged me to get you to watch it, so just give him that much, okay? So he’ll leave me alone?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she took the phone. David could protest all he wanted, but she knew about the little bromance he had with her boyfriend. 

She waited until her brother went downstairs before she sat cross-legged in the center of her bed and pulled up the video from Killian. She gnawed on her bottom lip nervously before pressing “play.” 

And there Killian was, on the tiny screen, smiling like they’d never had a fight. Emma’s lips pulled up into a grin of her own. He was also holding his guitar in his lap and fidgeting.

“Hi, Emma,” he said with a nervous little wave. “You’ve been ignoring all my calls and texts, so I decided to pull out the big guns. I was gonna give this to you as a gift for like Valentine’s Day or something, but  . . . you know . . . desperate times call for desperate measures.”

He cleared his throat and shifted again, and Emma blinked back tears. She’d never seen him at such a loss for words. 

“I wrote you a song,’ he continued, “so, I’ll just shut up and sing it already.”

Emma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as he began to strum his electric. It started 

out as a kind of slow, cheeky punk rock ballad.

Oh, Emma, I don’t get your cheerleading squad, but I love your pom-poms. I'd feed you bon-bons all night.

Then it transitioned into a full on rock song, and Killian began to shred on his guitar. He was really good, and the song had Emma bobbing her head to the music. 

1,2,3,4. Yeah, you got me to feel all those butterflies inside. In your locker I would hide. The truth, it's only you I see, and you're just what I need. I'll bring you flowers all the time in hopes that you’ll be mine. Well I'm feelin' fine, I'm right on time. I hope I’ll win your heart.

When he transitioned into the chorus, Emma leapt up from her bed. She propped her phone on her nightstand and began to dance around the room to Killian’s song.

And you're just what I need. And you're just what I need. Not everything works as it seems. Is that so hard to believe? So I went down to the record store. Picked my head up off the floor. The truth, it's only you I see. And you're just what I need. And if it's my world that you fear, let me make this very clear. Well I'm feelin' fine, I'm right on time. I hope I’ll win your heart. And you're just what I need.

The chorus repeated a couple more times, and Emma danced around her room like she hadn’t in a long time. She even grabbed an old pair of pom poms she’d gotten as a joke at the squad’s white elephant Christmas party. They were those enormous pom poms cheerleaders used to wave in the long ago days of letter sweaters and megaphones. They made a fun swishing sound as she bounced around the room to Killian’s song. 

A song he’d written for her! A song about her! If she wasn’t so giddy and happy, she would burst into tears. 

When the song ended, Emma collapsed onto her bed, panting from her ridiculous dance party and grinning ear to ear. She rolled over and grabbed her phone. She texted rapidly, her fingers trembling. 

I watched your song. 

Did you like it? 

I LOVED it!

Good. I meant every word. 

I’m sorry. 

I know. 

#cs ff #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #bring it on au #lieutenant duckling #high school au

[nostalgiaruinedme]

I have done the first prompt: Losing their Temper. Read on Ao3 here, or beneath the “read more”

Takes place directly after the events of 2012 Season 4 Episode 5: Riddle of the Ancient Aeons

We see Raph lose his temper plenty of times, that's old news. So for this prompt, I decided to explore the aftermath of one of those times... Specifically, when he accidentally pushed Mikey and caused his helmet to shatter.

 Shattered Glass 

The sound of it still rang through Raphael's mind, right behind his own enraged yelling. Mikey's terrified face, eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air he didn't realize he hadn't lost, struggling this way and that. The edges of glass framing his face, and Raph's own outstretched hand. He was helpless to do anything but watch.... to do anything but watch and regret.

It had happened hours ago without consequence. Mikey had been fine, just panicking from the expectation of death, not anything that his body was actually reacting too. The air was breathable... and Raph didn't know what he would've done if it wasn't.

Still, it was all he could think about. 

He tossed and turned, thankful for the darkness of the room that covered the reflective surfaces. Fugitoid kept his ship clean and polished, the silver of the metal so bright some days it hurt his eyes. Tonight, he couldn't bare to stare at his own reflection. He'd rather die. He needed the darkness to hide everything, to hide his own tear stained face he'd deny ever having. 

Mikey was fine. That was what he told himself, over and over. It didn't matter that he lost his temper. It didn't matter that he pushed him. It didn't matter than he nearly killed his own baby brother. It didn't matter. Because Mikey was okay, Mikey was alive and sleeping in the room next door, and Mikey was breathing. He hadn't died.

Raph squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pretend it really didn't matter.

"Mikey is fine," He whispered, ignoring the shaking in his voice. It wasn't there. It just wasn't. "Mikey's fine."

But what if he hadn't been? For all they had known at the time, the planet's air was toxic. With the blood red skies and demons living underneath the accursed clouds, that kind of air really would've made more sense. Raph knew that. He knew that, and he still shoved him. Raph still screamed, and for Mikey's tiny mistake, shoved him as hard as he could until he fell straight onto that rock, and the glass of his helmet hadn't been strong enough to survive the fall.

Maybe it was actually Fugitoid's fault. Surely, he should have made sure their suits were durable with indestructible helmets. After all, anything could happen in space! Yes, it was definitely Fugitoid's fault.

Raph huffed out a breath of humorless laughter. As if he could believe that stupid blame-shifting lie for even a second.

It was Raphael who hadn't stopped to think about the consequences that attacking his little brother could bring. It was he who hadn't realized how fragile life really was. It was he who had let the passionate fire inside him grow even stronger than usual. The planet's curse had dumped jet fuel on it, bringing that blazing heat from a constant flame to a raging forest fire before he even realized it was happening. Sure, it had affected everyone like that... but he could've fought it, he could've if he tried. He hadn't, he had embraced the rage, and that had nearly cost Mikey his life.

Raph shoved his pillow over his face, and screamed. It was safer to do that here than at home in the lair; the Fugitoid's ship's walls were soundproof. And even if they weren't, the constant hum and buzz of the ship's engines would cover up the noise nicely. He screamed louder.

What if the Aeon's planet's air had been toxic? Raph shook his head to himself; that was another null question. If it had truly been unbreatheable, he would have taken off his own helmet and shoved it onto Mikey's head, aeon rage be damned. He'd suffocate himself if he had too... Raph would never take his brother's life, not even on accident. He wouldn't. He couldn't. 

It didn't matter if, in the moment it had happened, he had frozen. It didn't matter that he had felt like he was dying right alongside of Mikey. It didn't matter that he wasn't sure if he could have moved a muscle if he tried. It didn't matter. He wouldn't have let him die.

The turtle jumped out of his cot, nearly banging his head on the bunk above him. It was Casey's bed; the two shared a room. However, tonight he had elected to sleep somewhere else. If Raph had bothered to ask him where he was going, Casey would've said April's room, even if they both knew he was really going to Donnie's. For once, Raphael really didn't care.

"Damn it!" He shouted, kicking the bottom of the metal bunk as hard as he could. "Damn it!" He kicked it again, and again, and again. His foot throbbed, and he kicked it again anyways.

His damn anger. His damn strength. If he had thought he had hated himself in the past for roughing Mikey up too much, for pushing their games just a little too far, well... that past Raphael knew nothing of the self hatred that he felt now. He almost wished that the air had actually been toxic, so he could've given his helmet away and suffocated himself. That was the fate he'd nearly given his brother, and that was the fate he deserved now.

He tried, he really did, to ease up on his self hatred. Raph even made one brief and half hearted attempt at convincing himself it wasn't his fault; it was the Aeon's. It was their rage that spurred him on, corrupted his thoughts and actions. Look, even Leo had been affected! Surely, it was unfair to expect him to fight it that early on if even Leo couldn't. Right? Right?

Never mind that he already pushed and shoved Mikey all the time without the planet's help. Never mind he was that rough already. Never mind shoving Mikey over when he annoyed him was a simple action he'd already done dozens of times in the past.

He clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut, and repeated that damned mantra over and over again in his mind.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. It didn't matter that he knew that that same scenario could have easily played out with only his own natural rage to help. It didn't matter that he didn't believe any of the shit he thought up to try to comfort himself. It didn't matter.

"Damn it!"

Raphael punched the bedframe, and growled when it didn't move. Damn the metal for being a part of the ship itself. Damn the metal for being too strong to fall over. He punched it again, and again, and again, until he found himself wondering if this much pain in your hand was normal. Maybe he had broken it. He punched the metal once again for good measure, and then crumpled to the ground in pain, mental and physical. 

Breath coming out in pants and gasps, he hugged his knees tightly, and tried to pretend he couldn't feel the tears falling down his face now. His fingers and knuckles throbbed, the green of his skin turning to the painful purplish-brown that came with the bruises, and he tried to move his fingers experimentally. Wincing, he pushed that injury aside to deal with another time; it didn't matter anyways. It didn't matter.

His hands found their way to the tails of his mask, and he ripped it from his face without a second thought. Raph threw it across the room as hard as he could, and buried his face in his knees. Maybe one day, he'd figure out how to shut his mind up and lock away the memories.

"Woah, dudes, we can breathe air here! Sweet!"

Mikey's voice still rang through his mind. He had never sounded so relieved. Raph clenched his jaw; his brother was relieved he hadn't murdered him. It didn't matter that he saved him multiple times later on in the journey. He couldn't undo that first fight, so it didn't matter.

Once they got back on the ship, Mikey had hugged him once, his way of telling Raph all was okay, and that there were no hard feelings. But then he left, and he hadn't spoken a word to him for the rest of the day. Raphael tried to talk to him, to get him alone to apologize, but Mikey avoided him. The way his wide eyes searched for an escape when he asked to speak to him, the way he mumbled a half-assed excuse about helping Donnie out with one thing or another... Raph's stomach turned at the thought. Forgiveness was a given, but forgetting was something else entirely. Mikey was avoiding him.

The worst part was, he couldn't even blame him.

The hum of the ship shifted. A slight noise, one that most would never notice, but Raph had spent month's worth of quiet nights alone. He knew that sound all too well; it was nearly their waking period, and the ship was adjusting to send more power to the utilities and machines they'd be likely to use during the day. Everyone would awaken soon, Fugitoid was definitely out of his sleep mode and chances were Leo was getting up too. 

Raph inhaled deeply, rubbing at his eyes. He hadn't gotten any sleep at all, but it was time for him to leave the room. Maybe Leo would be willing to spar. Leo wouldn't ask questions, and maybe Raph would be able to get in a few good rounds before the pain in his fist became too much to bare and he'd be forced to ask Donnie or Fugitoid for help. 

Okay, that was a lie; he definitely wasn't going to ask them for help. But even Leo would notice the way he winced trying to use it, especially if they sparred. Sooner or later, he would be forced to visit one of them, whether he wanted to or not. 

So he picked up his mask, and wiped his eyes one more time before tying it around the back of his head tightly, struggling slightly from doing it one handed. The red fabric would hide the darkening circles under his eyes, and the way the skin and scales around them puffed up from the hours spent crying. For all his brothers knew, he had slept fine, and he just wanted an early morning spar. That was it. He could play that part easily.

He rose to his feet, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He opened the door.

And Raphael was fine.

He found Leo within 5 minutes, and Leo had smiled at him, wished him good morning. Raph's stomach twisted in his gut. Instead of thinking about why, he simply challenged his older brother to a spar, and ignored the concerned look his brother shot at him. He ignored the caring "Raph?" that came from his mouth. He ignored the offered help, and pretended he was relieved when the subject was dropped.

Because he was fine.

And it didn't matter. 

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfic #tmnt raphael #angst #hurt no comfort #im not sorry

[a-cupof-jo]

Set Up My Heart Pt. 2

Pt.1 – Pt. 2 – Pt. 3

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing.

~

“I live here,” the man stood behind Jaehyun, head tilted as he scanned you and your roommates. “You brought over cookies?”

You motion to the plate in Jaehyun’s hands. You weren’t expecting him of all people to be here in your apartment complex. How did you not know that it was him moving in today? You give the two a tight lipped smile before stating, “Sorry to intrude. We were just wanting to welcome you to the apartment complex.”

The lanky boy smiled back at you, “You’re not intruding. To be honest it’s nice to see a familiar face that’s not Jaehyun,” his eyebrows furrowed for a second. “Wait, do you think I’m the new roommate?”

“Well…”

“We haven’t seen you around here before,” Desiree steps in. Her face scrunched as she looked him up and down. “You know I don’t know why we wasted our time.”

“Wait,” Jaehyun reached out as she turned. “We aren’t ungrateful. Just surprised. Thank you for the cookies, but both of us have been here for a year and a half now.”

“Oh,” Chohee gave an embarrassed chuckle.

“As I was saying before, our new roommate actually is not here right now,” Jaehyun glanced out at the parking lot. “He had to take his mom back to the train station.”

“I can’t believe you,” you wheel on the blond male. “You let me believe that you just moved in.”

He gapped at you, “No, you assumed that I was the new roommate, and I wasn’t able to tell you differently before you guys started getting huffy with us.” he crossed his arms pouting as he shoved a cookie in his mouth.

You give him a light eye roll, “You never told me you lived out here.”

“I didn’t realize we were that close,” he mumbles around cookie crumbs.

“Jungwoo! We’ve had classes together for the past two years,” you cry. “We have spent hours at the library together and I bring you coffee every Wednesday morning. I should hope we are friends.”  

Jungwoo chuckled at you, “Y/n, I’m teasing. I guess where we lived just never came up in conversation.” He shrugged before glancing at his watch, “Speaking of the library, I have to teach someone the wonders of calculus.” He reached into the apartment. You watched as he swung a red backpack over his shoulders. “It was good to see you, Y/n. I expect to see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. Turning back you see Jaehyun in a small conversation with Desiree and Chonhee. Jaehyun chuckled at something Desiree said before he caught your eye. You stepped over to the three of them, “Well, that was a nice surprise.”

“I hope you’re talking about a surprise welcoming party,” You turned as a man’s voice met your ears, “Otherwise I rushed back here for no reason.” You look up into familiar brown eyes. “Well this is definitely a surprise, although, I’m not sure how nice.”

“Suh,” you breathed as you stared down your former classmate.

Johnny laughed at you, “Don’t get starstruck now,” he bent down slightly, “you’re not my type and I don’t wanna break any hearts my first day here.”

You scoffed at him, “Keep dreaming, Suh.”

“I’d rather not, Y/l/n” he stood straight up. A smile crossed his face as he saw Desiree and Chonhee. Extending his hand he introduced himself, “John Suh. Though, most people call me Johnny, nice to meet you?” he trailed off.

“Desiree,” she gave his hand a shake, but had a skeptical look in her eye. If there was one thing you knew that Desiree was good at was seeing through people and being level headed, just the right amount of cautious. Chohee on the other hand was the exact opposite.

“Hi Johnny!” disregarding his hand she looped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. “It’s so good to meet you!”

“You make that sound like you’ve heard of me,” he loosely hugged Chohee as he grinned at you, “Y/n, I didn’t realize you missed me so much.”

You scoff at him before turning back to Jaehyun, “Well we’re done here. I hope you and Jungwoo enjoy the cookies.” Jaehyun thanked you again as you stormed back to your apartment.

Johnny was here, at your apartment complex and probably at your university. You knew that wherever Johnny was trouble was sure to follow. He was a walking jinx. Like that time Junior year when you happened to be walking behind him and, instead of turning into your classroom, you ran into a row of lockers. Huffing you go to opened the door of your apartment only to slake into it. Desiree groaned behind you. The doorknob jiggled as you tried to turn it. Locked out. Of course. You glanced down the walk path to see Johnny and Jaehyun still standing outside of their apartment. “Dammit, Suh!” You yell as the two of them chuckle at you.

“Don’t blame me, you’re the one who isn’t responsible enough to remember to grab your keys.” He shrugged.

You sighed turning to your roommates, “Okay, who’s calling the landlord.”

Chohee pointed to the phone at her ear, “They won’t be here for another few hours. Some sort of out of town thing.”

“You know,” Jaehyun raised his voice. “You guys could stay over here for a couple hours. Jungwoo should be back within an hour."

"Jaehyun, man,” Johnny clamped a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “You really don’t want her,” he gestured to you, “in your apartment. She might ruin something.”

“Johnny you should stop projecting your own befalling on me,” you check your pockets for your keys. “And Jaehyun, thank you for the offer, we’ll take you up on that.”

Johnny scoffed, “My own befallings. As I remember, I wasn’t me who destroyed half of the chemistry lab’s glass beakers.”

You gasp, “That wasn’t my fault.” you tried to defend yourself,  “You were the one who put them on the unstable shelf.” The event Johnny brought up was in one of the few classes you shared during your highschool career.  After your dismaying defeat against the boy’s team, you never stopped crossing paths with Johnny. Maybe you didn’t necessarily cross paths with him more so as to get trampled by his “posse”. Wherever Johnny Suh went others were sure to follow. That’s why, looking back, it’s not surprising to see that you had taken out the entire shelf of lab supplies. After getting over the shock of glass shattering around you, you looked up to see Johnny’s large group of “friends” standing in front of you. That was the first time you accepted that Johnny Suh was your walking, talking, big headed, popular, jinx.

“But I  wasn’t the one who knocked the shelf over,” he glanced over at Jaehyun. “I can see it now. Your entire shelf of baseball trophies, gone. All you’d have left is your memories.”

“Oh, step off it, Suh,” you glared. “You know Jaehyun. I’m gonna stay here. I could use a little Vitamin D.”

“Are you sure,” Jaehyun sounded uncertain. There was a certain awkwardness that hung in the air. No doubt, from yours and Johnny’s slight disagreement.

“Positive,” you crossed your arms as you slid down the wall. Brick scraped your back which forced you to glare harder at the parking lot. “Please, we’ll be fine until the landlord gets here.” you glanced up at your roommates.

They both smile and confirm that they are going to be staying with you. Chohee smiles as she waves the two away. Desiree keeps a neural look on her face as Johnny and Jaehyun make their way back to their apartment.

Johnny paused as he got to his doorway, “You know?” He called down the walkway, “it is nice to see a familiar face.” You furrowed your brow, Johnny actually sounded like he was relieved, “but you better not go around causing problems for me, Y/n.”

Before you could respond, he was pulled into his apartment and the door slammed shut. Desiree sighed as she sat across from you, “What was that?”

You shrug, “That was typical Johnny Suh.” Desiree raised her eyebrow. “It’s a long story.”

“Well,” Chohee plopped down next to you. “We’re gonna be stuck out here for a while. Better get started.”

~~

Tag List: @lanadreamie @beyond-gethsemane @michplusb @qianinterprises @stayctday @jaxminskale

~~

*Repost from previous blog*

#nct scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #johnny suh #johnny x reader #johnny scenarios #johnny angst

[babybottlepop96]

Someone to Love (Sai x Shikamaru) 18+ Only

Warning: Smut, minors DNI, cheating, breakups, getting drunk, I think that’s it?

A/n: I just really had this idea in my head and ShikaSai is like a rare pair that I really enjoy. So here you go.

“Sai, what do you mean by ‘You're not interested anymore?’” Ino asked her husband of the last four years, the father to her child, the man she had fallen for when they were teenagers. He simply looked at her, sitting in their shared bed, hair a mess, eyes turning red with all the tears she refused to let fall. He knew this would be hard, he knew this would hurt her so badly, but during the last few years he had grown more as an emotional person. Realizing that he simply didn’t love her as he thought he did. He tried, he really did. The learning experience he gained from his readings and interactions and watching his friends who acted truly in love with their partners or spouse had been nothing but hard for him as well. Seeing how Naruto and Hinata looked at each other, how TenTen and Shino shared soft touches when out on a date, even how Kiba and his partner would play with Akamaru and have a great time. He came to the understanding that he didn’t get those feelings when he was his wife. He realized he never actually did, it was a facade, an illusion he created to feel more human, to fit in with normal society. He wanted to feel that way, he tried everything in his power to feel the love and passion in his relationship with Ino. To put the same energy into this like Ino has done.

“I mean, I don’t love you the same way you love me, Ino.” He sighed as he looked at the floor, wishing he didn’t have to do this. 

“After all these years? After all we have been through together? What about Inojin?” She asked, her heart breaking with every passing second he sat there, feeling further and further away from the man she married.

“Ino, I can’t keep pretending that I’m in love with you. Maybe I was at one point in time, but I can’t be certain. I also can’t let us still be a thing just for the sake of it, that's not fair to you, me or our son. You deserve someone who can make your world brighter, who can give you the same love and energy you give. I’m just not capable of it, I’ve tried. God, I tried. I tried so hard to give you what you rightly deserve from a husband. But, I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.” Sai spoke, voice cracking slightly due to the emotional state he was also putting himself through. “I’ll still be a part of Inojin’s life. He is still my son, I’ll still be a part of your life as a friend, if you still want me to. But I think, this is what we have to do, if we ever want to be truly happy.” He looked at her this time, her bed head shaking softly and eyes shut trying to suppress any loud sobs from escaping, fear of waking up her sleeping child a few doors down.

“I understand, Sai.” She said, voice barely above a whisper, scratchy from being woken up in the early hours of the morning and the force she had to use to keep herself from fully breaking down in the moment. She understood his point, in fact, she thinks it was the bravest, kindest thing she ever heard, but that doesn’t make the fact that he was leaving her hurt any less. She loved the clueless man with all her heart. She wanted him to stay, but agreed to the unfairness and selfishness that would be if she asked him to stay. No more words were said as Sai stood, grabbing a bag to stuff some clothes and other necessities in. No words were spoken as Sai exited their once shared bedroom to stroll a few doors down to their son’s room. Sneaking in and giving his son a kiss to the forehead. A silent goodbye for now. And not  noise was made as Sai removed himself from the only actual home he had ever known. Leaving behind the shattered heart of his once lover. 

‘I’m doing this for all of us.’ He thought to himself as strolled through the empty streets of Konoha, heading to the inn on the other side of the village. After purchasing a room for a few nights, Sai decided he needed to stop thinking for a bit. Deciding to stop by the bar he passed by earlier, he needs to drown out the events of the last couple hours. Sitting at the bar, he ordered a glass of their strongest liquor.

~~~

“What the actual fuck, Temari?!” Shikamaru spoke loudly outside his home, his wife standing there, eyes wide and red from crying. Shikamaru had a lit cigarette hanging between his lips, hand running through his hair, loosening the neat ponytail he always wore. 

“I’m sorry Shika!” She spoke, voice cracking every other syllable. 

“You're sorry?! How long has this been going on?!” He spoke, trying to keep his own tears at bay.

“A few months.” She spoke honestly, voice quiet as she looked at the grass beneath her bare feet, wrapping her robe around her frame tighter to keep the chilly night air from nipping at the bare skin.

“A few months.” He spoke to himself in disbelief. 

“You're never home anymore! Shikadai keeps asking where his daddy is and I have to keep explaining to him that you're at work! He wants his daddy! I wanted my husband! But your always fucking working!” She cried, body physically shaking with anger and grief. 

“So you thought it would be better to cheat on me instead of just telling me all this?! I have to work to provide for us! I’m the hokage’s right hand man! My job takes up a lot of my time! You knew this before we even got together, Temari!” He took another long drag from his cigarette, pacing in his yard. Temari didn’t say another word as the two stood in the tension filled air, the weight of everything settling in like a four hundred pound weight on their shoulders. “Did nothing in our years together mean nothing?” He whispered.

“Of course it did! Shika, I love you! I love you so much!”

“Then what is the real reason you cheated?” He looked her straight in the eyes, wanting the honest, unfiltered answer.

“I needed someone to satisfy me, touch me, give to me the needs a woman wants from her husband.” She spoke harshly. He knew what she meant, she wanted to have someone who could be there for her, to be there touch her with soft caresses and gentle kisses. Something he barely did anymore due to the amount of work he had to do. He understood what she meant.

“But you didn’t have to go behind my back and betray my trust, Temari.” He turned around and left. He couldn’t be there right now, his heart cracking with every step he took away from his home. Walking past a bar, Shikamaru thought he deserved some drinks, drowning out the numb feeling that took over his body. As Shikamaru drank, a familiar face appeared a few seats down. Face looking just as sorrowful as his own probably looked. “Hey, Sai.”

Sai turned to look at Shikamaru, “Oh, Hello Shikamaru.” He faked a smile at his wife’s… ex-wife’s teammate. “What brings you here?” He asked, making his way to his friend after his drink was placed in his hands. 

“Wife cheated on me, so I came here to drown out my sorrows with some good ol’ fashion painkiller.” Shikamaru chuckled darkly. “You?” He asked, taking a sip from his own glass.

“I broke things off with Ino, couldn’t let either of us stay in the relationship if it was only one sided.”

“She cheated?”

“No, I just came to learn that I don’t reciprocate the same feelings she does.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry man”

“Don’t be, I’m sorry about your situation as well. From what I read, cheating isn’t a good thing.” Sai sipped his drink. Shikamaru chuckled slightly at his friend, still the same Sai he met years ago. But he was older, more mature, better at understanding feelings. He grew into a handsome young man. The two drank more together, little by little, the two began to forget about their home troubles as more and more alcohol filled their systems. By the time the bar closed, both men were hammered, drunk off their asses as they stumbled against each other down the dirt streets of Konoha. “D-do you have a p-place to sleeeeeeeeeep?” A very drunk Sai asked and equally drunk Shikamaru.

“Oooooh fuuuuuuck. N-no!” Both men laughed holding onto each other for support. 

“Come back to my room th-then.” Sai smiled and Shikamaru nodded quickly. Both men finally got to the room Sai had rented, both falling backwards onto the soft bed, sinking against it slowly. “I...I wish I could find someone like you Shika. I.. I mean… You’re a hardworking person. Like… like you're just so pretty too. Like a duck. Ducks are pretty SHikamaru.” Shikamaru couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wish I could find someone like you too. Don’t expect to be constantly followed around like a lost puppy. You...you are also pretty. But like… like a um.. What are those things with feathers? The things with two legs?”

“A peacock?”

“No.. no.. It’s.. it's like a cow… but not a cow.”

“Penguin?”

“YES! THAT!” The two burst into fits of giggles. After they calmed down, they just stared at each other, eyes locking intensely to each other. Neither moved nor said a word. 

Suddenly, lips collided and hands grabbed at anything and everything they could find. Hair, limbs, the bedsheets. It was the most intoxicating thing either have experienced in so long. They felt electricity coursing through their veins that were once filled with grief and sorrow. Every touch sent heat compared to a fire everywhere they went. Clothes were discarded and thrown around the room, neither caring where they went or if they would be able to find them later. Sai was lying on top, forearms resting on either side of Shikamaru’s head. The man underneath had his hands in the other’s hair, slightly tugging to bring him closer. One of Sai’s hands slid down Shikamaru’s body, tracing and outlining every muscle until it came to the organ that needed the most attention.

His hand firmly gripped Shamaru’s cock, stroking it ever so gently. The small gasps and mewls Shikamaru let escape were swallowed by the other’s mouth, Sai’s tongue already winning the battle for dominance. With his other hand, Sai started to tease Shikamaru’s ass. Slender fingers running around the ring of muscle, lightly prodding the opening before slipping one in, already lubed from the small amount of natural lubricant that came from the tip of Shikmaru’s dick. “Oh, fuck!” Shikamaru gasped, mouth slight gaping at the unfamiliar intrusion. But he wasn’t about to complain, if he was being honest with his drunken self, he always felt something for the man on top of him. He just never realized it before, never fully cared to even consider the option. But here he was, letting himself get lost in the feeling of another man.

Sai entered another finger, scissoring the other open. Was this the feeling he wanted to so desperately give Ino? He didn’t know, but he did know that he liked whatever feeling this was. It was.. happy. Carefree. Addicting. He wanted more. He wanted to get drunk, not off more booze, but off the feeling Shikamaru gave him. He needed more.

He took out fingers, smiling slightly as the whimper that left Shikamaru’s swollen lips. He stared at the beauty of the man under him, eyes dark with lust. He aligned himself up with Shikamaru’s entrance. “I’ll be slow. I promise.” He spoke softly as he caressed the heated skin of Shikamaru’s cheek. He only got a nod in response as he slowly inched his way in. He read about using lube to help make things easier, but it seemed like neither cared at the moment, the slight burn actually felt good, maybe it was the drinks they had talking, but again, neither cared. They only relished in the feeling of one another, drinking in the blissed out faces each wore as Sai finally bottomed out. Both were still, letting each other adjust to the other. 

“Move.” Was the only thing Sai needed to hear to start thrusting his hips against Shikamaru’s. Both let out a groan at the feeling, becoming more intoxicated as the thrust kept getting faster and harder. The tip of Sai’s cock hit Shikamaru’s prostate, causing the man to let out a loud moan, causing Sai’s dick to twitch, it was like the world's most beautiful song, a song being played just for him.

“You sound.. So beautiful.. Shikamaru.” Sai grunted as he aimed for the same spot over and over again. 

“I.. I’mma… cum?!” Shikamaru moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He was so close, so terribly close it almost hurt. Sex with Temari was never this good, never this emotional, never this….. Free.

“Cum with me, Shika. Let me see your beautiful essence all over us.” Sai grunted, nearing his release as well. With one hand firmly planted on Shikamaru’s hip, the other went to vigorously pump his dick. Shikamaru came with a loud moan, Sai followed soon after, releasing his seed inside his friend. All movement ceased, the only sounds being the heavy breathing coming from the two men. Said pulled out and Shikamaru felt the cum seep from his ass and onto the blankets beneath him. The two looked at each other, both their eyes slowly closing. Sleep was finally taking over them, from the emotional night of heart beak, drinking and great sex, both closed their eyes, slightly snuggling against each other. Consequences can be damned till the time they woke up. Right now, everything was okay. They were at peace.

#not sfw #minors dni #shikamaru+smut #sai+smut #shikamaru x sai #drunk #cheating #hurt #saishika #shikasai #SaiShika #ShikaSai

[lettrespromises]

╰┄───➤   LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜ Letter object : ‘Screaming into the abyss’ - Katsuki Bakugou.

╰──➤ Katsuki Bakugou sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

Letter object : Injured, Bakugou is forced to stay at home under the orders of the medical unit where he will begin being tormented by his own emotions and the guilt of not being able to help you. As the emotions build up within him, he finally explodes, and you’re here to pick up all the shattered pieces and glue them back together. 

Author’s letter : ❝dear reader, I had to, I’m so sorry but I had to write something about this following the catastrophe of chapter 285. I do hope, however, that you will like this (and I might have gotten lost in descriptions once again so I apologize in advance.) also, bonus point if you’ve read nietzsche or heard about his theory on the abyss (wink, wonk @ the last line of the letter.) sending lots of love your way! sealed with a kiss,  nikki.❞ Genre : Angst, fluff, comfort. Warnings : Cursing. Word count : 2.6K.

Maybe, the mask deserved to fall. Maybe, the mask was meant to be shattered. Maybe, the mask belonged amongst the ashes. The crimson mask which, to the common eye, echoed to the imagery of a surge of flames which were fueled by passion and perfectionism. These flames were scary, almost untamable in a way, but they were beautiful, tempting— and here laid mankind’s first paradox : feeling the urge to approach and tame a wild entity. But today, the shine reflecting in this suffering inferno has changed. It’s not longer crimson, it barely holds any shade of red. This fire used to burn to intimidate others, now, it burns just enough to survive. It has changed.

And that’s how everything became blurry— the crimson orbs found themselves to be the martyrs of the emotions draining them. Pearls of salt gathered at the corner of his eyes and fell while following the path created by the dry tears which had previously rolled down the flesh of his cheeks. It was like a cascade, and the rhythm of the tears almost seemed mechanic— as soon as a tear hung from his chin, another one started taking form to replace it right away.

Knowing that he couldn’t control his own emotions drove him insane, but he fell in the trap set by his subconscious— the more he was thinking about how to gain the upper hand over his emotions, the more he felt constricted by the invisible knots forming in his throat. Perhaps knowing that there was no other solution left was yet another motive to cry about.

Bakugou’s head hung low, his crimson orbs never leaving the floor as he was doomed to observe his own downfall through the repetitive drops of his tears. He didn’t dare to blink either, judging that it would only make the tears grow bigger until he would not be able to perceive something clearly anymore. His nails were dug into the skin of his palms, imprints of crescents trailed behind as a testimony of his frustration. His mouth was wide open, too, Bakugou was inviting his body to scream its pain, force the illness out of his body, and although he forced himself to voice vividly his agony, no sound came out of his mouth— he was screaming into the abyss.

« God-fucking-damnit, why is it so fucking hard, hah? W-Why can’t I fucking get this out?! » A crescendo shadowed his intonation, but failed to cover the betraying breaks accompanying his voice. The surprising cracks in his voice made him shut silent, and for a second, he wished no sound could leave his parted lips if it meant he was going to show even more vulnerability. But most of all, he wished that you would not come home earlier and perhaps in the nick of time, he would have re-gained the possession of his own emotions. He couldn’t find himself to imagine a scenario where you would burst out of the door and see him naked, in a way— what were you going to say to him? Were you going to call him ‘weak’? Were you going to break up with him? Were you going to be disgusted? If it meant losing you, then Bakugou was willing to be a silent martyr.

He was way past trying to find an answer to the enigma and thus find why his emotions were filling his senses, he knew that said answer was not going to fall straight from above, perhaps there was no answer. But he couldn’t help and reminisce the events which took place a few weeks prior to that— he failed to arrest a villain and, whilst battling them, got severely injured and was forced to stay off of hero duty for a few weeks. Bakugou felt useless, and guilt for not being able to save citizens was exuding from his every pore, sometimes, he wondered if he really deserved the status of hero in these conditions. The sole heroic acts he was allowed to do was send a text to ‘Shitty Hair’ and congratulate him on his work, not that he would ever openly admit that he was willing to do anything and everything to take his spot.

His work was dangerous, he would wake up every morning wondering if today was the last time he was going to kiss you goodbye, and perhaps he started pouring more bits of genuine adoration in his morning pecks since this epiphany struck him. But his work was also addictive, the sensation of feeling adrenaline course through his veins until hitting his brain was a marvel and he just wanted to know what it felt like to save civilians, prevent crimes from happening— he wanted to witness this all over again, as if he had been overwhelmed by a sudden wave of amnesia.

The sound of keys rattling in the lock didn’t even startle him, he stopped crying, and that was enough of a victory to him already. But as soon as you stepped foot in your shared apartment and were welcomed with silence, your guts were quick to tell you that something was off. You ventured in the vicinity with cautious steps, as if you were discovering your apartment all over again under the heavy influence of silence, but you couldn’t see Bakugou anywhere.

« Katsuki? Are you here? » You called, not sincerely expecting an answer. « Oh, fuck off already. » He responded silently, sincerity abandoning his words.

You had tried to look for him in every room, but failed to find him. Sure, there was one last option and the most intimate one, but knowing that Bakugou could possibly be stuck in your bedroom felt like breaking his own intimacy. You had tried to be by his side as much as you could during his time at home, but you were a hero yourself, and perhaps you felt like staying away from him for a bit would diminish the burning sensations of his pain.

You found yourself knocking against the door and immediately forgetting about your own advice on how to give him intimacy, « Katsuki, I know you’re in there. » but you met silence as a response. Pursuing your intentions, you tried opening the door but you realized soon after that it was locked, your brows were furrowed in incomprehension. You allowed yourself to release a breath you ignored you were holding until feeling the invading sensation of several knots forming in your stomach under the feeling of guilt, and thus, you fell on your knees near the door, weakened.

« Katsuki, love, do you want to talk about it? » You inquired, the sound of your voice coming out as a hushed confession.

« Talk about what? » He barked but it was innocent.

« Don’t tell me you locked yourself in our bedroom because you actually like it. »

« I do whatever I fucking want, that’s none of your goddamn business. » This is why he should have stayed silent, to avoid the crack to distort his voice.

« Katsuki, open the door before I destroy it with my bare hands. »

You were met once more with silence, but this time it hurt more, probably because Bakugou chose not to respond deliberately. Still, you waited for a few seconds, never leaving your position nor moving by an inch— after all, you still had the hope that he silent because he was on his way to come open the door. But, oh well, what a disillusion!

« Come out of the bedroom whenever you want, I’m out. » your actions accompanied your words and you got up, dusting yourself off in the process.

And while your hands swatted away the bits of dust clinging onto the fabric of your pants, the deafening sound of your bedroom door swinging wide open caught you off by surprise. You were met with the dim fire dancing in his crimson orbs before acknowledging the invading sensation of his limbs encompassing your waist in a (literally) breathtaking hold. You were rendered stiff, not only because of the rapidity of this action, but also because this was not a characteristic of Bakugou. His head was nestled in the crook of your neck, not that he had the courage to willingly show his face marked by the torment of his emotions anyway, and his fingertips almost turnt white under the pressure applied on your lower back.  

« Don’t go anywhere, stay here. » hot breaths crashed against your skin. « I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, I won’t go away. » you responded equally as intimate, your fingertips brushed the roots of his hair in circular motions. « Now, » you let your hands travel down his face until cupping his cheeks and making him bore his eyes into yours, « do you still refuse to talk to me? »

He blinked once, to make sure he had heard correctly, and then a second time, to prevent the tears from finding the familiar path drawn on his cheeks. He couldn’t stand looking at you, or rather, he couldn’t stand the fact you were looking at him in all his shameful glory, bare with all his emotions written all over his face. But from your perspective, never once did he look as beautiful as now— the reddish tone of his eyes married the scarlet color of his iris, the color of his cheeks matched the color of his eyes, too. But most of all, he was beautiful because he let his emotions speak for him.

He was hesitant, unsure of how his body was bound to react, unsure of how you were going to react as the haunting thoughts of you finding him weak were still clouding his mind. And yet, he couldn’t gather enough strength to look elsewhere but in your eyes, as if a calming bliss were attracting his orbs like magnets would do. He took one breath, it was solemn, but necessary for both the sake of his tirade but also for the sake of unifying his thoughts upon exposing them to daylight.

« I fucking feel like shit ‘cause I haven’t done anything since I’m injured. You, Shitty Hair, Dunce Face, everyone is busting their ass off to fight shitty villains left and right and I gotta’ stay at home doing nothing. I can’t do shit to help you. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even cook to help you out after your day on patrol— I’m fucking useless, you hear me? I’m fucking useless while you’re risking your life out there every day. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Sit here and not do shit? Sit here until I have a fucking confirmation that you’re safe and sound? I fucking hate this, I fucking hate feeling like a burden to you, I fucking hate feeling useless! » The more he talked, the more venom he spat, the more his voice was breaking under the tight grip of his emotions.

It was your turn to reply, but your brain couldn’t seem to form a comprehensive sentence. Sure, there were words and whatnot, but none clicked to create a real sentence. Your mouth was set agape in anticipation, and you laid your gaze upon him and his features— how he dug his pearly whites into his lower lip to refrain himself to give in to the temptations of his emotions and cry, how his eyes screamed for an answer on your end because he couldn’t stand silence as an answer, how he tried to catch his breath and ease his heart.

Your palms were still covering his cheeks. But if this action came from a place of willing to get his attention, now you just felt as if you were cradling the finest piece of china which threatened to shatter at any given moment. You knew how horrible of a situation this must have been for him, so you allowed to grant him his deserved intimacy, your palms orientated his cranium in the crook of your neck, just enough to give him sentimental privacy. And although you claimed that you were doing this for him, you were also doing this to prevent yourself from breaking into tears. Your hearts beat in unison, so did your emotions.

« I don’t even know where to begin », you begin as your digits ran through his hair to soothe him, « I feel so guilty for not doing something about this before », upon saying this, Bakugou pinched your hip in disagreement to which you let out a hushed yelp in response, « Bakugou Katsuki, I know your pride will tell you not to believe me but listen to me for one second, will you? It’s plain and simple, you’ve always been the person I look up to the most. When we were at U.A, I wanted to be like you and every time I was asked who was my inspiration, I would always say that it was Mount Lady or All Might but the only person I could think about was you. You did injure yourself, it sucks but you did it while fighting off a villain and you allowed a family to escape the zone safe and sound. You’re injured because you saved people, not because you tripped down the stairs. » You finished, allowing your lungs to absorb some much needed oxygen while Bakugou slightly tightened his hold as he already missed your voice.

« If you’re not proud of yourself, you know I’ll always be. And, please, you’re not a burden— if anything, I’m glad to know you’re safe here but I also know that soon enough you’ll be able to cook me something because you hate it when I cook for you. », you continued and obligated him to face you one last time, « whenever you’re in doubt, think of how much I love you, and how great of a hero you are. » you concluded your sentence by reducing the space between your lips and crashing yours against his in a unison of sentiments.

Both protagonist shut their lids close to allow the sensations granted by the kiss to roam their body and mind while they were both persuaded of seeing stars. Sure, you had kissed Bakugou more times than you could remember in the past, but here, you could easily discern the tones of care, gratitude and genuine adoration gracing your lips. And once oxygen failed your lungs and had to break the kiss against your will, you noticed that the crimson inferno was more vivid than earlier— Bakugou thanked your passion for fueling his fire and bringing it back from its ashes, like the fire of a Phoenix.

« ‘Love you, too. » Bakugou whispered against your lips.

« I’m sorry, care to say it again? » you responded, a playful smirked plastered on your facial features.

« Hah? Didn’t you fucking hear what I said? » He stared at you in disbelief, already second-guessing his choices in declarations, « I’ll say this once, so listen well, dumbass : I love you. Got that, now? ‘Cause I’m not saying it again. »

But you heard everything, of course you did, you always do. You hear his odd nicknames, you hear his cursing, you hear his screams, you hear his secret declarations of love and you hear him when he’s screaming into the abyss.

« I love you too, Katsuki, so much. » The abyss stared back at him, and offered him a smile.

#bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugou oneshot #bakugou hcs #bakugou smut #bakugou imagines

[willadisastercry]

Slow and steady... breathe.

tw: severe blood loss, needles, self surgery, loss of conciousness.

Lance wasn’t particularly aversed to needles, he just didn’t want to have to willingly stab himself with one, ya know? Everyone is distraught once they realize Lance is hurt and that they can’t be there to help him because they’re in the middle of nowhere and can’t leave their lions, so talking him through stitching himself back together is the best solution they have. If only Lance can stay awake long enough to fix himself up so he makes the journey.

“Is everyone alright?”

Keith’s voice jolted Lance from his slumped position after his body had gone lax with exhaustion and his mind wondered off. He almost didn’t catch Keith’s question with how intently he was staring at the floor in front of his pilot chair where a sizable puddle was beginning to form.

“Didn’t really account for having to bail so soon without checking in and we have a long way to go before he get back to where Coran had to move the castle...”

He wondered vaguely what he could’ve possibly spilled as he shrugged off the weariness from the battle they had just narrowly escaped. They were all spent after things went pear shaped and had to evade the hail of fire from galra blasters all the way up to their lion’s ramps.

Everyone ushered their respective ‘yes’s though, even Lance, but Keith decided to do a sound off for damage control anyway since they had a bit of a journey before they made it back to the castleship.

“Pidge? Did your shield hold up?”

Shield. Hmm. Lance knit his brows together as he forced his brain to work through the fog that addled it.

“Yeah, it did. I’m not hurt.”

Unlike Pidge, Lance wasn’t as lucky and his had cracked almost immediately in his one on one with the galra soldier that had discovered him. He’d taken post in a makeshift sniper hole between some storage crates to cover his team as they made their eacape.

“Good, how about you, Hunk?”

Lance wondered what else he was forgetting about the battle they’d just fought, maybe that’s why he felt so strange and out of it, why his mind was so slow.

What the fuck happened back there?

“—saw you take a few hits in close combat at the end there, you alright?”

Lance’s heart fluttered sadly as he recalled how he had been lining up a shot for the soldier that was advancing on Hunk when he’d been caught.

His scope had just zeroed in on the soldier when one that Lance wasn’t aware of made his own surprise attack, clutching the armor around his ankles so painfully that he was afraid it’d crack before yanking him backwards and away from his position.

He had cried out more at fact that he hadn’t gotten the shot in because that meant that Hunk would have to fight and he hated fighting. The guy was a goddamned pacifist in the middle of an intergalactic war, but his build made him look like a formidable threat and attracted unwanted attention during battle all the time.

Lance just wanted to spare his friend from having to engage in the thing he hated so much. But he couldn’t. He’d failed.

“I’m dandy, nothing more than a couple of bruises Coran’s special cream can fix.”

Those bruises were Lance’s fault. He had failed to protect him from that soldier, to protect him from having to do the thing he hated. It took all of him to stifle the broken sound that erupted in his throat as his stomach clenched with guilt.

“Okay, let me know if anything changes.”

Lance breathed shakily as he blinked back tears, but even when he wiped the wetness under his eyes they remained blurry, unfocused.

“Allura? You were with me but you had the quintessence—”

That’s what this entire mission was about...

Stealing a powerful vat of quitessence Pidge had been keeping tabs on with intel she’d stolen from a galra battleship en route to occupy a peaceful planet in the nearby solar system. Shiro wanted them to intercept the delivery so that there would be less catastrophe when they formed Voltron to defend the planet.

It was more than vital that they succeeded and Lance was determined, ready to do whatever he could to prove himself as a sharpshooter and make sure they secured what they were after.

“You can be at ease that I am uninjured and the quintessence is in tact.”

This bit of information did little to ease the rapidly increasing feeling of wrong that was consuming him. They had succeeded and he had done his job relatively well aside for one mistake, but that mistake had gotten Hunk hurt, and he was having a hard time reconciling that to make the success feel like a victory.

He was also having a hard time staying focused on Keith as he spoke with each of them, all of their voices as they recounted the battle muddling together, lost behind the ear piercing ringing that only he seemed to be affected by.

His breathing picked up and he was vaguely aware that he had started sweating, realizing he’d zoned out again just in time for his turn to check in with Keith.

“Great, and Lance? I know you were in a bit of a scuffle, are you all good?”

Five minutes ago he would have answered with a resounding yes, but as soon as he’d sat down in Blue the pump of adrenaline through his body slowed and the weariness had dripped away bit by bit to reveal that he actually felt incredibly weird. Of which was doubly confirmed with the near constant waves of concern Blue was sending him.

“Uhhm,” Lance paused, his mind blank.

For the first time in literally ever he had no idea what to say. His mind was in a thick haze as his body continued to try and come down from the massive high of combat and so he found he couldn’t really grasp what the strange feeling was exactly.

“I... I think I took a couple of direct blows after my shield... maybe my head because I sort of feel... I don’t know actually, just-just weird I guess...”

“Wait, your shield crapped out while you were fighting that soldier?”

Lance was slower to respond this time.

“Yeah, it cracked, my shield...” his words came out between increasingly ragged breaths.

“Well, that’s not promising. What do you mean by weird, do you think you might have a concussion?”

“Concussion...” he mused aloud, not really understanding why that was a concern before he reminded himself that he was fully missing a few key events from the end of the mission. He was faintly aware of worried fussing from Hunk and Allura as he racked his brain.

“Pidge, can you pull up a full visual of Lance?”

“On it!”

“...I don’t think I hit my head though. I mean, yeah, I guess I do feel a little dizzy maybe... and lightheaded... everything looks kinda strange too,” Lance rattled off as he took in his surroundings.

The lights of the panels and screens in front of him blurred and stretched if he moved his eyes too fast, so he tried to keep still and focus on just Keith’s face for now. It was pinched with concern but his voice divulged nothing but calm.

He could feel Blue nudging him, clearly worried over something because she had been withholding control of the steering for a while and was doing most of the piloting then.

“Easy girl, I’m alright,” Lance whispered.

He was becoming more lightheaded by the minute and his movements were now so sluggish he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to steer straight much longer anyway.

“Full screen visual should be popping up—

“Oh, crap!”

“Lance, what the hell?”

“Lance?” Keith’s voice was steady, breaking through the sea of concerned remarks pointedly.

For everyone else the entire view of Lance’s cockpit was now visible and so was the red that painted the front of his armor and much of the floor.

“Lance... do you know how long you’ve been bleeding?”

“Huh? I’m not-I didn’t get... wait, what do you—woah,” Lance had looked down to examine himself, certain there would be nothing.

But there was. And he was really confused because he hadn’t felt a thing but the sheet of red cascading down his armor from his side said otherwise.

He swallowed thickly, head swimming from the angle as he peered down at the grizzly sight. With the threat of passing out now a very real possibility, he brought his head back up to rest against the back of the chair and looked elsewhere as he fought the blood rush that threatened his ability to remain conscious. Something about seeing that much of his own blood was making him sick to his stomach.

“-nce! Lance, focus! Good, okay, so did the soldier have a sword or a blaster?”

He knit his brows together as he thought back on it. He remembers glinting metal that swooped down on him in short, swift arcs. The solider had a very long and very serrated knife, not a blaster. He didn’t even have enough time to transform his bayard before the soldier descended on him, his shield not lasting more than four hits before it shattered.

“A knife, he-he had a knife...”

He tried to ignore the resurgence of worried questions from his friends.

“Okay, can’t be that bad if you didn’t even notice, right?” Keith tried to put him at ease but it wasn’t really working.

He hadn’t noticed when it happened because he was quite literally battling for his life, losing a significant amount of blood in the time that had passed since then. And that scared him.

Because he wasn’t phsyically with the others, he was bleeding out and basically alone.

He was going to die... and his friends would get to watch.

“Lance, stop worrying and just focus on me okay?”

“R-right, sure. Um, what-what do I do though? We can’t just pull over... we’re in the middle of nowhere in outer space and the castle is too far... what if—I don’t want t—I can’t-can’t—“

“Lance! What did I just say? Stop worrying and listen to me!”

He dragged his eyes from the hole they were burning into Blue’s dashboard to meet Keith’s purple saucers.

“You’re okay. You’ve got a med kit in the cargo hold and we can talk you through how to patch yourself up, yeah? You’ll be fine.”

“Fine. Right, I-I’ll be fine.”

“Do you think you can stand? The med kit is on the wall behind you.”

“I can try...”

Lance scooted to the edge of the pilot chair and braced himself before rising onto his legs.

“Shit...”

The world spun before him as the new orientation produced another swell of blood from the comprised bit of his armor where he’d been... he didn’t even know what he’d been yet but he knew it wasn’t good.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, blinking away the static before starting for the back of the cockpit, using the wall to keep himself upright.

“Kit’s on the left.”

Walking felt weird. His legs were weak and didn’t seem to ever go where he intended, but they held his weight even when he’d acquired the bulky med kit and had use a bit more effort to lug it back to his pilot chair.

His friends were in the middle of a discussion Lance hadn’t heard and continued when he returned. He had to set the kit down before maneuvering carefully around the puddle to get himself seated in his chair.

He began tugging off the top half of his armor, starting with the gloves and elbow guards which came off painlessly. It was only when he moved to the top most pieces that he ran in to some issues. He inhaled sharply when tugging on his right shoulder guard pulled at whatever was waiting beneath his armor on his side.

“Hey hermano, just breathe, you’ve got it,” Hunk offered when Lance stopped.

He nodded and took another deep breath before continuing.

The left shoulder guard came off with little incident when he approached it with more caution, but now came the chest piece. He separated the clasps at the bottom and sides before leaning forward to slide the back piece out, the front piece falling away when he leaned back in his chair.

He gasped and was sure that his friends had too when they saw the gash in his side. It was long and wide, deepest towards his back and tapering off on his stomach just above his belly button.

Lance remembered it now. Once the shield finally shattered, he threw his hands over his head and rolled out from under a hit that would have killed him.

The soldier seethed at the evasion and launched at Lance again, giving him barely enough time to deploy his bayard before he was on him. Twisting around was all he could do to get more distance between them so he could take his shot, but he wasn’t quick enough. He caught the impending strike in his side anyway, the blade cutting into him due to his own momentum even after the soldier had stopped swinging and fell to his knees lifelessly.

He thought his armor had held, not aware of the splintering crack where the blade broke through the joint at the midsection.

“Okay, okay, hey! You’re still okay! You’re going to fix it and we’ll walk you through it, yeah?”

He nodded. The air in Blue seemed to be warmer than usual but it didn’t stop him from shivering now that his armor was off. All of the heat in his body seemed to be drawn to the hole in his side.

“Pidge, do you think—“

“Yeah, I’ve already patched Coran in and he’s got a whole set of medical diagrams pulled up... okay Lance, you ready?”

He attempted a ‘yes’ but his mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure he could separate his lips to speak so he hummed instead, his eyes wide and searching as he combed over the contents in the open kit below him despite the mounting pressure behind his eyes that made keeping them open a challenge.

“There’s a vial of yellow liquid and a syringe, grab those... also the sheers because you’ll need to cut away what’s left of the suit around the wound.”

He grumbled at the thought of stabbing himself with a needle but seemed to shift into a sort of auto pilot after that, moving methodically and ignoring the agony of the pulsing wound on his side now that he was aware of it.

His face paled visibly once he held the syringe up in front of him. The needle was big and the liquid in the vial looked like acid than it did medicine.

It was Allura interrupting his inner turmoil this time, her voice full of fear but sure.

“Lance, you can do this. It will hurt, but you will be grateful once you’ve administered it, trust me.”

“Whatever you say, princess...” he smirked meekly and Allura almost laughed.

Once he’d cut away a haphazard square from the material left around the entirety of his wound, Pidge explained how much of the liquid to pull into the vial and how much he should inject each time and where.

He figured he’d need to get a move on with all of this from the way that everything seemed to be spinning and steeled himself for the first of numbing injections. It was to go right above his hip below the deepest part of the wound.

“Breathe...”

He waited for an inhale and went for it before he could panic.

“Shiiiit!”

Turns out the needle going in wasn’t what he should’ve been wary of because the altean medicine burned. He squirmed and cursed as he pushed in the allotted dose, practically seeing stars at the thought of administering five more of them.

“Relax buddy, you can do it.”

He pushed the next shot in quickly, starting with another before his body could protest and did that with the rest of them all in quick succession, not letting himself focus on the seering fire until he was done. Throwing his head back and doing his best to keep from writhing as much so he didn’t make the wound worse.

“Gah! Fuck, fuck, what the fuck is wrong with altean pain medicine?! Hurts-hurts more than the freaking knife wound—“

“Shut up, you’re okay. You won’t feel anything soon. Hard parts over, but now you gotta relax, freaking out on us is only gonna make things worse.”

Keith’s stupid for being right, but he is.

Don’t freak out. You can do this... you have to do this.

“Okay,” he huffed, “no freaking out.”

His voice was trembling almost as much as his hands as he let the empty syringe fall mindlessly to join the puddle of his own blood on the ground.

The pain in his side was diminishing now, the burning of the numbing medicine becoming a cool sting and then smoothing out into a hollow warmth. He tested the skin around it with his finger and couldn’t feel a thing, perfect.

“What’s next?”

“Ha,” Pidge laughed grimly, “now you have to put your money where your mouth is and thread an actual needle.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that too, the movement made something around the wound on his side twinge but he couldn’t really tell where or why with how numb it was now, which was probably a good thing.

“The pack of needles is in the sleeve... look for one that’s curved... size 3–yeah, that’s it. There is a clamp to guide the needle and a tweezer type tool to help tie it off, grab those. Now you need a couple packs of gauze and tape... the spool of polyester blend thread—wait how do atleans also have polyester? Right, focusing now, sorry! Okay, next is the antiseptic... yeah it’ll probably hurt but you’re not croaking over galra germs if we can help it... sorry Keith, you definitely don’t have galra germs.”

Keith just pinched the bridge of his nose but Hunk seemed to be amused by it, his light chuckle taking the edge off the intense worry written all over his face.

“We sure one of you can’t just do a little space walk over here?” Lance asked as he held up the bottle of antiseptic, “seriously don’t know how the mullet isn’t jumping at the opportunity to torture me, like come onnnnn! I know you’d enjoy it!”

“Shut up and listen to Pidge, the castle is still really far and Coran hasn’t been able to triangulate our location yet, so we’ve gotta keep moving.”

He grumbled pitifully but looked to Pidge’s face on the dashboard in front of him.

“You ever threaded a needle before? The sewing kind not the almost killing your friends trying to show off your piloting skills kind.”

“Ha-ha and no, but i’ve seen my máma do it... something like this I think... hey, I got it!”

“Damn, he really can thread the needle.”

“Thank you Hunk! Finally some recog—“

“Both of you be quiet. Lance, listen to me very carefully because now you have to stab yourself with it. Lock the clamp at the end of needle, you’ll hear a click. You won’t feel it when you start stabbing—stitching, probably just the motion, but you’re still bleeding so you’ve gotta hurry.”

Lance was well aware that he was still bleeding. His body wouldn’t let him forget. The color had all but left his face and he was drenched in sweat. And he seemed to shake steadily now no matter what he did to try and calm down, no doubt a side affect of half of his blood being beneath him instead of inside him. But he ignored it all and put his remaining energy into listening to Pidge.

“Start at the back where it’s deepest and hold the skin together... yep, good now bring the tip of the needle just below—left more, perfect. Coran says to angle it in the direction you want it to come out the other side... go as deep as halfway down the wound and don’t push too far in on the other side where it’s coming out... kay, now push it in, shit. Lance! LANCE!”

As soon as he had the needle situated as deep as it needed to go he lost the battle with how lightheaded he’d become. It had him slow and sluggish before but was now severely impeding his ability to remain conscious for his self surgery.

It wasn’t so much as the actual piercing his own skin that culminated with everything else for him to faint. More of the way he could feel it moving inside of him, like he could feel that the metal was cold by how it stood out against the heat of the wound, just not the actual cold of it or the pain part.

He didn’t know how long he’d been out when the voices of his teammates registered in his head again. They seemed worried, some of them distraught. Like Hunk, he was really scared about something, sounded a little mad the harder he listened.

“...if he doesn’t come around soon I’m going over there—no, I don’t care!”

“Just give him a minute!”

“Wait guys he’s moving.”

“Lance can you hear us?”

“Lance!”

Everything seemed so loud but muddled and indistinct all at the same time.

“Ugh, stop screaming...” he slurred, his head still hurt and he felt even lighter than he had before.

“Open you eyes, bud. You’re almost done, come on,” Keith urged.

Almost done his ass, he’d passed out just after getting the needle in, not even finishing the first stitch. This was going to be hell.

“The needle stayed in, you just have to get it through the other side and tie it off. Coran says you can space them out and skip a few, you just need to get it closed to staunch the flow.”

He hummed again and pried his eyes open wide to blink around wildly before he tried to sit up. But his limbs were so heavy even lifting his arm was hard, so he stayed where he’d slumped down, shoving his legs out farther to get his middle straight.

“J-just through the other side?”

“Yes, where you have it now is fine... just like pinch the skin and coax it through and don’t stab your finger like your about to, you’ll feel that!”

He wanted to laugh, he really did. Because this was so ridiculous. It was probably the dangerous amount of blood he’d already lost but he just found this so amusing.

Having to stitch a knife wound up while a lion flew him back to a castle that wasn’t really a castle—in space! All in space!

He wondered what he would’ve been doing back home if he weren’t here right now, probably nothing nearly as ridiculous.

“Lance, stay with us,” Hunk’s low voice pulled him from his mental tangent.

He rubbed his eye with the back of the hand holding the tweezer, it was covered in blood.

“You’ve got to tie it off now, so pull the thread through until just a little is left, like an inch—stop! Now unlock the clamp and grab that last inch, wrap the end with the needle around a couple of times, not tightly. Release the lock on the clamps but keep a hold of the end of the thread, grab where it comes out the other side and pull through then pull tight and cut, good, done!”

He took in mouthfuls of air like he’d just finished a race.

Shit, he could cry. This was hard and he just wanted to close his eyes and forget about everything. It didn’t hurt anymore. But he just wanted to be asleep and not have to focus so hard on stitching his own wound closed while his friends tried to make him feel better.

Because they couldn’t. Because this sucked and they couldn’t help him.

“You’re doing amazing Lance,” the princess remedied, her voice firm but soft all the same.

His heart felt warm with that, it was something he could hear his máma saying.

“Few more and then you can rest, bud.”

“Y-yeah, okay...”

It got increasingly difficult to keep his hand steady and after the fourth stitch he’d sort of gave up on trying. He resolved to do them quickly like the injections once he’d gotten the hang of it. But his energy was leaving him faster than he could stitch.

And then his heavy breaths and shaking hands made it hard for him to hold the skin together long enough to get the needle through, so eventually he resorted to holding his breath and stabbing wildly.

His friends grimaced every time he did that. They all felt horrible that they couldn’t be there to physically help him but also knew they needed to get to the castle as quickly as possibly.

So Pidge continued to guide him through each stitch and everyone else praised and encouraged him each time he finished one. Their voices pulling him back when he’d drift off into the pull of darkness that continued to tease and toy with him.

“-ng so good.”

“Keep going, bud.”

“-re so strong, Lance.”

“Only a few left... Coran says it looks good.”

He coughed on the dryness that had made its way down his throat and almost into his lungs with how tired every part of him was. Breathing hurt because he had absolutely nothing left on his body that didn’t, made so much worse with the strain of having to withhold air so he could get the needle though.

The wound was practically closed now and not bleeding much through the gaps where he’d forgone some stitches. He was at the part where it tapered. Pidge said it looked like one more would do and so he held his breath and shoved, whining when he poked his hand by accident, not even hearing what his friends were saying as he tied it off almost robotically, the muscle memory of having done it a dozen times now taking over as his mind remained elsewhere.

“-n you hear me?! Lance, Lance listen to me! You’re almost done, don’t go just yet.”

He forced his lidded eyes to look at Pidge, he could barely make out her face with how blurry everything had gotten.

“Open the gauze pads and place them over the wound... tape the bottom and only the bottom down completely then rip off a long enough piece for the top and sides... pour the antiseptic onto another piece of gauze, dab it over the wound, and press it all down before you pass out... got that?”

He huffed wearily and thought he did something of a nod, but it probably didn’t look like it because Pidge asked if he’d heard her again. He had. He was just done. He tore the gauze pads free form their packages and placed them over the wound before taping them down.

None of it looked pretty. Not the sutures, not the bandaging, none of it. But it would have to do. He opened the antiseptic and lost the cap in the process but couldn’t find it in him to care.

He looked up at the screen of worried faces in front of him.

“Go on, bud. It’ll only hurt for like a second and then you can sleep.”

“You can do it, you just stitched your skin back together, this is light work.”

“Once again, altean medicine hurts like hell, but it works. Trust me, Lance.”

Yeah. Trust the princess.

He closed his eyes and waited for it. He really wasn’t sure how anything could top the fire that was the pain medicine, but somehow the antiseptic achieved that. His vision whited and he thought he could hear himself screaming, but he felt too far away to be able to hear that.

He didn’t remember covering the wound with the gauze but apparently he’d gotten three sides stuck down before his head lolled to the side and gentle waves of assurance washed over him from Blue as everything faded to black.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed between then and the next time he woke up, but he didn’t have the energy to ask. He just knew that he was still in Blue from the pulse of assurances that surged back up again as soon as he came back to.

“Coran says he’s picking up Black on the radar, he’s making a worm hole now. I’m gonna fly next to Blue to be ready to grab her just in case she doesn’t get the memo...”

He must’ve groaned because someone was talking to him then.

“Oh! Not dead, that’s so good, hi Lance.”

Freaking Pidge. He might’ve laughed. He couldn’t remember.

“Hey dude... nah don’t try and move, just stay there.”

“Thanks for listening to us for once.”

“Lance, you’re so brave, you should be proud of yourself that you were able to do that.”

“Course, princess. Any-anything you say...” he smirked and tried to hold up his famous finger guns, earning some laughs from his teammates that faded quickly.

Blue was the last thing on his mind when he passed out again. She was proud of him too.

#lance whump #voltron whump #voltron fic #vld lance #vld fanfic #vld fandom #voltron legendary disaster #whump fic

[leiawritesstories]

Burden

One of the first fics I ever wrote. Inspired by the Evanescence song “My Immortal.”

Nexta x Cassian, canonverse. Written waaaaaaay before ACOSF came along, so ignore canon divergence. 

TW: mentions of sexual assault

She is tired. Tired of the work, the long hours, the demanding pricks she must placate, the front she must show, tired of the façade she puts up, and so, so tired of locking away her heart. 

But locking away her heart is the only way to protect herself.

Never again can she let anyone, anyone, know the storm of emotion that rages within her soul. Never again can she allow herself to forge one-sided trust. Never again can she bare her inmost self, lest she be left cold, broken, and utterly alone. Never again can she watch the only person she thought  loved her dash her heart against the rocks of rejection. Never again. No one.

Not even him.

Him, the first male in this place to look at her like she was more than the silent, haughty, closed-off bitch the others considered her. Him, the only male to genuinely offer her what she needed during those horrible days after that bastard shoved her into his Cauldron-from-the- hells and cursed her with immortality: an outlet for her rage. Him, the male tied to her soul. Him, the male she cannot allow herself to love, no matter what her traitorous heart screams. 

Cassian.

The brash, cocky, fearless Illyrian. The only male in the world who sees her as she is and does not balk. The only person she knows who can face the raging inferno that is her and stand completely unfazed. 

Her mate.

A fact she must squelch. Never let it come to light. Never allow it to escape the steel cage around her volatile heart. 

No matter that every time her mate’s eyes fall upon hers, she reads his unspoken question.

Please. 

And no matter that every time she reads his heart written in his gaze, her own repressed heart leaps in response. Damn her heart for always feeling so deeply, so wholly. Damn her for not learning to rein in her emotions earlier. Damn her for turning into a pillar of steel, ice, and heartlessness when anyone so much as asks her a polite question. And damn her for being so godsdamn terrified of letting anyone even an infinitesimal step into her heart. 

Her warrior’s heart.

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

He watches her every moment she is present. And every moment, the pull on his soul grows stronger, ever stronger, drawing him towards the pillar of steel, flame, and unflinching willpower that is Nesta Archeron. He knows she feels the bond. He knows she refuses to let anyone know about the bond. He sees the faint flicker of fear in those glorious eyes of hers every time he speaks to her. A fear, not of him, but of what connects her soul to his. 

What horror happened to her to make her fear having a mate?

Not that he will ever know. But he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. How he longs for her to trust him, or if not him, then at least her sisters. He can sense that whatever she hides in her soul weighs heavily upon her, can see the burden she bears in the ramrod-straight line of her spine. And how he yearns to take some of that weight off of her shoulders. 

Every time he speaks to her, she pushes away his efforts to make her smile. He wonders if she has forgotten joy.

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

She has not.

She has merely forgotten that her life can be joyful. She cannot see past the string of terrible events that made up the last months of her human life. And she cannot bring herself to share the pain that shattered her heart mere months before life went straight to hell. 

Not with anyone.

No matter how much her brain, her heart, her soul push her towards spilling the entire story to her mate. Months in the Illyrian Mountains spent by his side, learning Illyrian combat tactics, dissolved the hatred she once felt for everyone in the Night Court, save her sisters. During those months, she discovered what lay under the Commander’s armor: his impossibly soft, warm heart. During those months, she came the closest she had ever come to revealing the scars that mottled her heart. He’d already seen the ones on her forearms, exposed during training; why, then, should she hide the mental ones, the emotional ones? 

Because he would never understand, she thinks to herself. 

“Nesta.”

She jumps, not realizing that while she was lost in her thoughts, he crossed over to her.

“What.” A statement, not a question. 

“I…” To her shock, he trails off, self-consciously twisting the Siphons on the back of his hands. 

“Bryaxis got your tongue?”

He jerks. A ghost of a smirk flits across her face. Which he notices. “By the Mother, Nesta Archeron. Did you just…joke?”

“Maybe.” That smirk returns.

He gazes at her, his eyes scanning her face as if trying to peer into her soul. “Why the long face?”

“Memories. From before. Most of them best forgotten.” Despite her iron resolve, a flicker of pain crosses her face. 

“Nesta, please.” The word emerges a broken plea. “Locking away whatever your terrors are will only make them worse. Please. Tell someone. It doesn’t have to be me. It—”

“What if you’re the only one who will actually listen?”

He freezes. “What?”

Her eyes, silver collecting in the corners, stare directly into his. “What if you’re the only one I trust to listen, fully and completely?”

Red light flares, and she finds herself—and Cassian—in his familiar wood-paneled cabin at the edge of the Illyrian woods. “Then speak.”

She does.

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

Not quite three months before Hybern kidnapped her and Elain, Nesta met a young man, new to the village. His parents were merchants, he said, and he had come to start a shop in an area where their commerce did not yet reach. He was passably handsome, and a sweeter talker than all the lecherous bastards in town. He also “happened to be around” whenever Nesta ventured into town. After his appearances became too frequent to be “chance,” Nesta allowed him to flirt with her, and despite her better sense, allowed herself to flirt back. Allowed herself to share her secrets, her hopes, her dreams.

A month after meeting him, he finally asked her to dinner, and she accepted. He came to her house that evening and charmed the hell out of her father, acting the perfect gentleman, even asking his assistance as a bookkeeper, considering his knowledge and experience as a trader. It was a pleasant enough dinner and conversation, a pleasant enough evening.

Until he escorted her home.

Or, more accurately, he escorted her into a secluded alley and pressed her against the wall. And clamped one greasy hand over her mouth. And ripped her skirt straight down the seam. Frozen with shock, all Nesta registered was his heavy breath, reeking of alcohol, and the lust-crazed sheen of his eyes. For one interminable moment, she could neither move nor think beyond the nasty, oily feeling of his other hand crawling up her thigh. 

The moment passed. Nesta bit down on his hand as hard as she could, earning a strangled grunt as he jerked back. Before he could manhandle her again, she drove her elbow into his ribs once, twice, thrice, and was rewarded with a satisfying crack and him doubling over. Then, she turned and fled into the night. 

She reached home in moments, burst through the side door, and barred it. Elain, who had come into the kitchen for some reason, gasped. 

“Nesta! Your dress! What happened?”

Nesta could only shake her head, the horror of the encounter crashing into her full force. Elain, seeing her sister’s obvious state of shock, helped her upstairs, into a bath, and into bed. When Nesta appeared the next day, bruising on her face from where she had been gripped, her sister again asked about the night before. Nesta refused to answer. She spent years stuffing the memory of that night as far back into her memory as she could. 

But the effects lasted. To this day, she fears opening her heart to any man, no matter how good, how sweet, how outwardly perfect he may seem. The scars from nearly being forcibly raped linger. And despite the years between then and now, there is simply too much that time cannot erase. Some scars run too deep. 

His name was Tomas Mandray.

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

In the silence following her story, Nesta realizes that she has slumped onto the worn wooden floor, unable to support herself against the flood of her memory. She realizes that the warmth on her face is her tears, falling freely. 

And that the one thing keeping her tethered to the earth is Cassian’s hand around hers. 

She lifts her head, drawing in a shaky breath, her heart…lighter. 

Ever so hesitantly, his thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the tears tracked there. He feels her tense, and then, incredibly, she relaxes, allowing him to brush the tears from her face as if he could erase the pain she feels. 

Deep in a buried corner of her mind, a thread of golden light pierces the shadows. 

Thank you, Cassian.

Always, my Nesta.

#my writing #leia writes #nessian #nesta #cassian