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giggly-squiggily · 3 months

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Take It All Back (Black Clover)

Okay so...I don't know how to explain this one kjarkjajkrjek I had a really bad case of Zorafin on my hands and needed to write it out! The ship has taken me by the jugular and I'm okay with that lols. I hope you like it!

CW: Swearing, Angst, Black Clover Ep. 87 spoilers!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@duckymcdoorknob @rachi-roo @imjusthere07

Summary: Finral's having severe self doubts about himself and his place in the Black Bulls. He finds comfort and something more from an unlikely source.

Finral would call his self-confidence a work in progress.

There were days where he thrived, pulling out all the stops during a practice session with the Bulls or saving the day with his portal magic just when they needed it. There was a rare but special tug of pride in his chest when that happened.

Then there were days like today where that tug of pride felt more like an anchor in his chest, dragging him further and further down his high and reminding him of all his shortcomings. “You’re nothing more than a taxi.” “Who would ever want you? Your own parents didn’t even want you!” “You’re a waste of space in the Bulls. You’re nothing without them- a living breathing parasite-”

“Boo.” A finger jabbed his hip from behind, making him jump forward with a startled squeak. “Did I scare ya?”

“No- I just make that noise in my downtime.” Finral grumbled as he turned around, finding none other than Zora Ideale before him. Something about the masked redhead made his spine tingle, sending goosebumps along his skin beneath his long sleeves. “What do you want, anyway?”

“Oo, someone’s grumpy today.” Those damn eyebrows- he looked so smug! “What’s the matter? Captain got you delivering toilet paper to him again? You’re kinda like a delivery man.”

Nothing but a taxi.

He was wounded, and it must have shown on his face by the wide eyed surprise Zora wore. “Shit- sorry man. I didn’t mean to cut you.”

“No- no, it’s not-” Finral willed his face to neutral out, trying to force the stinging behind his eyes back. “You didn’t do anything wrong; I just…” Something hot ran down his face. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Finral…” Zora looked alarmed, reaching out.

“I gotta go! Erm, important business; bye!” He whirled around and ran, opening a portal as he did. Zora’s cry for him to stop was the last thing he heard before the magic closed out all sound, including the weak sob he made.

~~~

Weak. Pathetic. What kind of senior bull member was he to suddenly start crying in front of the rookie?

Finral slumped in his bed, the sentiment pulsing through him like a wound as he glared into his wet pillow. He’s not usually so quick to tears- and when they did come, he learned to hide them well. What the hell happened out there? Why of all people did he have to start crying in front of Zora?

Was it too late to fade away in the walls? He supposed he could do a Gordon; become so quiet and soft spoken he’d be nothing but a ghost.

…He really shouldn’t view his teammate like that.

Before he could wallow in shame further, someone knocked. Slow and heavy; not like Vanessa’s quick and playful ones- nor were Magna’s aggressive banging. This was the kind of knock he wasn’t familiar with at all. “Hello?” He called out.

“Hey…it’s me.” Zora? Finral felt his heart drop into his stomach, a surge of anxiety hitting him so strongly he felt nauseous.

“H-Hang on!” He called, running to the bathroom with shaky legs. Splashing water on his face, he tried to wipe away his earlier tears, cringing at how red his eyes looked. Fixing his hair, he straightened up, smoothing out his shirt and taking a quick breath. It was what it was.

Opening the door, he put on his best smile, the one he used to charm the ladies in town. “Hello there, Zora. How can I help you?”

The second he met Zora’s eyes his confidence crumbled. Green irises took him in, from the wetted down hair to the fragile smile to the shaky pose. “Hey…can I come in?”

“Sure! Sure, have a seat!” Finral stepped back, trying to breathe. God, this was falling apart faster than he planned. “Your probably wondering why I ran away-”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s my line.” Finral blurted out, then froze, embarrassed. “Wait- huh?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that- the delivery man thing.” Zora ran a hand through his hair, the tops of his cheeks heating in shame as he looked away. “I hadn’t realized how it came out. I’m really sorry.”

“...I…” Finral gaped, looking for words. He was the one that was supposed to apologize- a senior Bull running away from his rookie over a dumb comment; how unprofessional of him. That’s what he figured Zora came by for; not this! “It’s okay, really. You don’t need to apologize-”

“I made you cry.” Zora looked angry, but not at Finral. “I hurt you.”

“...No, no you didn’t.” Finral sighed, gesturing for him to sit down. “It wasn’t you that made me cry, I’m just having a bad day.”

“My comment didn’t help.” Zora argued, no heat in his tone. Finral shrugged, a tired laugh escaping.

“No, it didn’t. But I forgive you.”

Zora nodded, something like relief passing over him. “Do you…erm, do you want to talk about it?” He seemed so awkward then, like it was new territory he was crossing. It was new for Finral too.

At first, he didn’t say much, just reiterated that he was having a bad day. But after a gentle push from Zora, he let it go. He found himself talking about his insecurity and how lately he felt as if he’d contributed nothing to the team. How he could easily be replaced by a speedy broom and a map, and how while he was making some progress in using his spacial magic for more than transportation, it wasn’t enough to justify his place in the team.

At some point, Zora had moved over so he was sitting beside him on the bed. Now he was supporting him, an arm rubbing soothing circles against Finral’s back as the other sniffled out the last of his pain, wiping at his tears. He didn’t push for details, nor did he give any commentary; he just sat there and listened.

Finally, when his tears came to an end and Finral could somewhat breathe again, Zora hummed in thought. “That…sounds like literal hell.”

Finral snorted, oddly comforted by Zora’s way of words. “It is. But it’s not the team’s fault. No one makes me feel this way, it’s just my own stupidity.”

“You’re not stupid. You're the farthest thing from stupid.” Zora cut in firmly, taking Finral by surprise. “Don’t call yourself that.”

“But it’s true. Why else would I feel the way I feel?” Finral shrugged, something bitter in his gesture. “I’m in a team surrounded by amazing people, and yet here I am wallowing in self pity. Surely that makes me seem pathetic, doesn't it.”

Zora stared at him, stunned. Then he glared, a look so ferocious Finral felt taken aback. “How dare you.”

“Huh?”

“You dare talk bad about the Finral of the Black Bulls in my presence?” Zora raised up some, eyes glistening with unreadable rage. “A man with such brilliance for strategy and a kindness you can’t find anywhere else- and you dare call him pathetic?”

“Zora, what the hell are you saying- whoa!” Finral yelped when he was pushed back into the bed, the redhead hovering over him. “Zora?”

“I’ll make you pay. Take it back right now.” Zora growled. The mask made him even scarier, yet Finral felt no true malice in his presence. Was he braver than he thought?

“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” Finral decided after a moment. “But as your senior Bull member, I will not acknowledge your threats. I ref-ehehehehehehehehehehehe!” He couldn’t finish his statement before fingers found his ribs, worming gently along the warm fabric of his tunic. “Zohoohohohora, whahahahhait!”

“I told you to take it back. You’re gonna apologize for saying such foul things about Finral or I’ll make you!” Zora was inches from his face, fingers carrying on their game as he walked them up and down the other man’s sides. This close, Finral could see the truth now. Zora was far from angry.

He was looking mighty mischievous.

“Noohohoohoho way! Thehehhehey’re true! I knohohohow- I ahahahham him!” Finral giggled out, gently swatting at Zora’s hands as they moved to his lowest rib set. “Thehehehehy’re faahahha-AHAHHACTUAL!”

“Impossible- you can’t be Finral! The Finral I know would never call himself those things. He’s not a parasite, he’s not a taxi, and he certainly isn’t a pathetic person! He’s great- he makes good coffee in the morning and listens to me ramble about stupid shit throughout the day- and he doesn’t care if I nap during practice!”

“I dohohoohoohohoho chahahahahhahre! Yohohohohou juhuhuuhuhust doohohohon’t lihihihihisten!”

“Hm…yeah, you got a point.” Zora mused, moving back to his highest ribs and making Finral squeal. “But mine still stands- you're a great guy. I’ll ask one more time before I go all out; take that bullshit back.”

“Eheh…ehehehehe….heheh…” Finral gasped for air when the tickles came to a pause, weighing his options. He knew where this was going; and he knew if he did as demanded, Zora would keep his word. He could be spared.

But…

“Nohohooho way! I mehahhahan it!” Finral raised his chin, firm in his decision. The look in Zora’s eyes did funny things to his stomach. Seems like they were on the same page now.

“Oh do you?” Zora raised a brow.. His smile was particularly dangerous as he pulled Finral’s arms up and over his head, pinning them in place with a single grip. “Shame.”

The next few minutes were a blur in Finral’s mind. The second those dastardly fingers touched his armpits it was all over. “AHEHAHAHAHHAHAHA! OOHOHOHOOKAY OHOOHOHHOKAY I TAHEHEHEKE IT BAHAHAHCK! I TAHAHHAHAHKE IT BACK PLEAHAHHAHAHSE!”

“Hmmmm….okay.” Zora decided just as Finral grabbed his collar; yanking him down and throwing him off balance. The redhead shot his arms out, stopping a full blown collision.

“PLehehehase!” Finral gasped, slowly coming too as the tickles faded. “Please….oh, hello there.” He felt himself flush for a new reason: Zora's face inches from his own.

“Hello to you too. Come here often?” His voice was a husky whisper, blue eyes like the deepest part of the ocean as they gazed down into Finral’s. He even had long lashes!

Finral always liked long lashes.

He felt his breath catch, eyes starting to droop as Zora reached up for the corner of his mask-

A bang on the door drew them both apart, Zora shooting up in a daze and leaving Finral feeling somewhat cold. “Finral- whatever your doing in there, hurry up. We got a mission.” Captain Yami’s voice boomed even through the thick wooden doors. Footsteps faded soon after, sobering the younger man.

“Shit- I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened-”

“Nah, you're fine. I came here to comfort you and-”

“I dragged you onto me! What kind of guy am I-”

“No complaints here.”

That last part stopped Finral in his tracks. “What?” He blinked, staring at the redhead.

“No complaints. In fact-I wouldn’t mind if we picked this back up after your mission.” Zora waggled his brows, a gesture so cheesy Finral couldn’t help but laugh. “Interested, teleporter?”

It all felt like a blur, this whole thing. One minute he was wallowing in self-pity, the next he was being comforted AND tickled to death by the strange redheaded mage before him. And now…

“Are you…asking me out?” Finral tried not to sound so unsure. Zora only smiled at him.

“Would you say yes if I was?”

Finral considered. Then he raised his chin stubbornly. “Not like that. If you’re gonna ask me out, do it right. Like this.” He stood, standing tall before the older man and putting on his best smile. “Would you go out with me, Zora Ideale.”

“You stole my line.” Zora sounded almost breathless, shaking his head with an easy grin. “Sounds fun. Yes, I will.”

Thanks for reading!

#black clover #finral roulacase #zora ideale #tickle #tickle fic #angst #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #zorafin #Whoops I ship it lols #Lee!Finral beloved

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needcake · 8 months

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@hetaberia-week

Day 8: extra

1588,

Madrid

No bad news ever came unaccompanied.

“Let me through,” he ordered at first, pushing against the barrier of servants, nurses and surgeons trying to keep him from entering the room, hands on his arms and shoulders, telling him their young Lord had just undergone extensive surgery, he needed to recover, he needed rest, he needed – “Let me through!”

A path opened, their voices fading into silence in face of Portugal’s ire and he crossed the threshold in hard stomps, locking the doors behind himself.

“You scare them,” came a frail voice from the bed, weak and flickering like the candlelight on his bedside table. Spain was a ghost against the pillows, his face ashen and pale, forehead feverish to the touch of Portugal’s hand, eyes unfocused. The mattress dipped under Portugal’s weight as he sat on the edge, and Spain attempted a smile that came out too shaky.

“England did this to you?”

He shook his head, stubbornly. “There was a storm,” he licked his lips, blinking slowly, “the men got confused, the English kept firing at us. If we could’ve boarded them, I would’ve won.” He coughed and Portugal helped him to a glass of water, holding it steady against his lips as he took small sips. “He’s coming for you next,” Spain said, turning his eyes to the pamphlets on his bedside table, jutting his chin at them for Portugal to take a look.

He put the glass of water down and gingerly took the pamphlets in his hands, his frown deepening as he flipped through the pages.

“He’s negotiating an alliance with the Ottomans,“ Spain said, and Portugal abandoned the printed lines of English excuses for stealing his people’s grain and supplies from Lisbon’s harbors justifying it as a just cause in their conflict against Spain and looked directly into Spain’s weakened but resolute olive green eyes, seeing the Turk smirking in the corner of his Moroccan prison cell, his stupid mask glinting in the dark. “Morocco too, he’s been trading freely with her, sending ambassadors—”

“Yes, I already know about that,” Portugal cut him off dryly, looking down at the pamphlets in his hands. He had known England had been dealing with Morocco behind his back, but the Ottoman Turks. That hurt more, cut deep into his flesh, stung like the devil. He could feel Spain’s eyes on him, but didn’t dare look up when his chin trembled so and his eyes watered with angry tears.

A cold hand was laid gently on top of his trembling fist still holding the pamphlets, crinkling the pages. At this he did look up, finding Spain’s eyes so much softer than he expected.

And here he felt it again, the strange urge to pull his injured body in his arms, the pull of kinship on the bottom of his stomach too strong to resist this time, and when he opened his arms, Spain came all too easily, bandaged arms circling his torso and face pressed into his clavicle, allowing Portugal to embrace his shoulders, mindful of the bruises, careful when he tucked him under his chin.

“We’ll show them,” Spain mumbled into his doublet, “We’ll make them pay,” he said, his hoarse voice vibrating with anger, but all it did was make Portugal press his eyes tighter, trying to keep himself from crying harder. I’m sorry, he wanted to tell him, but didn’t, cradling his soft hair in his palm, hiding in the crook of his neck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you’ll never be a boy again after this, that once he left this bed Spain would be forever changed.

No bad news ever came unaccompanied.

---

After the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, the English poured all their resources into a counter-attack the following year aiming to “liberate” Portugal and install António, Prior of Crato, as its King. They blockaded Lisbon’s harbors and confiscated their grains and supplies, which were carried by ships from the Hanseatic League that had nothing to do with the conflict. To justify their actions, the English issued pamphlets explaining their position, which you can read here. This resulted in the Portuguese population rejecting this liberation and the English Armada of 1589 also ended in failure, nearly bankrupting Elizabeth I. Concomitantly, the English, isolated as a Protestant nation amongst Catholic neighbors, sought out Islamic allies in Morocco and the Ottoman Empire, which further angered Spain and Portugal.

#hetaberia 2023 #hws spain #hws portugal #hetalia #a wild fic appears #THIS IS THE LAST ONE I PROMISE

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highwaytothedangerzone502 · 2 months

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Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 34

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2505

Warnings: Talk of suicide, swearing

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Innocent Cry Pretty

****

Ghost

Rooster had been more than ready to follow Hangman and punch him for what he'd said to Ghost and Juliette; the latter barely stopped him, threatening him with staying over at her mother's house for the night if he followed through with his desire. Rooster reluctantly refrained from going after Hangman.

Ghost convinced the couple she would be okay, that she'd expected him to retaliate against her for what he'd revealed last night. What she hadn't expected was for him to bring up her videos. She'd been so careful not to show her face, to blur the background to hide any notable features of her room, to hide her dog tags under her shirt and out of sight. So what gave her away? The songs? The timing of the songs? The guitar? Surely, other people had similar blue guitars. And how could Hangman even recognize the one he gave her? It'd been so long ago.

Ghost twisted her ring anxiously on her finger, staring at the guitars on her wall, debating whether to post a new song as an apology or delete the account altogether. She leaned toward the latter.

A knock on her door brought Ghost out of her thoughts. She hurried to answer it, wishing Hangman would be there to try and work things out but knowing better than to hope for such a thing. Her life wasn't one of the romance novels she loved so much. Hers was more of a tragedy...

When she opened the door, Coyote greeted her. Ghost immediately inquired, "How is he?"

"Struggling, trying to shut me out. The usual when he's upset," he replied, stepping inside with a backpack. "How are you doing?"

"Had better days."

"I figured. Listen, I can't stay long. I just needed to bring something by. And for the record-" Coyote opened his backpack and dug around before taking out a battered box- "you didn't get this from me."

"What is it?" Ghost asked, removing the lid. A bunch of letters, neatly organized, rested inside. Each envelope had her name on it in familiar handwriting.

"Hangman planned on giving you these when he realized he couldn't voice his apology. He wouldn't answer me truthfully about why he never followed through, but I think he got scared about how you'd react. He told me he got rid of them, but I knew better. I still believe he should've given them to you. I'm not sure how much Hangman told you last night, but if there are any holes or questions, maybe these will answer them for you."

Ghost stared at Coyote, unsure whether she should read the letters. Hangman had kept them from her for a reason. Even if he had been scared to give them to her, if he hadn't been the one to deliver them to her, there had to be a reason. Hangman was mad enough at her already. Ghost hated to add to that anger by reading the letters without his consent. Still, she had a question. "Why letters?"

Coyote shrugged. "I don't really remember. Just that it had something to do with a movie. I should get going, but call me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Coyote. For checking on him."

"Of course. And really, I know you have Princess and Rooster, but I'm here for you too."

"Hangman feels he only has you. I can't take you away from him."

"I'm your friend too, Ghost. Don't forget that," he told her firmly. Smiling appreciatively, she hugged Coyote tightly, a gesture he willingly returned. Ghost missed his bear hugs. "I want you two to work this out."

"Me too. You have no idea."

Coyote kissed the top of her head. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Ghost bid him goodbye, waited for the door to shut, then turned to the box of letters. She grabbed the top one and stared at it, mulling over the pros and cons, the right and wrong, of opening it.

It's addressed to me. Hangman intended to give them to me. Reading one wouldn't hurt... would it? Throwing caution to the wind, Ghost grabbed the box and sat on her couch before opening the first letter. It was dated the day after the accident:

Ghost-

I'm not sure how to talk to you right now, so I'm resorting to these letters. It's easier to write what I'm feeling than to speak it. So much has happened in such a short amount of time, and all I can think about is seeing you die, seeing Ghoul die, and how I'm to blame for it. Saying sorry will never suffice or bring Ghoul back, but to the deepest parts of my soul, I am sorry. I am sorry for hurting you; I am sorry for taking Ghoul away from you and Coyote; and I am sorry that I haven't been able to see you again. I did try today, but the moment my foot stepped into sickbay, images of you dying- mixed in with those of Mom and Ghoul- stopped me. The three of you all died when I entered your rooms, and I couldn't risk it happening again. Logically, I know it's stupid. Logically, I understand they're simply horrific coincidences, but if there's even a chance that they're not mere 'coincidences,' then I can't see you until you're out of the hospital. That way, you can't die on me a second time because I can't lose you, too, Ghost.

I'll try to see you again tomorrow.

Forever and Always,

Texas

Ghost's hands trembled. She should've stopped reading them after the first one like she said she would, but curiosity got the better of her. Ghost pulled out the second letter:

I've decided to write you a letter a day like Noah did to Allie in The Notebook. I remember watching that movie for the first time with you, and the letter idea always stuck with me. Not sure why, but it looks like it's coming in handy. Maybe this could be our own Noah and Allie story, but rather than it being us falling back in love, it's us falling back into our friendship because God knows it's going to be different now. I tried to visit you again, but the same thing happened. I can't cross the threshold into sickbay. All I want to do is see you, but even if I could get the courage to do so, what could I say to you that would even begin to mend what I broke? If your pain is anything like what I see in Coyote... I can't bear the idea.

Forever and Always,

Texas

Ghost wiped away a tear, smiling at the reference to The Notebook. She had wondered where he got the letters idea from, and now she knew. It had been her favorite movie for so long before she finally watched Pride and Prejudice, but it still held a dear place in her heart.

Ghost moved on to the third letter:

Coyote said you requested to see me today. I told him I would with every intention to follow through, but like yesterday and the day before, I couldn't do it. The weakling I am, I let my fears get the better of me. If you ever end up reading these, please know that my lack of visits has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I can't bear to see you in pain, let alone pain caused by me, and I can't stop seeing the memory of you dying every time I even consider visiting you. You can call me cowardly for it, and you'd be right. One day, maybe I can overcome this, but that's not today, and I'm sorry. I wish I could be better for you.

Forever and always,

Texas

Ghost read through more and more letters. All were relatively short, usually repeating the same things, but she could sense the despair and hatred for himself in each one, the next letter always turning slightly darker, more depressed. She found the one about a quarter of the way through that made the tears finally cascade silently down her face:

Word got around about my apparent ability to kill people when I step into their hospital room. Bradshaw- damn him- joked about me being some sort of hangman. Well, now that name's stuck, and whether I like it or not, my callsign is no longer Texas but Hangman. Nothing like being reminded that you killed your two best friends every time someone says your name. If they only knew about my mom... It's a fitting punishment for me, though. I did kill you and Ghoul, and I know I'm pretending like I've moved on in everyone's eyes, including yours, but I'm not okay Ghost. I'm so far from it. The trial is about to start soon. Why it's taken them this long to get to it, I don't understand. The waiting is the worst, especially because I know I'll see you then, see and hear your pain... if I don't look at you, it's not because I'm uninterested. It's because I'm not strong enough to do it.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

A few weeks later, the letter became even more pained, more desperate:

It was so much worse than I imagined. Seeing you, I mean. Hearing you recount what happened reopened the wound I'd so carefully stitched together. Each word felt like a knife slicing open my skin, deep enough to hurt but not enough to kill, even though death would've been a less painful option. But you defended me. After everything I did that day, after everything I've done following it, you still defended me. It's given me the courage to finally talk to you. Once this is over, that is, since we're both witnesses and not meant to speak to each other until after the trial, but I will. I will finally talk to you, tell you why I haven't seen you, why I haven't been able to talk to you. I hope you understand. If not, I get it. I left you alone during a horrible time. If that ends up being the case, then know I love you, Ghost. I always have and always will, and if you ever decide to give me a second chance, I will be waiting for you.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

More weeks passed, and the letter said:

I'm not sure why I'm continuing to write these letters. Maybe a part of me thinks I'll get the nerve to send these to you and that you'll read them and magically forgive me for all the wrongs I've done to you. But I know those chances are slim to none. The look you gave me when I tried to approach you after the trial closed told me as such. I've seen you enraged, but not at me. Not until today. How you kept from throttling me in that moment, I'll never understand. I wish you would've, if not to put me out of my misery. It's getting worse each day, and I don't know how to pull myself out of it... and that scares me. I think I might need help, but if the Navy believes I'm mentally unfit, they'll pull me from flying, and that's the one thing keeping me sane right now. I don't know what to do, Ghost. All I do know is that I wish you were here.

Forever and Always,

Hangman

After that letter, Ghost had to take a break from reading them. How could she have been so blind to his pain? How could she not recognize that his response to her accident was a trauma response from his childhood? Sure, she'd been wrapped up in her own grief, but that badly?

It took an hour before she could bring herself to read more. One after the other, each one wrenching her heart and tugging on her heartstrings until it threatened to suffocate her. However, the last letter was her undoing.

It's been a year since everything went to shit. It's been a year since Ghoul died, a year since we stopped speaking, a year since the last time I felt any form of genuine happiness. It's been harder and harder each day since the accident to get out of bed, go to work, put on a smile, and pretend everything's okay, but I barely made it today. It was weird. I'd actually been doing okay once I got out of bed and got in the air. It was when I landed, and my phone decided to remind me of my memories of the day that it all went to shit. I stupidly opened the reminder and saw a selfie of you, me, Coyote, and Ghoul, our last picture together before I killed y'all. I skipped lunch, and I'm skipping dinner to write this letter because I'm tired. I'm tired of the guilt, I'm tired of being alone, and I'm tired of hating myself. I can't keep doing this. I can't stop thinking of how easy it'd be to go down to the hangar right now and jump into the black waves. I'd be dead before anyone noticed I was gone. I'm not sure what's stopping me right now. Maybe because Coyote is on board, and I don't want to hurt him more than I already have, but even then, he has friends outside of me here. He has Phoenix and Payback, to name a couple. Who do I have outside of him? These letters will never make it to you, so maybe that's why I feel I can say all this. If these letters truly were meant to get to you, I would never voice half of these things. You've been burdened enough because of my decisions and actions, and I wouldn't dare add my own personal issues to them. God forbid, however, that these letters do find their way to you, if there are two things I want you to take away from them, it's that, first and foremost, I love you. Unequivocally, unabashedly, wholeheartedly in love with you. Second, I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused. It was never my intention.

Yours, Forever and Always,

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Ghost set the letter down and buried her face into her hands, sobbing at the depths of Hangman's despair, that'd he'd been in so much pain without anyone to turn to that he trusted. As close to Coyote as he'd been, Hangman hadn't felt he could go to him for what he'd been enduring, and Ghost understood Coyote had been the only one left for Hangman. Ghoul had died, Ghost had ended their friendship, and that was it. No wonder Jake felt so alone. No wonder his mind had gone down such a dark rabbit hole.

Ghost wiped away her tears and turned her gaze to the wall of guitars. She'd toppled over the edge with a song. Maybe she could start mending their friendship back with one...

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tafeekafee · 5 days

Text

🌹🤍 Deep inside my complex mind

TW: mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts

Sickie: Woosung

Caretakers: Dojoon, Hajoon, Jaehyeong

Dojoon was lying on his stomach in bed, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. He loved those short videos – maybe at one point they could do TikToks as The Rose? He was sure the other members would enjoy it too and a little fun and exposure to the public next to their songs couldn’t hurt.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock on his door. Not as much an unusual occurrence as people might think despite it being the middle of the night. Just normally Dojoon wasn’t awake for them but he wasn’t tired that day as he had taken an unplanned nap in the studio earlier. Woosung had not been impressed by that.

There were only two options who would come to seek comfort now – Hajoon and Jaehyeong. Both maknaes had ended up on his doorstep in the middle of the night before. While they both had seen the darkness of the world, they were both so soft and young, and sometimes in need for somebody to carry the weight when they felt too weak to do it themselves. Dojoon was proud of them that they asked for help when needed, and happy he was chosen as their Atlas.

Whenever Hajoon reluctantly knocked on his door it was mostly due to his insomnia, his circling thoughts that left him spiraling deep down and made him feel worthless. It had taken some time for Dojoon to get Hajoon to understand that he would rather stay up all night with him instead of finding his dongsaeng sitting in the kitchen sleep-deprived and with red-rimmed eyes in the morning. The first time the younger had opened up to him about his depressive and borderline suicidal thoughts Dojoon had cried the whole night after Hajoon had fallen asleep in his arms. It was more seldom now that he sought out Dojoon for comfort, being in a better place mentally but they all had the occasional bad night.

Jaehyeong, on the other hand, was the person who hated sharing beds the most. The mix of Dojoon’s habit of fidgeting in his sleep and Jaehyeong loving his space never really worked out. He would come in to talk about his issues and to cry but would always go back to his own bed to sleep. Still, the youngest would wake him with less reluctance than Hajoon to get advice and reassurance that it was okay to be sad and scared of what the future would bring. Their maknae was a strong person but still so innocent and raw in some aspects.

Dojoon never minded these interruptions so he called a quick: “Come in.” He placed his phone down and sat up just in time to see the door opening slowly to reveal a shaking Woosung on the other side. Woosung?

🌹

This was new. Their oldest had never once sought him out when he needed help, despite Dojoon insisting on it repeatedly. Woosung was too proud to ask for help, still sometimes too shaped by toxic American images of manhood to dare be weak with them. Instead he chose to immerse himself in the role of the oldest and leader, which did fit his – sometimes too – independent personality. Dojoon wished one day he would understand he could lean on them too.

“Sammy?”, Dojoon asked when the leader didn’t say anything, just stood in the middle of the room like a ghost.

There was no reaction from him and so, extremely worried by now, Dojoon got up to walk over to him. Woosung was clad in long sleep pants that seemed like they belonged to one of the kids, considering just how much too long they were, scrunching up at Woosung’s feet. The shirt Woosung was wearing? Dojoon recognized it as his own. He didn’t know what was more surprising: Woosung wearing their clothes or Woosung actually wearing clothes.

Up close he saw just how pale his chingu was, the sweat on his face and in his hair. Saw the tremor encasing his whole body. Woosung’s eyes were blown wide with … fear? His breathing was raspy and shallow, far too fast for Dojoon’s liking.

Just seeing Woosung like this broke something in him.

“Sammy?”, he repeated and, when he got no reaction again, took the leader’s hands in his. At the contact Woosung gasped, as if not realizing before how close Dojoon was. “Hey, let’s sit down, okay?”, Dojoon suggested.

Woosung didn’t show any sign he had heard Dojoon but he clutched the younger’s hand tightly. So Dojoon gently led him to his bed, sitting Woosung down next to him and wrapping his blankets around their shoulders. It was harder than imagined, as Dojoon was able to free one hand from Woosung’s clutch but the other hand was held tightly once Woosung realized that Dojoon had tried to let go. Dojoon wrapped his arm around Woosung’s back and ran his thumb over Woosung’s hands.

“What’s wrong?”, he dared ask, not quite expecting an answer. Dojoon couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with the situation, completely out of his depth with his own fears. He had never been there to see Woosung this low. The leader hid away as soon as he felt off-kilter. What had happened for Woosung to actively seek him out? Had something bad happened? Was his family okay?

To his surprise, Woosung took a deeper breath – not deep, just not as broken as before – and whispered: “I don’t feel good.”

Okay, that was a start. Just not a very helpful one. Mentally? Physically? Dojoon tended towards the mental “I don’t feel good” considering the state Woosung was in but it was not an explanation.

“Can you tell me what doesn’t feel good?”, Dojoon encouraged, hoping his voice sounded as warm and inviting as he wanted it to be. He didn’t want to scare Woosung away.

Woosung opened his mouth to answer but instead a sob came out, choking him. The older leaned forward, curling into himself, and pressed his hands to his face as if to hide. Dojoon didn’t know what to do. It was clear that something was really upsetting his friend to the point of near hyperventilation.

Helplessly he stroked Woosung’s back, whispering comforting non-sense. It didn’t help at all. It was nearly like Woosung was not even able to hear him, too caught up in whatever was wrong to even acknowledge Dojoon.

Dojoon reached his own breaking point when Woosung’s silent cries turned loud, his harsh breathing reaching a speed that wasn’t taking in oxygen at all and the leader’s hand that wasn’t clutching Dojoon’s tightly wandered to his hair, harshly pulling at the longer strands. It was heart wrenching to watch the oldest succumb to his panic – Dojoon was now convinced that it really was a panic attack that Woosung was experiencing. He didn’t even know that Woosung was prone to anxiety, never having seen him falter this way.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Gently he removed Woosung’s grip on his hand, hating how he caused the other man to cry even louder at that, before he reached up and carefully detangled Woosung’s hand from his hair. As he got that hand free, he held both of Woosung’s wrists in his hands and wrapped them around his own torso. Weakly, Woosung’s fingers tried to find purchase in Dojoon’s sleepshirt. Dojoon gently held onto Woosung’s knees from where he was still sitting at the edge of the bed, holding up Woosung’s back with his other hand and effectively lifted the smaller on his lap. With as much care as his own trembling allowed, he moved Woosung’s head to his shoulder and just held tight as Woosung cried himself out.

Dojoon couldn’t tell how long it was until Woosung managed to calm down, still shaking but not hyperventilating anymore.

“Sammy?”, he asked, manipulating Woosung so they were looking at each other. Woosung’s eyes were droopy with exhaustion and he looked ready to pass out. Despite being more than worried and also a little curious, Dojoon knew that sleep might be for the best for the time.

“Let’s lay down and sleep, okay? I can see how tired you are. We can talk about this in the morning, okay?”, Dojoon suggested and Woosung nodded faintly, holding onto Dojoon’s shirt.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of kicking you out. Sleep here, I won’t leave you”, he soothed and helped Woosung lay back against the pillow. Quickly he spread his blanket over the two of them and laid back down as well. It was definitely time to sleep. He pulled Woosung close, letting the leader rest his head on his chest. Maybe the morning would bring answers. Dojoon reached up and turned off the light on his bedside lamp.

🌹

Dojoon woke up to a kick to his shin. Oh, that’s how the others feel when they share with me, was his only thought. He was prepared to turn around and go back to sleep until he heard the crying. His eyes flew open and he fumbled for his night lamp.

As soon as the light illuminated the room he saw his leader sitting upright next to him, looking completely terrified. Woosung had one hand pressed to his mouth, sick dripping down the appendage onto his sleep shirt and the blanket.

Fuck.

“Le…”, Woosung gasped out, not even able to finish the name before he was retching again, more vomit spraying between his fingers. Then the gagging sound was replaced by the sound of crying.

Dojoon sat upright and pushed the blankets off himself and onto Woosung’s lap. There was no saving them anyways and he’d rather not get stains on his mattress too. There would be no time to get a receptacle to catch the next wave with the way Woosung looked. Dojoon scooted over to Woosung who was trembling so badly that Dojoon was scared the leader would injure himself with how close his head came to the wall.

“It’s okay, Sammy, let it out”, Dojoon encouraged, helping the older man lean over his covered lap. But Woosung resisted against the movement, jerking backwards so hard he did hit his head against the wall. Dojoon grimaced in sympathy and for the time being placed his hand on the back of Woosung’s head to hopefully prevent further injury.

Woosung frantically began wiping his dirtied hand on the covers, the sort of frantic that Dojoon would not have expected. Sure, having vomited on yourself was disgusting, but something was going wrong. Badly.

“I don’t … Dojoon”, Woosung gasped like a drowning man. He was hyperventilating again but from the way he was swallowing between short breaths Dojoon knew he needed to be sick once more.

Dojoon had never felt so helpless. He didn’t understand. Surely Woosung’s panicked reaction couldn’t just be about the sickness, could it?

That’s when Dojoon remembered. How could he have forgotten about this? Not even sleepiness should excuse this.

🌹

Dojoon hadn’t been feeling well at all that whole day. Dinner had been unappealing to him in a way he knew he was getting sick. But he also knew he couldn’t really afford to be sick this shortly after debut so he sucked it up and hoped for the best.

He had not anticipated vomiting over the side of the sofa in the middle of their monthly movie night after a car chase scene had left him dizzy and queasy. He had seen the confusion and worry in Hajoon’s and Jaehyeong’s face and the utter terror in Woosung’s eyes but he had been too concerned about getting sick again that he had just rushed off to the bathroom. To his surprise he had been joined by their maknae to hold back his hair instead of one of the older members. But then again, Jaehyeong was the “eomma” of the group.

Then when he was feeling mostly human again the next afternoon he had been approached by Hajoon and Jaehyeong, who had been looking lost and scared. It was then that Dojoon had realized he hadn’t seen Woosung since that movie. At first he had felt a bit angry, a bit betrayed that his older friend had left him to suffer alone. When Hajoon, with a trembling voice, narrated how he had found Woosung scratching open his arms completely locked in his fear, Dojoon had felt like the worst dongsaeng. How had he not noticed?

🌹

Days later they had sat down with Woosung in their shared living room. Dojoon had noticed how Woosung didn’t look him in the eye and wouldn’t come near him, despite Dojoon being vomit and fever free for over 72 hours. At least none of the members had gotten sick that time and Dojoon suspected the sushi he had had that lunch as the reason for his sickness.

“I … I have emetophobia”, Woosung had said slowly, staring at his feet. “I … I can barely even think or talk about … about vomiting without panic. I know it’s stupid, I fucking know that. I just … I can’t help it. I’m sorry I let you down, Leo, as your elder and leader.” That’s when Woosung had looked up, tears shining in his eyes.

“Stop apologizing”, Hajoon said, sounding like they had had that particular conversation before. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, it’s hard, hyung”, Jaehyeong had added, taking Woosung’s hand in his, “but can you tell us more about it? How we can help? What exactly is emetophobia? The fear of being sick and germs?”

“Isn’t that called hypochondria?”, Dojoon had interjected.

Woosung had nodded. “For me … for me it’s the fear of …” He swallowed. “… the fear of just vomiting and nausea. I get panicked when I think about it and seeing somebody be sick? It … sends me into panic. It’s not just that, though. I have … issues with food. Something not looking done, something old or close to its best-before date, take-out … it all makes me … scared. I don’t even know why…”

“It’s a phobia, Sammy”, Dojoon had soothed, “it’s not rational and definitely not your fault.”

🌹

It had been months later when Dojoon found Woosung sitting in the kitchen, his face white as chalk. There was a full plate of the past day’s left-overs in front of him.

“What’s wrong?”, Dojoon had asked worriedly. At first Woosung hadn’t even reacted, so Dojoon had thought he would not get an answer from him. Sometimes Woosung was weird like that but then to his surprise the older had whispered: “It … it’s the only thing in the fridge. I am so hungry. But … it’s from yesterday … it … it can’t have gotten bad, right?”

“No, it’s just vegetables, Sammy”, he had reassured, “nothing could have gone bad, we kept it in the fridge and all the ingredients Jeff used were fresh. It’s perfectly fine to eat.”

Woosung had nodded, looking more determined, and lifted his chopsticks to his mouth.

Just as he was about to take a bite, he stopped.

“I can’t”, he had said, sounding ashamed of himself, “rationally I know it’s okay, but I can’t help thinking ‘what if?’”

“It’s okay, don’t stress yourself out”, Dojoon had said, taking the chopsticks from him and setting them down. “I can make you some ramen. It will take a few minutes, but if you really need to eat now there are some bananas over there.”

“Thank you, Leo”, Woosung had said, relief evident in his voice, “but I think I will just stick with the bananas. My brain is being an asshole today, it’s been ages since it has been so bad. I’m sorry you had to see this.”

“I am sorry you felt like you had to hide this, Sammy.”

🌹

Dojoon was brought back to the present by a groan and a broken off gag. Woosung was shaking and rocking himself from side to side. Dojoon needed to focus on him. This was probably one of the hardest things Woosung had ever gone through. He wrapped an arm around Woosung’s back and brushed Woosung’s fringe out of his eyes.

“Sammy, I know you don’t want to, but you clearly need to be sick again. I promise I got you, I’ll stay with you”, Dojoon soothed and helped his leader lean over a bit further again. Woosung was forced forward by the next gag rippling through his body and a huge wave of vomit poured out of his mouth.

Before Woosung could even take a breath, he was sick again and again. Dojoon couldn’t do anything but rub his back and comfort him. He didn’t think Woosung was even able to recognize that he was there. Dojoon had never felt this helpless before, watching one of his best friends go through this torture. It was clear that Woosung’s attempts to stop the inevitable had made it even worse and violent.

Even now, between each retch Woosung was sobbing, not taking in any air. Dojoon tried to get him to focus on him but Woosung couldn’t seem to hear him, lost in his panic. He hadn’t even noticed it before until he tasted the salt on his lips, but tears of empathy flowed down Dojoon’s cheeks as he couldn’t do anything but watch.

It felt like hours later when Woosung was finally given a respite from the forceful expulsion of his stomach contents. Dojoon got about half a second of relief. Then Woosung gasped loudly and went limp in his arms.

No amount of tapping his cheeks woke the older man up, so Dojoon, now sobbing in earnest himself, laid his body back down and pushed the soiled blankets onto the ground.

Trembling so hard he could barely walk and so nauseous from the smell that now hit him full force that he feared he would puke too, he stumbled to the top of the stairs of the upper floor to call for help. He couldn’t do this on his own.

🌹

Hajoon woke up to the sound of somebody yelling his name. Rude. A glance on his phone revealed that it was barely past three in the morning. He was a musician. Nobody needed a musician at three in the fucking morning. What did the person possibly want from him?

He stumbled out of his bedroom, hitting his foot against the doorway in the darkness. That was it, he was getting a nightlight. At least he was awake now. Jumping on one foot he rounded the corner to the stairs, following the sound of yelling. It sounded suspiciously like Dojoon. What did he want in the middle of the night?

“Hyung?”, Hajoon called, utterly confused and starting to get really worried, “what is going on?”

Dojoon was standing at the top of the stairs, sobbing, and clutching the railing as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. Hajoon was half-way up the stairs before Dojoon was able to answer.

“I need your help. Get Jaehyeong too.”

What did they need Jaehyeong for? What was going on with Dojoon? Why hadn’t Woosung come out of his room, complaining about the noise level?

“Get Jae …. Hyung, what is going on?”, he repeated dumbly.

“Just, just do it, Hajoon-ah”, Dojoon whispered, crumpling to his knees.

Hajoon wanted nothing more than to hug his hyung and comfort him but one glance from Dojoon had him bolting down two steps at the time to wake the maknae. He burst into the room to find the younger still asleep. Bastard.

Without further ado, Hajoon shook him violently and tore his covers away. “Wake the fuck up, Jeff”, Hajoon called, loudly. He needed Jaehyeong awake five minutes ago. The maknae, to his luck, woke with a start, and to his misfortune, collided directly with Hajoon’s head as he sat up.

For a moment stars dancing in front of Hajoon’s eyes but he couldn’t care less. Jaehyeong looked at him with utter confusion – Hajoon couldn’t even blame him, he knew he must look and act like a madman.

“Joon-ah, what the fuck is going on?”, Jaehyeong asked, rubbing his head, “it’s the middle of the fucking night.” Wow, cursing like that - he took after Woosung now.

“I don’t know”, Hajoon called, not even trying to hide just how frazzled he was, “I woke up to Dojoon screaming for help and he told me to get you up. I have no idea what is going on and I am terrified.”

That woke Jaehyeong up alright.

“Let’s go”, the maknae said and took Hajoon’s hand, pulling him with him.

🌹

Dojoon was where Hajoon had left him, breathing more calmly now but still crying. It hurt to watch. What the hell was going on?

“What’s wrong?”, Jaehyeong asked, kneeling down beside their hyung. Hajoon followed suit.

“It’s Sammy”, Dojoon said quickly, “don’t worry about me. He … he’s got the stomach flu and he panicked and passed out.”

“Oh fuck”, Jaehyeong gasped, recognizing the problem at the same moment as Hajoon did.

Oh fuck, indeed.

“Where is he?”, Hajoon asked worriedly, then he couldn’t help his voice turning harsh, “why did you leave him alone?”

“My room”, Dojoon whispered, not looking at them, “I was panicking, he had just passed out in my arms and I was starting to feel sick from the smell.”

Hajoon nodded and pushed to his feet. He wasn’t angry at Dojoon, not truly. He saw how bad his hyung looked. But he didn’t have time to check on him. Woosung was his priority.

The stench of vomit hit Hajoon the moment he entered the older man’s room. Thank God for his strong stomach (outside of moving vehicles), no wonder Dojoon was done for. The blanket laying on the floor was positively soaked and beyond any repair. Woosung was on his side on the bed, face washed out white and sweat soaking every part of his body. Stains of sick were on his sleep shirt. No actually, one of Dojoon’s shirts.

He seemed to still be unconscious or asleep, so Hajoon took the opportunity to push the dirty blanket out of the door with his foot. Dojoon and Jaehyeong seemed to have vanished into the hyung’s bathroom – Hajoon saw the light on. Jaehyeong could deal with the blanket.

Then Hajoon carefully approached Woosung, not willing to wake him if he truly was just asleep. He knelt down on the floor and placed the back of his hand against the elder’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. He really was sick. If he could, Hajoon would take it from him in a heartbeat.

Hajoon looked around and found that Dojoon had left a pair of scissors on his desk. Perfect, just what he needed. Unwilling to wake Woosung and not knowing how else to get his puke-stained shirt off, Hajoon just cut. He didn’t think that Dojoon would want it back anyways. After he managed to take the last shreds off, he chuckled them out of the door onto the blanket. Yep, Jeff’s problem.

Just then as if now sensing Hajoon’s presence or – please not – feeling sick again, Woosung started to stir, blinking up at Hajoon.

“Hey, hyung, go back to sleep”, Hajoon whispered, brushing Woosung’s hair out of his face and sitting down by his side. Maybe he could soothe him to sleep before anything could happen.

“Joon-ah?”, the leader whispered, his voice hoarse, “wha... what’s going on?” Maybe not.

What was Hajoon supposed to say to that? If they were lucky Woosung was feeling better now and would be able to just sleep.

“Why is your eye a bit blue?”, Woosung continued with a frown. Confused, Hajoon lifted his hand to his eye, feeling the skin surrounding it swell a bit. At his touch it ached again. He and Jaehyeong must have collided harder than he had thought. Great.

“Doesn’t matter”, Hajoon explained and added a bit more desperate: “Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

Woosung sighed and looked around. “Wait, why am I in Dojoon’s room … what?”

Then the memory or the feeling like crap must have hit him.

“Shit”, Woosung whispered, his breathing picking up speed. Not good. Hajoon stroked back his hair and tried to calm him down. “You’re going to be okay, hyung”, he said, hoping it was the truth, “it’ll be over soon and we’ll stay by your side, okay?”

But it didn’t help. Already Woosung was close to hyperventilating again, tears flowing down his pale cheeks. “I don’t want to be sick”, he whispered.

“I know, hyung”, Hajoon said helplessly and took his hand, stroking it with his thumb.

Behind him the door opened and Dojoon and Jaehyeong entered. The maknae was carrying a glass of water and a towel, while Dojoon held a bowl of water and a washcloth. Hajoon was glad for their presence. Maybe they could get Woosung calmed down.

Seeing just how distressed Woosung was, and also how helpless Hajoon looked, Jaehyeong rushed across the room and set his goods down on the desk. “Hey, Sammy-ah”, he said and knelt down by the leader’s head, “we got you some stuff to make you feel better.”

A bit disoriented and his eyes glazed with what was probably a mix of fever and fear, Woosung reluctantly nodded. The maknae took the water bowl from Dojoon and dunked the washcloth inside. Then he wiped it over Woosung’s chest, folded it and placed the clean side over his forehead. Woosung sighed in relief.

Dojoon, still looking a bit worse for wear, placed the towel on the bed above Woosung’s head - in reach but not in his constant field of view. Then he too knelt down on the ground.

“Do you think you can drink a bit of water? I have some medication here”, he said and pulled out a bottle from his pocket. “I know you don’t like taking pills so I found a liquid alternative.”

But Woosung shook his head. “I don’t want to drink”, he whined, “it’s going to … you know.”

“Okay, we’ll set it aside for now. Say if you want it”, Hajoon agreed, shooting the others a glance. He didn’t think that forcing Woosung to drink was a good idea and thankfully the others seemed to agree. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

Woosung bit his lip in worry. “I don’t know”, he rasped and a tear run down his cheek again, “I … I am sorry I am keeping you all awake.”

“No, don’t be sorry”, Jaehyeong said, taking Woosung’s hand in his, “we’re glad to be here with you. You don’t have to be strong alone all the time. How about Two-Joon go to your room in shouting distance and I’ll stay with you, hm? Sleep will do you good.”

“The fuck you just called us?”, Hajoon threatened while Dojoon wasn’t even able to close his mouth. “No, don’t repeat that. Ever again. I’ll end you.”

Woosung smiled at bit at that. Success.

“Come on”, Dojoon said, tugging Hajoon’s arm, “let’s go lay down a bit.”

Tiredly, Hajoon nodded.

🌹

The next time Hajoon woke up to somebody calling his name in the middle of the night he was going to commit murder. He had just dropped off. Dojoon had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow but that meant he started to fidget. Hajoon really had tried to ignore it but after Dojoon’s knee had nearly hindered his ability to ever get children he had just taken his losses.

Then he remembered why exactly he was sharing with the older man and he shoved him off the bed hard in his haste to get to the other room. If Jaehyeong was yelling like that? It was going to be bad.

It was. Bad, that is.

Woosung was sitting at the edge of the bed with a trash can in his lap. Jaehyeong had wrapped his arms around him, trying to calm down. The leader was crying so hard he was nearly hyperventilating, a steady stream of tears dripping into the receptacle. It was abundantly clear he was about to be sick again - the swallowing, the greenish tinge of his face, the sweat everywhere.

“Oh Sammy”, Hajoon sighed and knelt down next to them, helping Woosung keep the bucket stable as the older’s hands were trembling too badly to keep a tight grip on his own.

“I … I don’t …”, Woosung gasped out, choking on his words. A gag followed but Woosung clamped his mouth shut fearfully.

Jaehyeong, who was now running his hand through Woosung’s hair, whispered: “Don’t be scared, hyung. Hajoon-ah, Dojoon-hyung and I are all here with you. You’re not alone and you will be okay.”

At his words Hajoon looked over his shoulder to find Dojoon coming into the room, apparently having woken up finally. He sat on the bed beside Woosung, placing a hand on his knee. Hajoon leaned back against his legs, wanting a bit of comfort himself. He didn’t particularly fancy watching people puke but he wanted to be there for his hyung.

“Please, it hurts…”, Woosung mumbled, shaking badly. He had removed one of his hands from the bucket to place it on his stomach, curling over even further. Hajoon imagined he probably had pretty bad cramps - it happened to him too when he tried to hold it in. He never had done so to the extent Woosung was doing it though.

“Breathe”, Dojoon said, “Sammy, breathe.”

The cramps or the fear were keeping his breath away - either way Hajoon couldn’t take it anymore. He hurt so badly for his scared hyung.

He felt so … helpless.

Then, without more warning, Woosung retched loudly and sick splattered against the inside of the bin. Hajoon winced, unable to tear his eyes away. Sadly, since he chose the position on the floor he was pretty close to Woosung’s head. He watched the leader cough and splutter as vomit quickly filled the bin, the violent expulsions only accompanied by sobs. Hajoon wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to eat jajangmyeon again, the noodles and the sauce still looking rather like the original dish.

Now he felt sick. Maybe he should rethink his earlier statement of having a strong stomach.

Then it was over. Woosung was crying again, his tears that ran down his face mixing with the vomit in the bucket. Carefully Hajoon eased it out of his hold and pushed it to the side to take care of it later.

Woosung was now more important. The moment he had stopped throwing up, he was hyperventilating again. His breath came in short gasps and Jaehyeong frantically tried to get Woosung to focus on him. Dojoon was rubbing Woosung’s back, humming a song under his breath.

“Sammy? Sammy, look at me, okay?”, Jaehyeong whispered, turning to the leader so he was facing him. Gently he took one of Woosung’s hands and pressed it against his own chest. “Feel me breathe, slowly, in and out.”

It seemed that for a moment Woosung really was trying.

“I can’t”, he panted.

From his position Hajoon couldn’t really see what was going on but then Jaehyeong shouted and Dojoon suddenly had to catch Woosung as the leader fell backwards. Woosung had passed out again.

Hajoon jumped to his feet to help the overwhelmed Dojoon lay Woosung back down. In the heat of the moment Dojoon had only been able to hold him in an awkward position that didn’t leave him able to put Woosung down on his own.

Dojoon jumped up to elevate Woosung’s legs, while Hajoon stayed by Woosung’s head. Jaehyeong quickly handed him the wet washcloth which Hajoon ran over Woosung’s face and neck, wiping away traces of vomit, sweat and tears.

“What do we do?”, Hajoon whispered when neither of the other two dared speak up. They all were asking themselves the same thing.

“I … I don’t know”, Jaehyeong said, “I am so scared.”

Dojoon reached over and patted his back in comfort. “I am too”, he admitted.

“Yeah”, Hajoon agreed quietly. They all looked down at their ill leader, pale and unconscious in bed, sick and scared out of his mind.

“Do you think we should call an ambulance?”, Dojoon asked after a moment of silent contemplation, “at the hospital they can give him better medication and fluids via IV. I don’t know if he can help him get better here.”

“Woosung-hyung hates the hospital though”, Jaehyeong said reluctantly. It didn’t seem like he was personally disagreeing with Dojoon but rather considering what Woosung would want. “I think it scares him, knowing that people are sick there.”

“Well, right now he is the sick person”, Dojoon pointed out with a sigh. He sank down on the bed and rubbed Woosung’s knee in comfort even though the older would not be able to feel the comfort. Deep down, they all hoped Woosung would just stay unconscious - just until the sickness ran its course.

“Dylan, what do you think?”, Jaehyeong asked. Hajoon rubbed his forehead, feeling the tiredness and exhaustion, as well as the collision with Jaehyeong’s harder head, turning into a headache. He didn’t want to make a decision. He didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to decide things that had such profound consequences. But the person who they looked to when faced with challenges was the reason he was asked in the first place.

“I think if he passes out one more time we should call”, Hajoon finally decided. “Let’s give him one more chance.”

Dojoon and Jaehyeong nodded. This time none of them went back to sleep - too wired and worried to even think about resting. At one point Jaehyeong left to wash out the bucket but otherwise they just stayed in silence, watching Woosung breathe.

🌹

It was barely an hour later when Woosung stirred again. Jaehyeong and Hajoon both had moved to sit at the head of the bed while Dojoon stayed at the foot end. They all focused their attention on the moaning leader, tossing and turning from side to side.

Then Woosung’s eyes snapped open. Before he even had the chance to try to sit up he was sick again, choking on his own throw-up in his position flat on his back. Jaehyeong and Hajoon were quick to lift him up and sit him up to lean over the side of the bed.

Woosung was coughing violently, loud and wet and disgusting. None of them cared about the mess, just about making sure Woosung was okay. Dojoon kept hitting his back to dislodge any vomit that he might have swallowed and Jaehyeong held the leader to his side in a tight grip.

Hajoon felt frozen, staring at the terrifying sight. Woosung’s face was red from lack of air and the terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Tears trailed down his cheeks to mix with the vomit pouring out of him. Jaehyeong brushed back some of Woosung’s hair and recoiled when he touched Woosung’s forehead.

“He’s burning up”, the maknae gasped, then looked up to lock gazes with Hajoon, “call an ambulance now.”

Hajoon couldn’t move, still unable to tear his gaze away. Fear was gripping his chest in a vice grip. Hajoon kept staring.

Dojoon kept hitting Woosung’s back until whatever caused him to choke came up. Hajoon kept staring.

With tears in his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, Dojoon looked up at him. Hajoon kept staring.

“Hajoon! Hajoon! Snap out of it, Woosung needs your help now!”

At the repeated shouting of his name and the reminder just how much Woosung depended on them, it was as if Hajoon suddenly came back to his body and he dove towards the night table where Dojoon’s phone was still laying. With trembling fingers Hajoon managed to unlock the phone on the second try and dialed the emergency number.

“119, what is your emergency?”

“My friend is throwing up and keeps passing out between bouts. He’s burning up. We need an ambulance, please”, Hajoon pleaded, gripping the phone tightly.

“Can you tell me your location? I will send an ambulance your way right now.”

Hajoon quickly told the operator their address, praying they were fast. He was so near his breaking point.

“Is your friend conscious right now?”

Just as Hajoon was about to answer ‘yes’, he heard Jaehyeong call Woosung’s name. The leader had again slumped into himself - the vomiting and the terror too overwhelming to stay conscious. His legs still dangled from the side of the bed, like everything covered in puke; upper body in a half-lying position on the bed. Dojoon leaned over him, stroking back his hair.

As he moved his hand over Woosung’s face, he inhaled sharply and then held his hand slightly over Woosung’s mouth.

“He isn’t breathing.”

🌹

After that everything became a blur.

Hajoon remembered the operator telling him that after passing out from a panic attack people sometimes didn’t breathe right away. He knew that Dojoon had rubbed Woosung’s chest in order to stimulate his lungs and it worked.

He remembered the flashing lights and the sound of sirens. The paramedics strapping Woosung on the gurney and wheeling him out. Jaehyeong clutching the elder's hand and not letting go.

Hajoon thought Dojoon must have driven the two of them to the hospital. Hajoon didn’t remember the drive.

A doctor telling them that Woosung would be okay was the first thing he really registered again.

🌹

“I know it probably was very scary to see your friend like this”, the doctor said sympathetically, “but he really just has the stomach flu. His emetophobia caused the panic attacks but he wasn’t really in danger. We’re giving him fluids, fever reducers, antiemetics and medications that should calm his anxiety via IV. He’s asleep for now and needs all the rest he can get.”

“Can we see him?”, Jaehyeong asked. He’d been wringing his hands in nervous patterns ever since he had had to let go of Woosung when they arrived at the hospital. There were tiny crescents embalmed in his palms, a sign of just how out of sorts he was.

Hajoon thought he himself hadn’t let go of Dojoon since they had stormed into the ER to find Jaehyeong shaking alone. He didn’t quite remember. Dojoon’s arm was still warm around his back.

They probably made quite a sight. Frantic, tears dried on their faces, still wearing pajamas. Jaehyeong had been given a hospital gown so he could change out of his soiled shirt - apparently Woosung had thrown up on him during the ambulance drive.

“Come with me”, the doctor agreed and holding tightly onto Dojoon’s hand, Hajoon followed her together with the other two. They were led into a small room.

Immediately they spotted their leader, pale against the sheets and body looking even smaller than usual under all the equipment. He was asleep, for the first time peaceful tonight.

“Don’t worry about the heart monitor”, the doctor said, seeing them eye it wearily, “it’s just a precaution should he experience distress again. One of you can stay here tonight with him, the other two need to go home in a few minutes, okay?”

“I’m not leaving”, Hajoon croaked, his voice rough. He hadn’t spoken since calling the emergency services. He walked a few steps forward, taking Woosung’s tiny hand in his own bigger ones.

“Please, let us all stay”, Dojoon begged the doctor, “please. I don’t think any of us should be alone tonight.”

“I … alright.”

🌹

Woosung opened his eyes to find his younger members asleep.

Hajoon was clutching his hand, his upper body resting over Woosung’s stomach, breathing deeply and regularly. Dojoon had his head in an uncomfortable position bend back against the wall, sitting upright on a cot and snoring. Jaehyeong was curled up in Dojoon’s lap, one of the older’s hands in his hair and the other clutched to his chest.

They loved him enough to stay with him, even at his lowest. They never left his side when he needed them. They gave him a place where he didn’t need to be strong all the time. He felt safe.

But with exhaustion, sickness and medication wearing him down, Woosung fell back asleep.

Morning came slowly. The sun rose, birds chirped and the sky turned from black to blue.

It was a new day.

#Kpop #Kpop sick #Kpop sickfic #Sickfic #Emeto #🧚🏻‍♀️#The rose #The rose sick #Sick the rose #The rose sickfic #🌹#🤍#sick woosung #sick kim woosung #emetophobia #hospital #request fill

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xhusu · 1 year

Text

; a comforting thought

Erza gripped Simon's arm, not letting him go. As tears rolled down her cheeks, her gaze quickly explored her new environment. An island, where she could not see anything but the ocean, where men seemed to wait for them.

or more simply: Erza's arrival at the R-System.

You can also read it on AO3! | Words: 2,582

Erza trembled, close to Simon, as their embarkation stopped moving. It was dark and she could hear children's cries. There was a smell of vomit and she felt like puking herself. Between the whimpers and painful groans, Erza pursued her lips.

"I'm scared," she whispered to her friend. His only answer was a sob, the boy was still crying over his sister.

Kagura was safe, she knew. She saved her.

But still.

How long have they stayed here? She did not know but she was starving. She ate dinner before the attack... so it was probably late, or the next day. Or the day after, how could she be certain? She snuggled to the child next to her, closing her eyes tightly.

While Simon was on her left; on her right was a girl she knew from the orphanage. Erza may have been 9, but she knew that if someone felt cold and hard, it meant that–

"–Sofia's dead," she whimpered.

Finally, the hatch opened and the light blinded them. And then, everything got loud suddenly, men screaming and children crying. It is between yells and hits that they got ordered to run out of the boat.

For a minute, she believed those men to be ghosts. So thin and bruised. The sun shone brightly and it was burning outside. A kid fell next to her. She reached for him but, before being able to help, the young child got kicked by one of their captors as the man urged him to stand.

One of the ghosts pushed her and Simon, telling them to keep walking. Erza saw the boy, too weak to walk, being thrown to the side. She got sand in her eyes and almost fell multiple times due to the ground being covered in debris. But they kept going, they had to.

"Halt!" called a guard. He went to a group of ghosts, ordering them something before turning to the kids.

"Undress!" yelled a ghost, while some went to help the younger.

Erza clung to her dress. A man came to them, giving them rags to wear. "Listen to them," he whispered as he watched Erza, "You don't want to make them angry."

The rag itched, it was uncomfortable, dirty and stank. Erza had the privilege to keep her underwear, but Simon did not as he got pants. They ended up barefoot, and every step was torturous.

"Faster!" she heard. "Come over!"

They chained them up with heavy shackles and led them to empty cells. Luckily, Erza stayed with Simon. But it was just the two of them.

Finally in there, they could sit and breathe.

"Why is it just the two of us?" she asked him in a small voice.

"I don't know..."

They kept scratching their skin, the rags left red marks on their body.

"Never have I ever worn such dirty clothes..."

"If you can call these clothes..."

They heard a scream and held hands tightly. Erza was terrified, not understanding what was happening at all.

"I want to go home–" she mumbled, holding back her tears. Her friend nodded silently. They saw two older girls passing in front of their cell with a barrow filled with dirt. They exchanged a glance. One of them smiled. A comforting smile.

It was supposed to help but it did not. Erza started to cry and Simon could not even hug her with his chains.

They stayed alone in this cell for a long time, hours for sure. Erza stopped crying but she continued to tremble.

When the light seemed to fade, they started to hear people. A lot of people. A man stopped by their cell with an empty barrel. He looked exhausted. A guard was following him and opened the door.

Three teenagers appeared, putting different tools in the barrel and entering the cell. They looked at Erza without a word and sat against a wall. After them, an injured woman and two middle-aged men. By then, the small cell felt already crowded.

Then they heard a laugh and saw the guard roll his eyes. An old man and three other kids joined them. The guard pushed the older boy after giving him a slap behind the head. The girl bit her lips and shared a worried glance with her friend.

And when everyone was here, the cell was locked up, and the guard left followed by the man carrying the barrel, now filled with tools.

There was a long silence. Until the boy from earlier started to talk to his group, and everyone imitated him. Erza looked at her new cellmates – the woman laughed with the two middle-aged men and the teens chatted tiredly but in a friendly manner.

"You think they're new?" she finally heard. She saw the little girl from earlier looking at her. Both her friends were too.

"I don't think, I'm sure."

The older boy stood and walked to them. Erza and Simon looked at him, unsure of what to do.

He had blue hair and a strange mark on his face – she never saw someone looking like that. He was thin yet tanned, bruised yet smiling. The boy offered them his hand.

"My name is Jellal, nice to meet you."

Erza blinked, shuddered. His shirt was covered by dirt and traces of blood, and along with that, he had a missing tooth.

Yet, after inhaling, she faintly smiled and accepted his hand. "I'm Erza."

He shook her hand in a funny manner with a laugh, before offering it to Simon who introduced himself. Jellal then sat in front of them.

"You're here since long?"

"We don't really know..."

"Ah, but if you didn't go to work, it wasn't morning. Afternoon probably." With that, he nodded for himself.

A snicker next to him made him turn his head to the teenagers. One explained, "Jellal, y'know, don't play smart. I saw the boat this morning. Helped with the clothes with Dave."

"Ah? But they still didn't go to work."

The teen shrugged. "Whatever."

Jellal turned to them once again. "Don't listen to him, I'm not trying to play smart."

"You totally are."

"Oh, stop it now!"

The whole cell chuckled and Erza could not help but feel amused. Jellal seemed to be a nice person.

"Great boys, but don't scream. I'm rather hungry," commented the woman.

"Yeah, ain't no time for punishment. Let the new kids have some food," added one of the middle-aged men.

"Anyway," sighed dramatically the blue-haired child, "That's Henry for you, here with Dave and Miguel. The pretty woman over there is Carolina", a laugh from her, "Jose and Nelson. And finally," he grinned at his group, "Milliana, Sho and Grandpa Rob."

Erza timidly waved her hand, "Hi..."

What with the big presentation?

The little girl, Milliana, came to Jellal and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. Her chains falling on his torso, she got closer and watched the new kids from above his head.

"We can help you accommodate," she said with a little smile.

"Mhmh!" agreed Jellal. "It was the same for Sho."

Sho? Sho was... the little boy! She turned to him as he hid behind the old man, Rob it was. "He's new too?"

"Nyah! Got here a year ago. Is that it?" she asked Rob who nodded. "See Jellal, I remembered!"

"Heh, good job, Millia!"

She giggled in his hair and removed her arms to sit next to him, close.

Erza felt uncomfortable by their relaxed attitude. Simon felt the same, she guessed as she saw his tensed stance.

"We don't know where we are."

“None of us really do.”

Simon frowned. “What is going to happen to us?”

“You guys are going to work along with us. You’re new, so it should start easy.”

“No, no, Jellal,” corrected Milliana, “It doesn’t start easy at all! You’re just used to it!”

Another laugh, “You may be right.”

“What with that laugh and attitude?” Simon almost spat, “So we’re slaves, that’s what you say? Then what are you laughing for?”

A silence came to the cell, everyone glanced at the boy as Jellal blinked and Milliana puffed out her cheeks with a sad moue. Erza murmured her friend’s name as if to tell him to calm down.

“Well, we got to, that’s the only thing we have left,” answered the boy. The girl frankly nodded.

“That’s stupid!”

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t—” Erza started.

“No, it’s fine. I get it,” Jellal faintly smiled, “I should be the one apologizing, maybe I was too straightforward.”

He stood and went back to the old man and little boy, asking the latter if his hand still hurt. Erza watched him do, a little worried. Sho showed him his bandaged hand with a sob, so his friend could give it a magic kiss. Her trait softened at the sight, but her attention quickly turned to Simon; the boy took his head in his palms, trembling and mumbling words.

Milliana was still looking at them silently, too close, too curious. The girl seemed to not know much about boundaries and personal space. But just before Erza could ask them more about their new conditions, she left to join her group quickly; all of a sudden, fast – like a stray cat.

The atmosphere felt heavy, the temperature was high and the middle-aged men had cough fits from time to time. Outside of the cell, there were still loud noises, some people were still working she guessed; every time she would hear a scream, she would flinch and witness Carolina trace an imaginary cross.

To be fair, every time there was a loud noise, the cell would go quiet.

It was painful to breathe here, her skin still burned at the contact of the rags, and her stomach was aching as hunger begged.

After what seemed to be an eternity, but probably sooner than she supposed as it was not night yet, another ghost arrived, pushing a seemingly heavy cart. She noticed bowls and a big pot. A guard arrived and started to unlock the door.

Without her even noticing, Jellal approached them. When he was right next to her, he whispered her name, causing her to jolt. From his expression, she knew it was not what he had intended.

“Sorry,” he offered quietly, “I just wanted to tell you that it’s dinner time. We’ll stand, one at a time, and go have one bowl each. We’re last in the corridor so you should go first to be sure to have a great portion.”

“There isn’t enough for all of us?” Erza asked in a whisper.

“Well, not always. That’s why you have to be quick…” He glanced at the rest of their cellmates, before adding almost inaudibly, “When it comes to food, people are selfish, so be ready to stand when they call one of us.”

Erza inhaled, watching the rest of the cell. All of them had their eyes focused on the guard, even the little kids. They resembled animals, ready to attack their prey. The man opened the door and waited for the slave to fill up the first bowl, adding a ridiculous stale piece of bread to it.

Right when the guard opened his mouth, Henry, the teen from earlier, stood. Their captor huffed a dry laugh. “Not you, you impatient brat,” he turned to the rest of the group, “First portion,” he declared and Jellal took Erza’s arms as she was about to stand.

She looked at him, incredulous, but he explained, “He’s angry now, let him choose or he’ll hit you.”

Her eyes widened at the thought. There seemed to be so many unsaid rules here, so precise and so important for your survival, that it was terrifying.

“You,” he pointed at Simon, “New kid, come take your food.”

She shuddered and watched him stand, joining the man with trembling legs. He received the bowl from the ghost, and the guard put a weirdly affectionate hand on his shoulder.

“Do not be scared, obey and everything should be fine. I hope you’ll enjoy your first meal.”

One by one, they received their food. Erza got the chance to stand the third time. After her, the guard had ceased to choose. Yet, Jellal waited until he was last to go. Funnily enough, he dared to thank the slave serving him under the hunter’s sombre gaze.

Once the man had left, Erza watched Jellal and his half-filled bowl, “Why didn’t you go after me?”

“They don’t like me, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

At night, the cell was dark. There was a small candlelight outside of the door, for the guards to see them when they were doing their rounds. And that was it. Erza could not see much that was for sure. But luckily, they had thin covers. Jellal had explained that they would use it as blankets during winter, and as sheets during summer.

And so, Erza ended up sharing hers with Simon, right next to her was Milliana, snuggled against Jellal. Sho was already fast asleep in Grandpa Rob’s arms.

She was back-to-back with her friend as he faced the wall. He told her he wanted to sleep fast, too exhausted. Since they had met Jellal, he had not talked much. He was not that much of a chatty person, but she just knew how affected he was by everything.

In front of her was that new boy, Jellal. He was whispering an invented story to Milliana, they kept adding so much details to it that it ruined the whole scenario. But it was adorable. She giggled and yawned. He kissed her forehead and murmured a small “You should sleep now, Millia.”

And she did, right away, as if she was waiting for him to say that all along.

Erza softly smile until the boy looked at her.

“How do you feel after today, Erza?”

“Exhausted.”

“You should sleep then; tomorrow is going to be a difficult day for you both.”

“I guess you must be right… I’m a little scared…”

“We’re here, it should be fine.”

That made her smile a little, “You’re way too nice…”

He grinned, “It’s just that… Just like Grandpa Rob told me, you got to help each other here, you can’t survive on your own.”

“Is he nice?”

“Grandpa Rob? He is really kind… I’m sure you’ll get along with him quickly, with Sho too and the others…”

“Mhmh… I’m sorry for earlier by the way. Simon, I mean…”

“Don’t be, it’s normal,” saying that, he hugged Milliana a little more, “To be fair, most people are like him at first… Angry or scared… You’re the one being nice, I think.”

Erza let out a discreet laugh, “Well, that’s all we got, that’s what you said.”

He nodded and it was Erza’s turn to yawn.

“Let’s go to sleep now,” he said. She agreed and closed her eyes. “Good night, Erza.”

“Good night, Jellal.”

The ground was hard, she never found a comfortable position to sleep in, and she felt tensed and insecure. Yet, somehow, she fell asleep easily. Was it the boy’s reassurance or the exhaustion, she could not tell. But all she knew was that they were not alone.

And it was a comforting thought to have.

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I had that one in my notes for months. I don't really know if I'm happy with it, but I prefered to post it anyway; who knows, maybe someone will like it? ^^

#jerza #erza scarlet #jellal fernandes #simon mikazuchi #fairy tail millianna

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brascu · 2 years

Text

Ben’s First Time (fanfic)

Hey, It’s me again. Will I write one new piece of fanfiction every day forever? probably not, but right now I’m hyperfixated on Klaus and his many many deaths, so let’s go!

A little warning: this story has non-con aspects, drug abuse and Klaus is a teen while going through it, since it happens shortly after Ben’s death. proceed with caution, ok? Be safe, love you

Ben’s First Time

Ben was dead. He died. He felt absolutely lonely.

When it first happened, he was scared of never knowing if his family was ok, if they made it. And he was scared of being alone. And he was scared of leaving Klaus alone.

For some years now, Klaus had been drowning himself on drugs. At first he used his allowance, then he sold his own books and old toys and shit. Lately he’d sell things from the house and clearly couldn’t care less about his punishments. More and more, all that mattered to him was getting high beyond limits.

And Ben. For some reason he still cared about Ben. Maybe it was a two way street, after all Ben would get him water, food or buckets for throwing up when he was being punished by his unhappy body. Maybe not, since it came from before that.

Klaus would come to his room, smoke by the window or drink something sitting by his bed while Ben read. Specially after some mission that left Ben all bloody drenched. His presence soothed Ben’s heart, made him feel safe. Klaus would hug him when he cried and tell him those people he killed were not there to haunt him. And he would beat up any ghost that dared to approach his little brother.

Ben wished his presence made Klaus feel safe as well. Or that he could beat the crap out of those ghosts that kept haunting him. Even through the wall, he could hear when he snapped and screamt back at them, it was heartbreaking.

And now he was the ghost that haunted his brother. How glad he was when Klaus didn’t show fear when he saw him. But it hurt him seeing how sadly he’d look at him every time, in every conversation, in every joke, in every laugh. At first Ben thought it was because he was dead, but being now his brother’s shadow, he could see that, in reality, Klaus was a really unhappy person.

And those drugs he used to hide from the ghosts were also used to hide him from his own life.

And now from Ben.

Of course Ben was still there, but apparently Klaus couldn’t see him. He looked for him. And shortly after, he gave up. “Must’ve gone to heaven. Why would he stay here?”

And he walked down the street, stumbling on his own feet. Laughing sadly at himself sometimes. And Ben followed.

He felt lonely watching his brother dance at that crowded party. Watching him being touched by people so much older than him, people who gave him even more drugs as the party went on. Ben couldn’t stop himself from crying when that massive guy took Klaus with him to some backroom.

Klaus couldn’t say one thing clearly, but Ben had the impression he was more “taken there” than he “went with him there”. He seemed to be trying to pull his hand from that guy’s grip, but failing since he seemed to be so weak from all that shit he used. It was impossible to tell if those tears on his cheek were from fear or from all the smoke he got on his face just a minute ago.

Ben couldn’t bring himself to go into that room with them. This was too much and for the first time he was glad the sound was so absurdly loud. He hated it there. Was that what Klaus was doing every time he sneaked out during the night? Was it from there he came from when he was covered in puke and drinks and Ben had to clean him up for bed?

It wasn’t too long before the door was opened again and that disgusting guy came out of there in a hurry, not looking back.

If Ben’s heart was still pumping, it would have skipped a beat. The room was dark and he couldn’t see any movement, he was so worried.

As he gathered courage to go in, he kept telling himself that Klaus went to his night adventures many times before and he always got home safe and sound. He must’ve known what he was getting into. Sometimes he looked like he died? Sure. But he was alive every time. He couldn’t simply die the first time Ben was there, right?

And when he got in he could see the thin body of his brother fallen on the wet floor. His clothes all messed up, his hair pulled in all directions. His face was turned against the wall, Ben couldn’t see it.

“Klaus!” He fell on his knees by his side and instinctively tried to push him to lie on his back, but his hands went through him. He cried. “KLAUS, PLEASE!”

He barely could see anything. He just found out ghost tears were a thing and they made things even harder to see in the dark, panicking. He wanted to understand if the dark floor was wet from piss, drinks or blood. He couldn’t smell anything. He was absolutely useless.

Maybe Klaus drank this much because he was harder than the other ghosts to send away. Maybe it was all his fault, for dying, for being there. Maybe if he could’ve convinced Klaus earlier of not taking those pills, or even before that, when it was not even noon and he was already drinking from father’s bar, he wouldn’t be in that state. He would be fine and safe elsewhere.

Ben had no idea what to do. He couldn’t do a thing. So he just sat there, crying. Alone.

Too long had already passed. No one set foot at that place, the party kept going and Klaus didn’t move.

Ben was almost admitting his brother was dead when he suddenly jumped, breathing so loudly Ben was able to hear it. He sat on the floor and brought his hands over his heart, as if he was trying to see if it was really beating, and then he clasped his own face as if to see if he still had a body. Closed his eyes, covered his ears and let himself breathe slowly.

“Klaus…” the sad smile that let out that name had his own eyes glued to that dirty boy in front of him. And as if he could hear a ghost, Klaus looked at him with the brightest smile he’s shown Ben in years.

“Benedito! You’re here!” And for a split second he rubbed his eyes before hugging himself. “Man, I wish I could hug you right now, I had the worst badtrip!” Ben made the same gesture of hugging himself, trying not to cry again. “I couldn’t see you and then I passed out and I dreamt I spent a loooong time looking for you in this really strange place. There was this girl and she wouldn’t help me at all and no one knew who you were and…”

And he kept telling Ben about this place he made up in his high mind while he fixed his clothes and headed back to the academy. For some reason he looked happier than he was this morning, or maybe he was still high.

“Sleeping is the best, right? What was that position I slept in? hahaha But I sure feel as good as new after closing my eyes for a while…”

Ben could barely pay attention, since he was so thankful his brother was ok, so he didn’t notice that the red shirt Klaus was wearing used to be white before the party.

But for some reason, maybe intuition and fear, he sat by his brother’s bed and watched him sleep until the next day, afraid that he wouldn’t wake up this time if there was no one there waiting for him.

some notes

Hope you enjoyed your reading! don’t forget to check out the other oneshots where I try to imagine the ways Klaus died. My tag is “Brascu kills Klaus” since I still don’t have a name for the series.

I feel like Ben is going to end up being my second protagonist, since I feel he watched his brother die too many times... anyway! See you next time <3

#Brascu kills Klaus #tua fanfiction #tua fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfiction #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus and ben #klaus x ben #kinda #sorta #ben and klaus #ben x klaus

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

Hates to, Hate you.

Word Count: 8k

Summary: Harry realizes that hurting Y/N broke him into pieces and tries to win her back with the confession of true feelings, will Y/N let him? If yes, how? How will he walk through fire for her?

Pairing: Famous!Harry x Reader!with anxiety.

AU: fake dating, slow burn, sexual tension, enemies to lover!

Warning: Mentions of violence, sexual assault, language, adult topics.

PART 1, MASTERLIST

"Please, stop." He says dolefully rubbing his eyebrows to get rid of the ache pounding in his head.

He's miserable. It hurts to not have her with him. It's been two tragic months of going through constant sleepless nights, disrestless stomach, intoxicating himself to forget her, staring at things like a hawk and missing her terribly.

He was alone before her and never felt this lonely.

He sees her everywhere. In his dreams and her shadows in his drawing room getting excited over a ceramic vase someone gifted him. Dancing in his kitchen to the beat of pink floyd and hip-checking him for a cheerful nudge, in his back garden rescuing a sparrow who broke it's neck and in his attic stressing over her assignments.

Everything reminds him of her. The fruity drinks that the barista's handing to the people, the fairy lights upon their heads and how she used to fond over them —- buying it for his bedroom too and when he refused to hang them, she just brushed off his snarky comment and did it herself.

The ring in Harris finger floods back all the bitter-sweet memories of the time he refused to have a lil fun with her, (Y/N and Harris made friendship rings and bracelets for eachother with the colorful beads to spend their boring time in his home waiting for him to write some lines before they went to a gumball shop) as they try to knock some senses in their friend's brain, "You tried to dodge a heartbreak and still ended up shattering your heart, yourself." They worry about him. That he's been bearing the pain all alone and not sharing it with anyone.

His voice croak-y and hoarse, "How's she?" The question haunts him. She blocked his phone number and even in the wee hours of night he wrecks his mind whether he should call her or not, he couldn't because she doesn't want to hear his voice.

He misses her voice. He misses her complaints and whines as if they filled the stoic parts of his life with happiness.

"How'd I know?" Harris lowers down to rest their elbows on the table, "I -- I thought . . she isn't in contact with ye'?" When Harris shakes their head with a gesture that he's being truthful it sinks his heart furthermore.

He clears his throat, twisting the jewels on his hand and sucks his bottom lip to muster some courage, "I've been seeing someone." Harris chokes on the boba they were chewing on for so long, "You what?" They are completely perturbed at his statement. Even though they've been working together and been friends before Y/N came in the picture, she's still their bezzy and we don't betray our bezzies like that.

"Yeah, someone to help me sort me feelings out." Harry frowns confusedly and then realization washes upon him so he becomes frantic in his chair, "No . . not what you're thinkin'." He runs his fingers through his hair to subside the twitch in them.

"A therapist, 'm talkin' bout a therapist . ." He sighs watching his tea waft down sympathetically.

"Oh. That's a good start, Harry!" Harris tries to bring the same dimply boyish smile that used to flutter over his lips whenever she used to tease him, unfortunately it never appears.

Y/N didn't handle her first ever heartbreak well. She lost her appetite, her focus on her studies and to her surprise didn't shed a single tear –-- it just kept piling in her chest and she waited for the moment it'd burst until she saw those pictures plastered all over social media. Pictures of him with some model that isn't a shorty pants like her at all, totally how those ladies described his type to be and someone with whom he wouldn't be embarrassed to hang out with.

She's everything, Y/N's jealous of. Those sparkling blue eyes compared to her boring brown ones, handsome figure and the radiance of richness.

Then she got stuck into her life responsibilities and worried about other things such that; she wasn't able to pay any bills and her flat's rent despite doing two part time jobs along with doing her class-fellows assignments in return of money and still got kicked out of it. Her close friend offered her to live in her studio and she has made it her kitchen, study, sleeping room with her stuff and clothes scattered everywhere.

She lives on noodles and toasted breads sometimes treating herself with delights of kit-kat bars in the middle of nights.

Watches her friend do her work and leave when the night comes by —- she has never felt this lonely in her entire life.

"So, was it love at first sight?" Nora her friend asks, handing her cuppa tea and a scone. Y/N let a weak sad smile slip, shaking her head and reminiscing all those moments where she was falling in love with him without even realizing, "Falling in love slowly patiently is the most beautiful . . . at some time I used to loathe his existence but staying with him and after knowing him, it was like --— an escapeless tunnel. I didn't realize it, till one day I woke up and my heart saw him in a different light, where I wanted to give him all me lovin' but he wasn't ready for it." She shrugs sipping the hot beverage and doesn't flinch from the burn that tingles at the tip of her tongue.

When she put her cup aside Nora takes her hand assuring her sweetly, "You'll have that person soon -- he's just on his way, with a big bouquet of roses and a teddy bear to give you the lovin' you deserve." Y/N giggles at that waving her off and not showing how her person is still Harry. What does she do to forget him? To fool her in thinking he isn't her first love.

"Aish, Nora aren't you gettin' late? Gooo." She had some clients to meet before she stopped here at studio to grab some things but it turned into a girlie hangout, "Take care honey and don't forget to put a bucket there." She points to the corner where water's dripping from the rooftop and Y/N exhaled an exasperated sigh of breath when the door clicks leaving her alone yet again.

It was past twelve and when usually she pulls an all nighter to study -- today she decided to sleep early. Her bad habit of overthinking kicks in again, this time it's not over some silly thing but she ponders over where she went wrong? She should've kept her feelings to herself and atleast would have been sleeping in her bed cuddled with her chonky cat Zippy.

She misses Zippy badly.

A noise of door unlocking loudly drags her from her reverie and her heart pounds against her ribcage ready to break it. Who could be at this hour of night? It could be Nora since she's the only one who got keys to the place.

Sitting up quickly she squints against the blinding lights and watches someone's boot stepping over her blanket that flopped onto the floor from the sofa she's sleeping on.

"Kevin? What are you doing here?" He's Nora's boyfriend and her classfellow. He just shrugs tumbling his way towards the sofa and she tries to scoot back from him as much as possible, "I'm here to see you. . ." He slurs. It knocks her breath out, filling terror in her veins as the heels of her feet rub against the leather of the couch in her effort to be away from him.

"What? This's not appropriate I -- I . . suggest you to call Nora s –- so, what're you doin —-" She squeaks in fear sinking into the couch when he towers over her and traps her under him with his hands on either side of her body aggressively, "I like you. Why don't you get it!!" She flinches when he shouts angrily with bloodshot eyes and the smell of alcohol disgusts her springing tears in her eyes.

"Please, stop . . ." She whispers with silent tears running down her throat using all her strength to push at his shoulders but he grips her hips tightly and yanks at her sleeping shirt revealing the strap of her bralette. She couldn't even cry for help. It's useless so putting some belief in herself for the last time she uses all her power and kicks him in his crotch pushing him roughly on the floor.

His nails tear at her delicate skin but she doesn't care before running out of the studio ignoring the names he's calling her from behind.

She runs away, away and away. Not thinking twice where she's going before crossing the bridges and tunnels. It feels like her ears are bleeding with the echo of loud horns of traffic and the hopelessness of her life makes her fall on her knees. She cries all the tears she was bottling up for months feeling like she's running out of time and reaching dangerously near to her end.

She's been in the same neighbourhood she's been before many times. The chilly wind doesn't prick goosebumps over her skin, the night's darkness doesn't scare her and the stray dog that's barking somewhere in far doesn't affect her at all as she stares at the door from where she has stepped into her comfort space many times.

Harry's with Scottie. His childhood friend who's here in London for some shoot. They were lounged in the living room talking their hearts out and their cringey memories from when they were small when he halted mid-talk, jaw slacking when his eyes took the sight of someone standing at his main door from the multiple security screens appearing on the telly.

He doesn't believe at first. Thinking he's hallucinating and that maybe he just saw a flicker of a ghost but when she looks up revealing her sad face and those big brown eyes he rushes to open the door.

"Fuck." He breathes out working on the heavy cold locks of the oak door with shaky hands anxiously and she was about to walk away with her back turned to him when he spurts out her name in haste, "Y/N." She listens to him. Insides breaking with the nirvana and scent of him surrounding her.

His breath hitches in his throat when she spins to meet his apprehensive gaze and she doesn't give him a chance to have a proper look at her before falling in his arms, her head hitting his chest and body shaking vigorously as she sobs sadly.

"Darlin'?" He asks worriedly, slipping his arms around her shoulders to lull her in his embrace, "Are you oka?" He feels like his stomach ate his heart as he anticipates an explanation from her and she isn't doing anything but crying.

"You're scarin' me, pet. What happened honey?" He pulls away to cradle her face in his calloused palms. His chests pangs with hurt and remorse upon seeing her tear stained cheeks, wobbly blue lips, and disheveled state.

He steps inside with her still in his arms and rubs his hand down her spine to calm her down as little sad sniffles and hiccups keep slipping out of her mouth.

He sits her on the sofa squatting down infront of her and Scottie brings her water. When she refuses to drink it because Harry strokes his thumb against the apple of her cheek, "Shh, 's okay . . you're okay. You're with me now, sweet girl." It's like the world and anything else has blurred around him and his ever priority's focusing on her only. His observant gaze dawdles from her face to her bruised shoulder emitting an afflicted gasp of trepidity from between his lips and it deepens to a growl when it fell over her hip-bone where the fabric of her pyjama's spotted with blood.

He glances up at Scottie who gives him a knowing look of horror. He gets closer to her and she doesn't retract as his thumb streaks away the blood oozing from her shoulder gently, saying nothing as he examines it.

After a brief pause Y/N's heart skips a nervous beat when he tilts her chin to have a better look at her face, taking in the evidence of someone handling his petal so brutally it left scratches at her face.

Harry looks her dead in the eyes. His anger barely restrained tippling from the pot ready to leave burns, his voice is tense and quite, ears heating with wrath.

"Who did this to you?"

"Kevin." The tears are back at her waterline more concerned that he's panicking because of her and Scottie sits beside her massaging her shoulders.

"Kevin, who?" Harry's question is curt controlling himself from finding this mother fucker himself and beat the shit out of him, "H -- he's my friend's boyfriend, I though --– was sleeping in her studio 'n 'n --- when he . . . he —-- " She hides her face in her palms unable to speak but Harry quickly pulls her down in a comforting hug whispering sweet things to stop her crying.

She parts from him with puffy eyes and swollen lips shaking her head at her stupidity, "I … I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, 'm gonna leave — ' " She's a weeping blubbering mess trying to stand up on her jello legs with the help of the couch's armrest.

He catches her wrist crying out, "No! Don't! please, please stay . . . . fo' me?" Scottie has never seen him like this. Bended out of shape for a person, begging them on his knees to protect them as he rambles loudly.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden on you, I -- I'll go in the morning." Since she has nowhere to go it's better she sleeps here for a night instead of on the streets.

Harry finds it ironic. That once he didn't want her overnights now he wants her all days and weeks, perhaps till the end of his life.

He's gonna win her back.

He hands her his tattered comfy sleeping clothes and the spare toothbrush leaving her to it. When he comes back downstairs Scottie's waiting for him at the main door.

"You should report a file against that bastard the first thing in the morning." Scottie tells him seriously and he nods. His head snaps when she spoke softly, smiling at him, "You're in love."

"What?"

"I haven't seen you like that with anyone, Harry. Make it to her foolish boi -- tell her what you feel." She laughs, jolting him with his shoulders and he smiles timidly bidding her a good-bye.

The door to her room's ajar opened as he peeks inside to make sure she's okay and sighs deeply when finds her staring blankly at the ceiling. The floorboard creaks when he pads inside quietly and her stare diverts to him while he stands on the foot of bed, "I read somewhere that cuddlin' helps ye'sleep better, you w'na try?" She hums in return, fisting the duvet under her chin and slip shuts her eyes remaining stiff in her spot when he slides under the duvet closer to her.

She turns into a puddle when his long arms wrap around her tummy, "Is this okay?" His voice a mere whisper of care earning an honest nod from her -- his thigh strings over her legs to cocoon her in his warmth completely, ". . and this?" She again nod at him so,

He smushes his cheek into the crook of her neck and she could feel something moist on her skin while his lips puckered to speak, "Y/N?" He murmures broken and sad snuggling more into her.

"Hmm?" She hums, the exhaustion from walking and crying this much forcing her to sleep, "I've missed you, terribly." Her heart leaps and she wants to exchange the familiarity of emotions but her tongue remains heavy in her mouth.

Her toes curls and fingers clutches the wrinkly fabric of the pillow case she had her head rested on but now it's slipping down from over it due to her body shaking vigorously as she tries to escape those filthy, gruesome hands like a terrifying shadows of evil choking her throat and sucking the life out of her.

Harry's head snaps down to where she was snuggled to his side moments ago when she murmur-yells no,no,no,no'. He feels like someone placed a heavy brick over his chest at the sight of his lovie writhing like a leaf petrified of whatever she's dreaming of and his shoulders rolls back while he perches on his elbow to shake her gently out of it.

"Y/N . . ." He remains dulcet. Chewing onto his already swollen bottom lip since he didn't even close his eyes the entire night manipulating the plush flesh, he doesn't know what kept him awake —- but it sure was this sense of responsibility to make her feel protected under his wings. She smacks his arm away pushing at his chest with her all might to skid away to the edge of the bed in her sleepy state, so he quickly hunches on wobbly knees to catch her before she falls.

"It's just me, Angel, Harry –- wake up darlin'," His heart beating ominously frantic and head jumbling with horrible thoughts of what she's going through as her warmed up cheeks soak with tears, he has never seen her like this, he never wanted to see her for the first time after months like this --- shattered to pieces and drained of her energy.

He smooths his thumb to caress her cheek slightly and swipe those sad tears away. She wakes up with a gasp making him jerk his chin back, blinking rapidly to confirm her surroundings and her fearful vision zeros to his panicked features. She places her palms against his pectorals to make sure he's real and there and that ugly nightmare just ended, "Harry?" He gulps the thick web of tears down his throat and bobs his head.

"Yes, sweet girl, Harry . . ." The very streaks of golden rays sneak through the curtains and dances between their faces as she fists the hem of his shirt, "It was just a nightmare." He assures her running his hand up and down her arms to calm her down.

"Don't be afraid, dovie' won't let anybody hurt ya from now on, g'na protect you —--" It was the last straw for her before she flipped him over and climbed out of his bed to get out from his room.

"Shit." He drives into a state of frenzy following her down the stairs like a puppy almost missing a step or two as she wears the slippers she came in last night, "Where ye' goin'?" His muscles twitch in a hurry to make his next move and save whatever's between them that's keeping him sane, " Dunno, away from you." She shrugs, lost in her own fog and the sting in his heart's unbearable with the inflammation of hurt.

"Why?" He tumbles through the last step and infront of her, eyes bloodshot and heart how from the squeezing agony of loosing her for second time for the same cause.

"Because, I w'na forget about you!!" The scream she had in her lungs to convey her anger gets stuck in her throat. His shoulders slump from the burden of guilt and regret.

"Why?" He feels like throwing up with the unbearable anguish of him hurting to a point he wants to wash his memories out of her mind.

"Because you make me so confused, Harry…" Her face pinches into an exasperated expression of hopelessness while she nudges him aside to pass by him and to the main door but he catches her wrist before she could step outside and never come back to him, "I wouldn't confuse you from now on …. 've been better fo' you y/n, 'cos I want you to know that I'm yours." His confession springes her off guard by pure stupefaction and when she looks at him -- he's already gazing at her as if she's the moon surrounded by singing stars.

"Please, let me fight for you baby." Tears springs at his waterline ready to welcome a sob out of his lungs. Because he knows he'll be unable to live his life without her, his love will rot in the cage of his heart because he'd never be able to express it for anyone except her.

He continues not holding back anything from her instead unlocking another love language and that's being vulnerable and completely defenceless to her, "While being with you I still thought a part of me was in love with my ex and I didn't want ya to be me second priority, could neve', was so so wrong 'cos even though you're not my firsts you're gonna be my lasts. I'll make sure that you're." He gulps down the tears blocking his wind pipes and making it difficult to speak.

"I want you to give us another chance, to forgive me and give me a proper chance to love you 'cos that's what you deserve . .." The sincerity and genuineness in his stained smaragdine irises turns her pudgy in his hold, ". . . you deserve all the lovin' in this world, honey."

"Work for it then." She tells him and his pretty eyes widen adorably as of some golden fish, a vivacious smile adorns his features and he doesn't take a moment before swiping her off her feet and into his arms to hug her tightly.

His insides feels like nourishing after a time with contentment and satisfaction.

To have his loved one in his arms.

In his life.

"Thank you, Thank you, Thank youuu." He rambles into the crook of her neck, elated and joyful. Swaying their bodies together and making her smile softly after a prolonged time of suffering.

She'll heal.

He'll make sure to put ointment of affection and love on her wounds to help her heal, for herself but nobody else.

"You've got to be kidding me!" She mutters putting the alcohol swab on his torn bleeding knuckles and he squeaks locking his calf around her ankle, "Ouch! Ye' mad woman."

Harry and her went to file a report against Kevin, along with Nora who became her witness because she despises that disgusting of a man to be even around her and her studio let alone her boyfriend.

Harry was her biggest support through the whole process and dropped her off assuring her he'll pick all her stuff from Nora's place. There he was, Kevin. Stumbling at the footpath after Nora kicked him and his luggage out.

Harry's very patient and optimistic but not when his loved ones get hurt. He didn't know what was happening around him before he sprinted towards Kevin and punched him square in his face, breaking his nose and busting his own knuckles with a fierce shout of "y'son of a bastard!"

"If I ever . . . ever see ya near her, I promise that you wouldn't be able to see the living daylight." He grunted, resisting to hit him in the shin with his boots and walked past him to the studio to collect her stuff.

He was grief stricken seeing the way she had to live and not finding her pet cat anywhere. His heart could be heard cracking into tinytinytiny pieces when Nora told him that Y/N gave it to the vet since she was unable to afford it.

When she catches him staring up at her like a love-stricken puppy she huffs wrapping a band-aid around his knuckles, "'M mad at you." He seems unfazed making her gasp when brings her closer with his legs wrapped around her's, "Why . . . you're always mad at me." He whines jutting out his bottom lip and she shakes her head at his silly dotiness.

"You -– you can't go hurtin' yourself fo' me, H." She's very unaware, because certainly he'd do it as many times.

She narrows down her eyes to squint him in offense when he brushes her comment off with nonchalance and raises his bandaged wrist up to her face, "Will you kiss it better' fo' me, pet?" Her insides crumbles like dry rose petals falling from a beloved book of her favourite romances.

"Hmm?" He nudges it in a questioning suppressing a smirk. She wipes her clammy and antiseptic hands down her trousers not meeting his gaze while taking his hand awkwardly but delicately closer to where her soft mouth is located; she halts glowering at him, "Only if you ask nicely."

"That wasn't nice? Thought I was being a good boy there." He mumbles diligently pulling at the hem of her shirt and she bites down a smile, fingers still wrapped round his wrist.

"Pretty please…?" He wheezes his words out begging-ly -- upper lip curving, pupils dilating and she shrugs, "..if you insist so.." His grin was immaculate that of golden sun when she pressed her lips to his knuckles carefully giving it a gentle pat afterward.

"Not doing that again." She breathes out the air she was winding up inside her for so long. Spinning on her heels to turn her back towards him and put the first aid back under the sink, "We'll see 'bout that, let's do some grocery." He stands up patting his thighs loudly, "Wouldn't be surprised if we'll find bugs in me cabinet instead of goodies."

They've been roaming isles for an hour now and they always end up fighting who will push it. Harry doesn't let her because she keeps on filling it with instant noodles, chocolate bars and sakurai oreos.

"How about we try to live till our fifties wouldn't be that beautiful?" He follows behind her closely. His chest brushes against her shoulders everytime she makes a stop to cooes over some brightly coloured food and candies, "'M trying to make it till next year, dunno 'bout you." She mutters grumpy-ly tossing another packet of cherry lollipop inside the trolley.

He puts it back.

With a strict warning glare to her way.

"I want you to stay healthy." He says sternly glaring up at her from his ducked position. She tosses the lollipop back from the shelf, "'M paying for my things." She dismisses him off panning deadly.

"Fo' fucks sake, 's not 'bout money!" He grits annoyed at her stubbornness and she arches her brow leaning against the trolley, "Harry…'m not an actress or some high-paid model. Lemme enjoy real things, okay? Or just say you'd look too outta my league standing next to me." Her brows pints down into a frown and her shoulder slumps with her body further relaxing against the trolley.

She's up for a debate with him right in the middle of the junk food aisle if that's the case.

"See. That's why I don't want to be married!" A couple from far banters off in astonishment catching Y/N completely off guard.

"Uh-ah!" She yelps getting startled from the boom of interruption and a high-pitch squeaks leaves out of her petite lungs when the trolley rolls from under her perched elbow making her stumble for a nice trip but the bang never came as Harry coiled his arm around her waist to pull her on stable feet with a firm hand over her smallest of back.

His gentle pupils flicker between her frenzied one's, noses tickling and teasing each other with each spurt of breath that rushes out of her parted soft mouth and against his cheek.

"Maybe it's not that bad after all." The couple who were planning their future based on another couple, who's not even a couple yet but trying to work on it with their shared amount of affection; sighs in awement leaving Harry and Y/N in their own bubble.

He takes her by the elbow and helps her with his lips thinned, "Careful there." His mumble is deep and coherent husk.

She didn't whine about his green vegetables, boring low fat cheese and planned meals, celery or whatever that shit is, after that. Walking by his side like a kid who just got relief from his time out punishment.

While on the counter she asked him politely rather than biting his head of, "Lemme pay please. I'm already imposing on you by staying at your place." She knows that he wouldn't let her. Harry wants to take care of her -- in every way. He just hopes she warms up to him slowly that there will be a day she thinks of his home as hers too, oh how the table turns!

T'not make her think that his love for her is only restrictive to materialistic things he lets her pay --- but for half of it.

"D'ya got a change, miss?" The cashier asks her and she cranes her neck up to him. He denies waving his credit card with a disappointed expression so she quickly takes a chewing gum from the racks beside in return for the change.

He stops in his tracks. Watching her with glinting eyes more like fawning at her when she sways on her feet happily swinging the bag in her hold side by side.

"C'mon Harry!" She grins twiddling her fingers in a gesture to usher him where she's standing beside his car, "Yup. On your command, darlin'." He shakes his head. To fetch himself from the fond-land he always enters with anything she does.

There's a low hum of telly buzzing in the room as they sit crossed legs on the coffee rug with their knees brushing if any of them moves their bum a tad, while they slurp onto the remaining soup in the noodles cup.

This whole time he wanted to say something, to talk to her, his heart out and make it a domestic routine of sharing stuff while they eat comfy in eachother's presence but seems like his tongue betrays him everytime and his needy eyes always want to admire her and the little things she does.

He licks his lips, nodding profusely when she asks for his cup and chopsticks to take to the kitchen. A huge sigh of relief vanishes out from his chest when she disappears inside giving him time to re-collect himself, he rummages through the bag to take out the chewing gum they bought at the last moment.

He rips the packet with his teeth but it remains pressed there between his morals when he senses the familiarity of the foil --- she bought a fucking condom out of accident!

At the same moment she pads outside halting in her tracks infront of him with a horrendous expression as her peepers wouldn't stop blinking. He doesn't not know what got into him but he throws it her way as if he's utterly disgusted by it.

Sinks into the couch and refuses to meet her gaze. She throws it back at him, "I don't want it, keep it you might need it." There he goes. The smugness fuels back as he outstretches his arm over the back of the couch and man-spreads scrutinizing the way her eyes linger at his meaty thighs before flicking them away with a nervous gulp.

"You've already planned it all out, hun?" He smirks rubbing the belly of his nose with his pinky's knuckle and she folds her elbows under her breasts shaking her head at his teasing, "Yeah planning to . . . murder you t'night." She laughs out evilly when his eyes widen comically.

"Hmm. I see. Didn't know ye' were this kinky 'n naughty." She rolls her eyes at his edgy nip. She wouldn't admit it but him testing her patience turns her hot and flustered.

"Night, H." She yawns and his heart grows ten times bigger at the softness of her appearance. She cranes her head against her shoulder to look at him from the spot she's standing at when his voice calls for her, "Y/N!? Ye'really into knives? In the bed I mean." His grin mischievous knowing fully well what he's doing to her as he waits for her answer propped on his knees.

She slams the door at his face and he plops back into the sofa with a pouty victorious smile.

Harry didn't realise that in the middle of watching Gilmore Girls on the telly he fell asleep straining his neck from keeping it in a weird angle, his arms hugging the pillow and feet dangling adorably nowhere. He groans knuckling away the sleep and tries to wake up when he heard a feeble noise of someone taking his name until he looks up and finds Y/N towering him with her fluffy cream blanket pinched around her head darlingly.

"What happened, pet? Y'okay!?" He gasps trying to sit up and take her precious face to inspect her properly but she shakes her head and lays him back gently.

Her nose runny and cheeks rosied as she asks for a favour from him, "Can I -- um," She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her sweater paw. He doesn't question her further and opens his long arms to welcome her for a warm embrace.

"C'mere, pet." His whisper delicate to her.

She lies down pressed to his front resting her head on his sprawled arm and scooches herself closer to him smiling shyly against his hoodie where a Harry is embroidered in pink thread. It's like a gust of fresh spring and dew of nighty mountains as Harry takes a relaxing breather snuggling her impossibly affectionately close to himself, petting down her sweet smelling hair.

"Y'can talk to me 'bout anythin'." Their heart-beats in sync as he keeps his palm spread at her back to protect her from falling, "Ye' know that right?" He pulls back to cradle her chin between his fingers and look her in eyes sincerely.

"I know that button. Sleep for now, hmm?" He smiles softly, shutting his eyes from giving out how much a mere love name's enough to fuse him into a cloud of giddiness.

In the morning though, Harry's a small spoon and Y/N a big one. Her limbs trying to latch to his body in every way possible with her cheek smashed against his shoulder blade.

His lips quirks up into a lazy loopy smile full of contentment and peacefulness as he weaves his each finger into her's to bring her knuckles to his mouth and smother it in kisses, "Rise n' shine you furball." He rasps. chin doubling adorably as he tries to look at his squirmy girl.

He turns to face her side, temples touching and lips hovering over eachother's skin. He feels her smiling against his chin as she cuddles up into him, "I'd like to make you a brekkie…." She murmurs playing with baby curls on the nape of his neck.

"Dunno 'bout that. What if you poison me, t'death?" He giggles and she smacks his belly pouting grumpy-ly.

"Offer, expired. no more brekkie for you." She tells him wiggling out of his grip and walks towards kitchen but burst into gleeful laugh when he wraps around her calves like a koala bear, "Was jokinnnn', babe." He emphasizes his words with a twinge of whine and she meanders her hand in his ruffled curls.

"Kay! Kay! But, I could only make you omelette and sour bread." He jumps back on his feet enthusiastically looping his arm around her clavicles, "No problem. Glad t'eat anythin' made from your lovely hands."

She made him brekkie and he made fabulous peach tea for them. She blabbered off and he listened with careful ears. He praised her with glinting proud eyes and she treasured these praises in her heart.

While she chewed slowly he messaged his manager that he couldn't come to any working place for a week or so. He wants to make it special and memorable for them, their honeymoon phase.

"D'ya have any class today?" He asks her leaning towards her atop the counter, "Nope 's Saturday dummy." She chuckles flicking her thumb against his forehead and he gives a dimpled grin with bolted shut eyes.

"Yeah … silly me."

"Why?"

"So that I could take ye' ona date." His inners bouncing desperate to know her answer, "Me?" She points at herself surprised with parted lips.

"Yes you, is there somebody else sitting with us? Hello?" He calls for that non-existent person and she suckles her bottom lip to subside her squeals down. She breathes out, "Some ghostie? Evil spirit? Jesus himself —-" She cuts his banter of. With a light slap to the back of his hand.

"Okay." She says with an excited shake of head happiness bare in her words and Harry literally slips from his seat padding towards her in haste, "I'd love to." She confirms with a sweet smile and he hooks his nimble finger around her jeans loop to pull her closer to him for a fervid emotional hug.

She was a frolic mess in her room trying out her outfits and fitting into her skirts, trousers anything that could match perfectly. Deciding to terminate any ideas to wear cotton floral sun-dresses instead ends up tucking a baby pink sweater into her chequered white and black plaid trouser along with a pair of Mary Janes booties.

She took huge puffs of breath to calm her wild heart down when the knock on her door appeared. He decided to be a full on romantic today doing all the date rituals without any shame dressing up in a silk shirt three shades lighter than her's, with a pussy bow around his neck and she thinks she couldn't be more in love with him as he has a bunch of sunflowers and jasmines in the cracks of his jewels adorned fingers.

"Well, well, well, Look who came to their enemy's door holding presents." She smirks and he scowls, "Oh cut it. 'M here to pick y'up fo' our date."

What makes her lose her mind's Zippy on his shoulder.

"Oh my goodness! Harry!" She leaps towards him and takes her fluffy beast in her arms and showers Zippy's crown with many many kisses, "Thank you!" She cries out joyfully wrapping her free arm around his waist and cuddles him for dear life.

"I lo —-- " She thinks it'd be embarrassing to say it on the first date and Harry almost had a mini heart-attack but she changed her words, "I can't be more grateful to you, thank you so much."

"Now, stop thankin' me hunny." He gives her the flowers he plucked himself from his backyard and kisses the apple of her cheek turning her into a gooey mesh.

"Where is it?" She avoids checking him out.

"Why should I tell ya?" He nudges her to lock her elbow around his and she gazes up at him with loving eyes, "'cos 'm your date that's why."

"Bribe me then." He grins bashfully.

"Harry!!" She gasps and huffs tipy-toeing timidly to plant a soft kiss to his chin but it lands against his throat making him thin his lips to give out a noise that could embarrass both of them.

"Not telling you." He squeaks dragging her outside into the porch and she whines, "You leech!"

"You did not!" She snaps her neck in utter exhilaration from the view in front of her and towards Harry who's watching her with puffed cheeks to not to give out his bunny smile as her face turns guppy. The sunshine dawdles around them and she pulls him down to her level with the tug of their intertwined hands, "You're somethin' else, Styles." It warms his blood. Bursting sentiments of pure love and amiability through each orifice that leads to his heart.

"Only fo' you." He whispers stroking the plush of her cheek -- restraining to place his needy lips on her alluring pillow one's inviting him to have a good taste of their sweetness before they could taste the ripeness of strawberries growing at the farm he just took her.

"Uhm. Let's see who could collect more!" She grins pushing herself three steps away from him with support of his pecs, "What's the prize?" He asks pawing at her hips to keep her in intimate distance and she giggles tapping his chin.

"A feeling of saccharine-ss and sweetness when we'll eat those strawberries out." She tries not to step on heavy branches that are still growing and makes her way to the fresh patch, "Perhaps, that could be acquired from eatin' somethin' else out too." His wet lips brushes against her earlobe as he speaks, sending a shiver down her spine.

"You're being very loud and lewd." She pokes him in ribs. Squatting down to pluck a juicy perfectly sized strawberry and hovering it against his mouth to give him a taste, "Hmm what could I say 'm a man of dirty words." His eyes darken to an intoxicating shade of emerald as his heart-shaped magenta lips wrap around the strawberry to split it in two with his teeth.

He still remembers. How her mouth tasted that night, how her lips came molding around his's like a stamp of a lover's letter and her body fitted against his's like a lost piece of puzzle.

Just made for him.

"Harry …" She's out of words. Maybe, breath.

"Yes dovie?" He hooks his finger into her belt's loop to saturate the thread like distance between them and makes tight hold at the nape of her neck to crane her head up to meet his honey eyed gaze, "D'ya know how to make strawberry mochi?" His shoulder slumps at her question and he rests his cheek atop her temple cutely.

"Noo." His voice sort of whine-y.

"No, problem. We'll make it together." She chuckles turning back to collect the strawberries into her basket.

She never had this fun. Messing around with him. Feeding eachother the sweet fruit. Him scaring her that some rat sprinted by her feet and enjoying the way she jumps at him, only wheezing comically when she throws a blow at him.

Her giggles bounces off each and every ivory flower and leafy plant as he pins her to the viridescent grass, with his thighs and tickles her non-stop. What started as raspberries turns into sloppy smothers of kisses all over her face.

"Harry!!" She bursts into another fit of laughter, "Stop." She warns him squeezing her thighs around his waist and he giggles challenging her.

"O'what? Huhh?" She closes her eyes nuzzling into his arm that's trapping her down, "Or I'll kiss you…" Her voice gentle and dulcet making his grip loosen and heartbeat fastens like a thunderbolt.

"'M not afraid of that." He gives a toothy grin sneaking a glance at her hand which's gliding up his throat to cup his cheek, eyelids fluttering like petals from breeze as she smudges her sweet mesh coated lips against his's in a tenderly ardent, and yearningly amiable kiss feeling her pulse ring in her ears with so much force.

His fingers make their home down her smooth hair to cup the nape of her neck, elbows digging into mud when he lifts her up to deepen the kiss sloppily. Just her. Only her. Swirling inside of him as his very thought.

Their noses crooking perfectly, skins kissing and bodies hitched to eachother with the knot of souls.

She whimpers into his mouth squishing the poor strawberry she was holding in her free hand from the intensity of fierce sentiments she's spiraling in; to have him all and swallow him all because he's that damn gorgeous. His tongue pokes and tickles the plush insides of her small mouth tasting the strawberry straight from where he loves the most. His belly burning with the fire of desire feeling the way her body's reacting with puriency to his subtle touches of affection.

He was dying to have a kiss from her the day she gave him her lips that night and he couldn't resist but to think about it regularly.

A wet filthy sound bubbles around them when they part away with the remnants of spit in the form of intricate strings connecting them; that breaks when he relaxes his forehead against her's taking a good breather of mossy air.

"S' messy." He tuts when his eyes fall at her palm covered in strawberry pulp.

She gasps giddy-ly when he pokes his pink tongue out and takes a huge swipe up her palm with an erotic hum that rattled her insides.

"H -- arry." She nibbles at her bottom lip to filter noises she's unable to hold meanwhile he sucks her fingers one by one to clean them, her panties twisting with an ache of want.

"Hmm. All nice 'n clean, now we should go." He says flipping her wrist to act as if he's inspecting it. Brushes the dirt of his trousers leaving her baffled and grumpy. When she doesn't stand up he squats down at her level arching a brow at her and before she could know what's happening she's thrown over his broad shoulder like a rag doll.

Her squeals hearty and giggly as she tries to punch his back but her breath gets caught in her throat when his large hand comes spanking her butt-cheek. He waits for her reaction —- grinning cheekily when she sucks in her weak mewls and grabs the back of his neck blabbering his name off.

He puts her back on the ground once out on the gravel path and hands her the basket piled with strawberries. Ducks down to sponge a kiss to her cheek telling her to stay glued to her spot as he leaves to pay.

She smiles down at her feet then at the sky revinding all the moments and their lovely kiss that makes her feel all warm and stupidly gooey.

While boarding the train he wiggles his finger behind himself to get a hold on her and keep her close to him, craning his neck with a lopsided sly smile, "Hold me hand."

"If you insist." She nods with a grin slipping her fingers over his palm and he wovens them with his own with a firm grip stepping inside the train and helps her to do so with his free hand behind her head.

She sighs. Sitting with her back pressed against the window of the train. One leg folded and other dangling from the seat as she stares at Harry with a pouty smile.

"Don't ya think you're sittin' too far away from me?" He says, grabbing her knee, "Come here." And slides her towards himself now their thighs overlapping. He doesn't like even the mere distance between them —-- might sound sappy but he wants to be like her scent.

"Happy?" She pinches his cheek and he winces dramatically ruffling her already loose tresses of hair making her look as if she was on a roller coaster minutes ago, "aren't you a one clingy bunny!" She huffs trying to blow away the hair falling in her eyes. He bobs his head in agreement and slings his elbow around her shoulders to tuck her under his chin protectively.

"Okie, now add some sugar in it —- aish slow down …" She coughs waving away the sugar dust tickling her nostrils as Harry poured so much sugar all at once. He has his chin rested on her head and her hips crooned against his thighs as they make the strawberry and vanilla mochi together.

His puffer jacket on her shoulders (To the time they went to buy grocery stuff it started being cold and Harry being a mommy he took out his jacket and bundled her up in it) —- She sneezes and he quips pecking her hair, "Bless your heart." Fetches her a tissue too.

"Thank you, bubs." She giggles grabbing his jaw bringing him down to smooch a kiss to his lips. She pulls back but he persists snaking his palm around the nape of her neck to keep her put —- she gives in with her heart fluttering like candle flame in a destructive storm.

Turns in his embrace and hooks her elbows behind his head patching tiny, tiny, tiny pecks on his pillowy lips until he gets desperate to kiss her mouth and tongue pushing her to his front by gliding his hand into the back-pocket of her jeans.

Her head lulls. Feeling as if the kitchen got filled with candy clouds floating around her when he cradles her cheeks in his both palms lapping at her bottom lip and nips at it with every whimper of desire that falls, "Mine." He breathes out rubbing the bridge of his nose up and down her cheek like a puppy nuzzling into his favourite plushie.

"Yours." She says without any hesitation.

He smashes his wet lips back on hers. Swirls of gleeful colours surrounding them as he feels like he could kiss her forever.

She gasps gazing down lustfully at his wine cherried lips when he holds her from waist and sits her on the wooden counter, "I want you to take me." She murmurs nailing at the silk of his top and he paws at her hip-bones cravingly, it makes her feel like one the most desired women alive.

"I'm all yours to pleasure you lovie'," He looks her in the eyes with so much love and affection it melts her whole, "Just ask me and I'll give me girl what she wants …. " He says trailing sloppy kisses down her throat. Her head falls against the tiled wall giving him more access to her skin --- so he could mark her as he wishes.

The heat from his mouth to her bare skin arouses her to an extent she feels wetness sticking to the insides of her thighs with each grind of his crotch against her's.

She tugs at the roots of his curls, mouth parted around a moan when he grazes his touch over her plump breasts, "Is this okay?" He asks breathlessly and she bobs her head vigorously latching onto him.

"Yes, please, more … " He blinks to let reality sink in when she raises her arms in the air for him to get rid of her clothes.

He smiles. Hard. Crinkles forming by his eyes and cheery lines around his mouth as she looks up at him with those doe eyes glinting with his own reflection.

She squirms grumpily and he cackles loudly when she hooks his fingers into the hem of her jeans as a sign that "just undress me right now and fuck me hard over this counter." But, the romantic sap he's just keeps on being a tease.

"Fuck me already." She huffs locking her ankles behind his back.

"Trust me, I want it as bad as y'do but are you sure —-- "

"I'm --- just fuck …. " She cuts him off, cupping his cheeks and kisses his mouth. He groans when she sucks his swollen lip in between his teeth and lifts her pelvis grinned against his swell lining in his trouser to elaborate her neediness through actions,

He undresses her finally folding them and putting them away nicely while she stays a breathless mess just in her undies, her sheer panties soaked in her juices and profanities of moans fuses into air from both of them as Harry places his hands on her knees. Irises darkening with lust when he looks at the delicate lines of her drippy pussy lips forming from underneath the material.

"Spread your legs, I want to feel how turned on I made you feel." His voice an obscene grunt and it tingles her core making her feel she should obey him, "Fuckin' hell." His moan is dirty as he rubs the pad of his long digits against her soaked centre. His piercing gaze flitting between her thighs crumbled her in the best way possible.

She fists the hem of his top, tugging at it with the blabbering of his name.

A series of pornographic whines leaves her through her nose when he demands her to raise her bum so he could get rid of the last thing being a bother to them.

"Oh my — " She arches her spine when his fingers withered in her stickiness, between her glistening pussy lips to her mound pinching her clitoris in the way and listens to the soapy noises he's creating while lathering his hand with her juices he'd love more to coat his tongue with.

"This is what you want, hmm? For me to bend you over this counter right fucking now and pump me thick cock inside your sweet cunt from behind till you're screaming for me to ram harder inside you, so deep that you feel me in your little tummy and I keep it there for hours making you cum on it again and again — many time that you're milky and cramped around my prick like a filthy girl you're." He dips his impossibly sweet pink tongue inside her mouth and makes her sip down his dirty words through her throat not letting her mewls slip out as his lengthy finger slicks inside her causing her melt against his chest with a turmoil of emotions and heat she never felt before.

Her brain whirles with the mantra of fuckfuckfuck but her guppy lips says otherwise, she coils her arms around his shoulders scratching her nails down his neck — eyes rolling back as she shakes with the build of ecstasy.

"You're so snug and warm, sweets. Can't wait to be inside you." He husks curling his digit to give her upper wall a good rub, "Harry!" Her scream comes out gruff vibrating with a sexy octave.

"Yes, baby." He pinches her chin between his thumb and forefinger staining soft wet kisses from the corner of her lips, to her rosy cheeks and down her throat sewing love bites along her veins.

"Does it feel good, hmm? 'M g'na stuff you full of my prick bet it'll make you feel like heavens --" Her brows tenses up as he forces her to keep her eyes locked with his's and groans with the throb in his cock bound to implode with each whimper of his name she lets out hiking up her knees on the counter — the heels of her feet sticking firmly against the edge of the counter giving a carnally pleasing view for him to enjoy and ooze with sticky precum.

He huffs out breathily, fingers sliding in and out at a fast pace while he moves down to take her perky nipple between his teeth teasing it with nip of his tongue, "Fuck. Mhmm baby I've so many dirty things to d'to you, would you be an atta girl and be naughty with me?" He nuzzles his curls against her skin grinding his knuckles up and down against her swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes." She moans trying to sink impossibly deep on his fingers. He admires her in amusement as her belly twists into ripples and she thrashes in his tight hold —- broken into pieces of vulnerability foxily.

He withers his gaze to where he's driving his fingers roughly inside her and a cold shiver runs down his spine, eyelashes fluttering and he sucks his bottom lip brutally praising her softly, "yes just like that darling taking my fingers so good —- they'll look pretty down your throat too while I'll fill your other holes with me, all me." He wraps a hand around her throat giving it a light squeeze and it was enough to spread warmth and the saccharine feeling of fullness in her every tissue gushing over his fingers.

"You're mine." He growls nipping at her sweet spot –-- wearing her out with his continuous different motions inside her. His wrist glistening with her come and her head lulls on his tanned shoulder, eyes slip shut, chest levitating with shallow breaths.

She cups his cheeks wrapping her trembling legs around his waist and kisses his smile, it's sloppy and barely a kiss with their lazy effort to keep their mouths on each other to soak into intimacy.

Next they're a moaning and crying mess on the kitchen floor with her knee hooked around his hip to keep him close as he stretches her out leaving a pleasurable burn against her squishy inviting walls.

His cock sits warm inside her pussy and his balls snug against her bum. It's torturous waiting for her to give a signal that he might move because he couldn't resist but to be rock hard inside her and fuck her for hours but his knees are laughing at him for being unable to bear the sting of cold tiles.

"You can move, 'm okay." She whispers hugging him for dear life and he nods grinding his hips slowly, the bulbous head of his dick hitting all the right spots —- he's so good at fucking.

He takes her fleshy tits in his palms caressing them with each lewd stroke of his cock inside her and treats her glistening lips from his spit back to his mouth, pecking it generously.

"Pull me hair." He groans pushing hard and guides her hand into his swirl of sweaty curls — hips stuttering, eyes rolling back into his skull erotically when she does so peppering loving kisses under his earlobe, "You're g'na ruin me lovie … fuck me please." He whines grabbing her ass and lifts her pelvis to slide inside her dripping pussy with much more roughness.

She has never seen him like this. Shredded to seams for her, sweat beading down his gorgeous face like glimmer of pearls and eyes mossed with so much lust and desperation it knocks air out of her lungs.

He rolls them over gently and her squeal turns into a shameless yawp when he feels much more bigger than before inside her with her being on top of him —- he was right she could feel him in her tummy.

She's clueless what to do. Not that she's gonna show it –- she doesn't want to give him an impression that she knows barely anything about riding but the way she begins with zealous back and forth movement digging the heels of her palms against his pecks wrecks him havoc.

"You're doin' so good pet, yes, yes, yes. Use me baby. Use me like your little fuck toy 'm c'mon." He grabs the nape of her neck and brings her down to skim his tongue over her lips, manipulating the plushiness of them with his teeth. His balls slapping against her skin as she bounces on his cock diligently and he fists the soft flesh of her bum with both of his hands to help her ride him knows she's labouring herself out, "I'm all yours." He says caressing her sides to make sure she's okay and brushes the wisp of sticky hair behind her ear.

"You're looking so sexy sitting on my dick like that -- how about I don't allow you to cum so you could keep me warm with your pussy like that fo' hours?" His pants out gripping at her thighs as his prick spills with wetness inside her and she cries out shaking, "No!" He smirks crinkled forming by his eyes and takes this chance to drive hard up inside her making her flop onto his chest.

She gasps moistly, pulsating around him feeling every ridge and vein of his cock stroking against her walls creating obscene noises of skin meeting skin and their moistures mixing soapily like gooe.

"Cum fo' me baby -- squeezing me s' tight. I know you're there." His pants laboured and heavy as he sucks his own digits coating them with his spit nicely and glides them down pressing them to her weeping bud, then flickers it in prolong circles. Toes curling. His thrusts consistent and fast. She crooks her nose against his's murmuring to him with a wavering voice.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck."

"You're gonna make me come."

Her eyes widen in surprise but her body reacts otherwise albeit she has never experienced it —- but her moans were uncontrollable when he spanked her butt cheek and she crampied down at him jolting tremendously with the wave of insanity spreading to her bones.

"I'm a naughty boy, give it to me." He kisses his teeth together man spreading and throwing his knees up to ram up inside her perfectly.

His eyes shuts till he could see white spotting behind them -- he spills inside her in form of thick ribbons and milks her cunt with it riding her out of her high. She clings to his body and snuggles into him to tone down the shivers running down her spine with each tiny orgasm she feels rushing out with his lazy thrusts.

"I'm jello." She tells him and he looks down at her with a mishevious grin, "Does that give me a reason to eat you whole?" She rolls her eyes poking at his cheek with a grossed out expression.

"I'm still inside ye', remember?" He stirs his hips to make her realise and she yelps not know if it's making her feel hot or utterly sensitive, "You're insatiable." She mumbles pouting her lips to indicate him she's dying for his lips to smooch kisses to her.

"No kidding I love the noises you make when you come undone." She confesses timidly drawing stars at his chest and he giggles kissing her temple gently, "Stop before you wake me buddy up again –- he quite fond of you." He blushes hiding his face into the crook of her neck with tiny voice.

They're canoodling under the fluffy blanket on the sofa watching telly after they just took a bath together, shampooing eachother with peach scents and drying eachother off with warm towels. She's nuzzled into his side wearing one of his baby yellow robes, his arm stays around her shoulder thumb addicted to caressing her silky cheek, sometimes spreading his fingers down her throat to tip her chin up to smooch sweet kisses on her lips.

"You're cute when you're not a pest." She giggles and he frowns comically pretending to munch her alive, "That's very rude -- you should be thankful that I lov — " Her heart almost stops functioning.

They were sipping onto their green teas and nibbling onto the strawberry mochi they made and refrigerated before when the doorbell rang making them groan in laziness.

She stood up going to see what took Harry so long on the door and got revealed to him talking instinctively to whoever rang the bell.

"Hi, Y/N." Scottie smiles at him. Carrying her luggage and Y/N looks down at her attire for a second then forwards her hand shyly. She was so scared that day –- it's a blur to her but now she watches Scottie properly she realizes …. She's the same girl from all the paparazzi photos.

Something switches off inside her. The rainbows and confettis, the moonlight and stars and the nebula of the whole galaxy she had consumed in her little body from making love to Harry just shuts down into a white noise.

Her bottom lip plumps into a pout. Eyebrows trembling from this confused feeling of some invisible thing squeezing the life out of her.

She's jealous.

"I just came here to say bye." Scottie's voice makes her focus back into reality.

"Oh…" She just nods. She doesn't return the hug even though her brain guilt trips her for that and when Scottie leaves with the air thick and tense, Harry corners her in between a wall and piece of furniture cradling her grumpy face in his careful palms speaking gently to her.

"You don't 'ave to worry 'bout her, she's just a friend …. Infact you don't have to worry 'bout anyone because I love you so so much baby that I don't see myself spending me life with anyone else." She glances up at him twice, jaw falling slack from shock and he chuckles smothering her in kind-hearted kisses when she stares at him like a hawk.

"You what!?"

"I love you, Y/N." Her eyes closing like a moth flapping nearer to fire and finding peace in burning inside it.

"I love you too so much." She whispers and welcomes his lips melting against her ardently. With the passion only lovers hold. Amiability she couldn't find anyone else but in his embrace, in his kisses and his lovemaking.

"Can we go back to cuddlin'? Me feet gettin' cold baby." He whines treading fastly into the living room while carrying her like a kitten from behind and makes squeaky noises once snoozed under the warmth of the blanket.

He touches their foreheads. Kissing the tip of her nose adorably.

"I love you." Then burst into giggles. When she returns the passion coyly.

"I love you too."

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #Harry Styles fluffy duffy

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bluecookies02 · 4 years

Text

Teacher!Aizawa x Student!Reader -Feathery mess/NSFW/-

warnings: teacher/student relationship(the student is of legal age).

quirk: angel wings

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You've been squirming in your seat like crazy for the past 30 minutes, your thighs rubbing together as you watched the man lazily write stuff on the board, his sleeves raised up to his shoulders and his hair tied in a messy bun.

You've been eying the man for years, always too afraid to step up or say anything (for obvious reasons), and even now as you're nearing the end of your education, there's this annoying feeling in your tummy that's making you all giddy and impatient.

It's the last class of the day, all of the students tired and just wanting to go back to their dorms while you're here, dreaming about being stuffed by the black-haired man's cock.

Your wings puffed in your seat as you chewed on your pencil.

You didn't exactly care about anything he was saying, the only thought as you looked at his moving mouth was the fantasy of it lapping at your cunt.

Such sinful thoughts shouldn't cloud the mind of someone so seemingly innocent and pure.

Your feathers ruffled up as you placed your head in your arms, alerting some of the students and obviously motivating Bakugou to ~quietly~ shout you out.

You paid no mind, still staring at the man in a haze...He must've felt something...

He was always so gentle and caring, offering to rub and clean your feathers on countless occasions after training, always checking up on you or coming to your table if you needed help with anything.

While he might've done that to everybody, you felt like he had a particular fondness of you. Maybe it was just your imagination...

Your wings fluffed back down, slumping against your back as they curled around your tiny form.

You spent your years in this school pinning for someone you might never have, instead of going out to parties and meeting new people. And the biggest problem was, you weren't only painfully attracted to him, but you also caught yourself falling in love with the man.

Maybe if you were a bit older? What if he already had someone and it was impossible from the start? You didn't want to know...it would crush you completely.

The bell seemed to have rung a few moments ago, all of the students already having their bags packed and on their back, leaving through the door one by one.

You stuffed your notebook in messily, crumbling it as you pulled the zipper. You stared at the floor as you made your way in-between desks, just wanting to take a long warm bath and cry.

"Y/N, everything alright?" your eyes darted to the voice, your mouth suddenly drying up as you just gave a weak nod.

Before stepping anywhere further, the door was pushed closed in front of you, the tall man hovering over you as he looked at you with warm eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, I want to help..." he trailed off, reaching for your hand as you hopelessly gave it to him.

He sat you down on his chair, him leaning against the table.

"I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa...I don't think there's anything you can do to help me in this situation."

Your wings felt heavy on your back, actually, your own bones felt heavy too.

He reached out to pet your head comfortingly, noticing the way your cheeks flushed and your feathers straightened.

"Can you look at me real quick, please" you raised your head a bit, looking at the man with scared eyes.

Your wings betraying you as they gave a small twitch.

"Y/N, please correct me if I'm wrong because I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way" you nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"Is it a crush problem?" you nodded again, eyes falling down to your lap.

"Is that person in our class?" he questioned, his shoulders stiff.

"Theoretically..." you mumble, your form shaking a bit as you took in a deep breath.

"And theoretically...I personally...am actually capable of helping you out?" you clutched at the chair for a second before trying to will your legs to move and get you out of here.

His fingers hooked your chin up gently, your teary eyes closing and squinting shut.

"So you literally gave yourself a heartache for nothing angel" he mumbled softly, pulling you up in front of his face.

"Can I kiss you sweetheart?" you stared at him in shock, brainstorming through what's about to happen, your heart skipping beats as his breath ghosted over your lips.

"Pleasee" your needy voice filled his ear before he smashed your lips together, his arms snaking around your back and under your wings, pulling your body flush against his, holding you tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Your wings fluffed back, full and strong, flexing as they tried to look pretty and inviting.

He chuckled into the kiss, dragging his dull nails across the junction of your wings, kneading at the soft feathers.

You hummed in his mouth, pressing harder against him as you tangled your hand through his hair.

Once the two of you stopped to breathe, you were pushed onto the desk, your legs spreading to let him come back closer.

"It's my turn to lock all of the doors on this floor, no one will come here" he mumbled, gently kissing at your neck.

"Please...don't make me wait...I'll beg if I have to" you whined, fisting the fabric of his thin shirt.

"No need sweetheart, we'll have time to take things slow some other occasion." his long fingers slipped beneath your skirt, rubbing over your panties as he felt the soaked patch of cotton.

"Dirty little feather...were you thinking about me during class today? Do you even know what the subject was?" he grinned, pushing the fabric aside as he slipped a finger into your heat.

"I...maybe?" you whispered tilting your head back as he pumped the digit carefully, working you open before slipping in another one.

His lips swallowed up your moans, his free hand creeping under your shirt and rubbing at your flush skin. His fingers curled up, pushing snuggly against your spots making you gasp into his mouth.

"I'm gonna make you feel so full angel, is that what you want? For me to take good care of you?"

Your hands reached for his pants, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper, slipping both his pants and boxers down.

Your wings shook a bit, your mouth watering at the sight of his cock. It looked painfully hard and heavy, twitching each time you clenched around his fingers, his tip oozing out pearly liquid.

You still couldn't fully believe everything, but the fact that he was willing to risk his job for you had to count for something.

"Hey princess, you think you could take it now?"

His forehead pressed against yours, breathing in deeply as he pushed another finger in.

"Fuck...Please, I'll go mad if you don't" you cried out, tugging at his cock as you slicked it up with his precum.

He groaned, his flush tip now rubbing over your clit and your puffy lips, hissing once he began to sink you down on his length.

You gasped at the feeling of being so stretched out, the countless times you had you pussy full with your toys couldn't compare to this.

Both of his hands found purchase on your hips, slowly guiding you against his cock, slipping out and sinking back in, his small groans coming out after each thrust.

You clung to his broad shoulders, keeping yourself steady as his pace picked up, the filthy sound of his dick plowing in and out of your soppy cunt filling the classroom.

"I'm gonna take you to my house after this princess, make you cum again and again, make you all nice and cozy and abuse your little hole...you kept me waiting for so long, kept this dirty little pussy all to yourself." His voice always sent shocks of pleasure through your cunt, the raspy hum his words held always making your thighs clench together.

"Oh baby you're just swallowing it all up, such a greedy little student I have...oh...look at you...you're gonna cum on my cock? I can see you shaking princess" your hand reached for your puffy clit, flicking it with the tips of your fingers in a hurry.

Your wings were violently flapping everywhere, sprawling around before wrapping around Aizawa as you came with a soft cry, clenching down on his length as he continues to push past your spasming walls, pounding you through your high as he struggled not to cum. You were gushing around his shaft, creaming over his cock and ruining his desk.

Once he couldn't hold out any longer, he pulled out, giving a few rough pumps with his fist, warm waves hitting your skin and coating your clit, dripping past your folds and sliding past your hole, your wings holding onto him tightly.

He rubbed his seed in possessively, gliding his cock along your sex before pulling your panties back in place, finally calming himself down.

He holds you by your hips for a while, kissing at your clothed shoulder and whispering praises into your ear, talking about wanting you for so long, dreaming about you, touching himself at the thought of you, praying to everything out there for a chance to hold you like this.

"Hey...didn't you say something about locking doors?" you mumbled tiredly, nuzzling your head against his cheek.

"Yeah maybe in a minute" he muttered out, kissing your forehead gently.

Thank your quirk for making you so obvious. Or maybe it was his devotion to you that made it easy for him to read you so well...

this lil commission was by @sinclairsamess, they r the sweetest little thing to exist 🥺. thank you for pointing out that I don't actual have a filthy chapter for my favourite teacher, shame on me! So as an apology I offer this soft little thingy🦋

Requests:closed

commission:open (1 slot)

Ko-fi link is in my bio💕

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa fluff #aizawa x reader lemon #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader

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0lympia · 3 years

Text

“why are you avoiding me?” izuku midoriya

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: izuku is a little out of character

summary: izuku midoriya carries the insecurity of his dad leaving around even still, and he’s terrified that you’ll leave too.

prompt: “why are you avoiding me?” “because i think i love you.”

When Izuku Midoriya was a little boy in preschool, and nobody had gotten their Quirks yet, he’d thought he was normal. He’d thought his whole life was normal. It was normal for dads to leave without saying goodbye, and it was normal for kids to only have one parent. Then, when Katsuki Bakugo was still been his friend, he’d been asked why he only had one parent, why didn't he have a dad?

He’d gone home that day with tears brimming in his big green eyes to ask his mom why he didn’t have a dad like everybody else at school. Inko told him that his dad was just away on a business trip, and he’d come home soon. But thirteen years had passed and his dad still hadn’t come home. Izuku had waited, for every birthday from the age of three to the age of fourteen for his dad to show even an inkling of interest in his son, and it never came.

Izuku met you when he was ten, and still hopeful that his dad would come home, and his emerald eyes would shine with adoration for a man he’d never met. Then, at some point, Izuku had convinced himself that his dad had left because he knew. He knew Izuku would be Quirkless, and that was why he wouldn’t come home.

So, in your first-year at UA together, when Izuku began to feel something that was different than being best friends, he was wholly and truly terrified. So much so, that he began to avoid you.

At first, you hadn’t thought much of your long-time friend and crush avoiding you. He’d begun worrying more about his schoolwork, and that was fine, finals were coming up, and his urgency to study spurred you on to study too.

Then, finals came and went, and Izuku found it harder to avoid you and you found it harder to be around him. Every time you’d ask to hangout, he’d find an excuse, and you began to wonder what you’d done wrong.

“Hey, Izuku,” You’d called to him after the final bell, moving swiftly around the desks to try and catch him before he could leave like he had the day before, the green-haired boy didn’t even turn to look at you, continuing on his way to the door. “Izuku!”

And today, just like the day before, he didn't even bother to spare you a second glance.

At this point, everybody knew. You and Izuku were almost always together, and when the two of you had first enrolled at UA, it wasn’t uncommon for people to ask if the two of you were dating.

“Hey, (L/N),” Kirishima called, jogging up from behind you when he’d seen Izuku ditch you for the nth time that week. “Wanna walk with me?”

You smiled up at him, grateful for the company, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The shark-toothed redhead offers to take your bag for you, and the two of you walk down the busy path back to the dorms. Kirishima keeps the conversation light, letting you guide the conversation until you begin to tell a story of a time when your best friend and crush didn’t ignore you.

“Hey, Kiri,” Your steps falter ten meters away from the front steps of the dorms and Kirishima stays at your side, and you can see Izuku chatting with Shoto on the concrete deck of the building, “Do you think I did something wrong? I-” You watch as Izuku and Shoto retreat into the dorms when the green-haired boy caught sight of you before you let your eyes turn down to the pavement beneath your sneakers. “I don’t want him to ignore me, y’know? He’s my best friend.”

Kirishima looked at you in shock, “So, you guys didn’t get into some big fight?”

You laughed, a dry chuckle escaping your throat as you gently shook your head, “No, he...” You begin to walk again, but Kirishima pulls you back, “He what?”

“He just started ignoring me.”

“Oh,” Kirishima manages through his surprise, “Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

You shake your head, another bitter chuckle escaping your lips as the two of you continue toward the dorms again, “I’ve been trying to talk to him, but well... you know.”

And that’s when genius hits Kirishima in the mental form of Katsuki Bakugo, “Why don’t you just corner him and make him talk?”

With no other options, you agree, which is how you end up sneaking into Izuku’s room through the balcony door you know he always leaves open after dinner.

Izuku says he’s not sure why it scares him so much, but the fluttering in his belly and his heart jumping into his throat when he sees you is terrifying. He tells himself that he’s not sure why he’s avoiding you, but he knows. He knows he’s scared that one day you’ll finally see him as he sees himself and leave and never come back. He’s scared of giving you everything and getting nothing in return.

He knows why he ignores you, but he pretends he doesn’t when his friends ask him if the two of you had a fight and he tells them that, yes, the two of you were in a fight.

He pretends that his heart doesn’t ache when you try and catch his eye with a pleading gaze and his name on the tip of your tongue. He pretends that you don’t exist, and it works until you call out to him again.

He knows exactly why you’re there, and he’s still surprised when he finds you in his dorm after he’d come back from his shower.

“Izuku,” You say, and your eyes gleam with unshed tears when he finally looks at you, when he has to look at you, “We need to talk.”

Izuku pretends to be angry, “Yeah, we do,” and his voice takes on a tone you’ve only ever heard when he was really mad, “Why the hell are you in my dorm?”

He pretends to be angry, because it’s easier that way.

“Because you were ignoring me, Izu,” You say, and you can't even try to hide the wobble in your voice, “You’re my best friend and you were completely ignoring me.”

Izuku can’t pretend to be mad. Not with you. Not as tears begin to fall from your eyes and roll over the apples of your cheeks.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You ask, and your voice trembles and cracks in a way that he’d only heard on the days after his birthday’s when his dad wouldn’t show up and you’d cry because he was crying.

But back then, you’d been crying for him, with him. Now, you’re crying because of him. He always hated to see you cry, somebody like you should always be happy, you looked better when you were smiling anyway.

He could pretend all he wanted, but you could read him like an open book, and he loved it. You knew him better than he knew himself, and he could read you just as well if not better. Which was what made him such a piss poor liar when it came to you.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Izuku grit out, even if he knew you’d see right through him, “But I’m about to start if you don’t leave my dorm in the next minute.”

“You’re a liar,” You spit, even as tears roll over the apples of your cheeks, your eyes blazing brighter than the sun as you take three steps across the room towards him. “You’re a fat fucking liar, Izuku. So why... Why are you ignoring me?!”

Somehow, he ends up cornering you, the backs of your knees hitting the top of his bed. His emerald green eyes are expressive, and they tell you everything, even now. Even when he’s towering over you and making you feel weak and small, his eyes are tender and warm and entirely the person you knew and loved.

“Izuku,” You whisper, and you cradle the side of his face in your palm, “Please don’t lie to me. If you didn’t want to be friends anymo-”

“-No!” Izuku yelled, then he was pulling you into a hug that landed the both of you on top of his bed. That was the last thing he wanted. Quieter, he uttered, “No, that’s... that’s not it.”

His large hands were keeping your face pressed tightly to the crook of his neck, and he could feel your tears beginning to soak through the thin fabric of his favorite All Might shirt.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You ask again, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, clutching at the back of his shirt as you press yourself closer to him as if that would make the whole thing okay again.

“Because,” Izuku sighs, rolling over onto his back so he can look at you, trying to gauge your reaction, “Because I think I love you.”

He’s ready now. Ready to stop pretending and ready to face the hurt. But he’s not at all ready for the quiet giggle that slips from between your lips as you hold yourself up by pressing your hands against his firm pecs. Even though your cheeks are flushed and your eyes red and puffy, Izuku thinks you look beautiful.

“Sorry, sorry,” You mutter, and you press yourself close again, “Why would that make you avoid me?”

Izuku’s begun to tear up now, “I was afraid you’d leave me. I know I’m not that great, and I don’t want you to see me the same way I do. I don’t want to love you and not be loved back.”

You smile into his shirt before you let your gaze drift up to his face again.

“I think I love you too,” You whisper to him, lips ghosting over the freckled skin of his collarbone, “I think I have since we were just kids.”

Izuku sits up so fast that you would have fallen onto the floor had he not grabbed your waist.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” Izuku asks, green eyes boring into your own.

“I could never.”

Izuku sighs then, and he laughs. He feels so stupid. You’d been with him for years, and not once had you failed to return to him. Tears have begun to fall from his own eyes, and you smile warmly at him as you wipe them away.

“You really love me?” Izuku asks, and you nod, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. “I really do.”

Izuku falls back into his bed, dragging you with him. “Will you lay with me for a while?”

You hum, burying yourself in his chest. “Just don't ever do that again, got me?”

Izuku laughs, “I could never.”

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meliorist-midoriya · 3 years

Text

to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse.

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case.

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need.

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared.

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won.

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.”

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah.

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again.

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep.

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?”

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.”

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?”

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.”

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought.

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!”

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you.

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves.

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah…

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

#pocuties collab #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #bnha x reader #pocuties

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eijispumpkin · 3 years

Note

omg i would die to hear your take on this starter from that prompt list: “You’re not breathing. Breathe.”

Eiji isn't supposed to get like this.

The visceral, gripping terror. The panic that rises up in his throat, the memories that refuse to stop playing across his mind's eye. The phantom feeling of blood on his skin, only some of it his own. The ghost of the way Shorter screamed--

He jerks and rakes his hands through his hair, so frustrated with himself he could scream. The hot water pounding against his back has barely done anything to quell the panic, and no matter what he does, he can't stop thinking.

How does he make it stop? He isn't supposed to get like this, he's supposed to be here to help Ash, what use is he to Ash if he starts falling apart?! He hasn't been through anything near as bad as what happened to Ash anyway! He doesn't even deserve to feel like this!

Steam rises. The water is hot. All the blood on his skin is dried and sticky, and it won't wash away no matter how hard he scrubs. He stares at the tub wall and shakes, and shakes, and--

His legs give out, and he collapses to the tub floor in a heap, one knee slamming painfully into the wall. Then he starts to cry.

Belatedly, as he hears the door open, he realizes the noise must have woken Ash--it's what, three in the morning? Guilt rips through him, but he can't stop crying. He just lies there helplessly as Ash calls his name, soft at first, then more urgent and worried.

"I'm pulling the curtain back," Ash warns, and then the curtain moves aside and Ash is standing there, looking completely incongruous with messy bedhead and just his briefs on and his face full of worry, and Eiji sobs harder.

Ash's gun is on the counter behind him. Eiji must have scared him badly.

And then Ash's face fills with understanding, and compassion, and he reaches into the shower to turn off the water, only to yank his hand back with a hiss. "Shit, that's scalding," he breathes, and then reaches in again and turns it off anyway. "Eiji. C'mere."

"I'm sorry!" Eiji wails, burying his face in his hands and hunching over. He can't even bring himself to care that Ash is seeing him naked in more ways than one; all he can feel now is the shame, great and overpowering. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry--"

"Hey," Ash murmurs, his voice softer than Eiji has ever heard it. "You're not breathing. Breathe. It's okay. I got you. C'mere, okay?"

For him, because he asked, because Eiji would do anything Ash asked of him ever, Eiji tries to breathe. It hurts, his lungs full of flame and blood and guilt, but because Ash asked him to, he tries.

Ash gently bundles him up in a warm, fluffy towel, his touch so careful and tender that Eiji starts to cry all over again. "Ash, Ash, I am so sorry!"

"Nah. It's okay." Ash hesitates for a second, sitting on the tub wall, and then opens his arms tentatively. "It's okay, Birdie. What can I... Hey, c'mere. D'you want a hug...?"

Eiji crawls into his chest, trembling. Feeling real, solid arms wrap around him helps wash the phantom blood away far better than the water ever could. "Sorry," he rasps out, again, because the shame is still gnawing at him, even more so now that he's clinging to Ash after waking him up and scaring him and making him come in here and see what a mess Eiji really is. He's nothing but a burden on Ash. "Sorry."

"S'okay," Ash murmurs, and rests his hand atop Eiji's head. "I never really got to use my hands for anything other than hurting people. So... I mean, I hate that you're upset, but I kinda like that I get to help for once instead."

Eiji's eyes go wide, for a moment, because he's never once thought of it that way before, and somehow that moment of clarity (weakness) is all it takes. He throws his arms around Ash's neck and chokes on a harsh sob, his hair sopping wet and dripping water down Ash's back, and just lets Ash hold him, and hold him, and hold him.

When they finally make it back to bed, the sun has just begun to peek over the edge of the horizon. Eiji looks down at his hands, and in the light of dawn, they look clean.

♥ soft sentence starters ♥

#this is not very good i think but i dont know how to write short hurt/comfort i really dont #catch my dumb ass making a whole 3k fic out of this later #asheiji #written

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the-slasher-files · 2 years

Text

THE INNOCENT - ANDREI

Hello friends, I am extremely nervous to post this but I have been putting this together for a while now and I just wanted to showcase Andrei's feelings about the war. I knew that when this began I had to put this character away for a while because it never seemed right at all. First of all, I 100% support Ukraine, I am Ukrainian myself and I have donation links at the end of this so if you can even spare a dollar the links are there. Andrei is fictional, obviously but this weighed heavy on me to think about what Andrei would do. This is open-ended and I want you to decide what happens at the end, I also want the conversation to be open if you're comfortable. People are in the middle of this war and it is not an easy topic so if you can read it, I am very glad but if not, I completely understand as well. Hopefully, this makes Andrei more of a character with more depth and hopefully you enjoy🔪💕 My asks are always open if you would like to chat about this fic or my others

The air was heavy and he saw it coming for months. Prideful leaders rule from iron thrones with fool's gold crowns, trying to play life as if it were an insignificant board game to conquer one's territories. He had seen this many times before and saw it firsthand how his motherland ruined so many, and all for what? Money? Pride? Loyalty? Honour?

Thousands of lives had been within the crossfire not knowing if the streets were safe or if a missile would be launched into their home or if a husband could flee the country with his 6-month-old child; Wrapped in blankets made from his grandmother's fabrics, rosy cheeks that became red from a cold breeze and crying, not sure when the next meal was coming. They were the innocent. Lost and scared, holding onto hope when the rest of the world turned its back, and that he could relate. A lone wolf outcast among frozen lands on which he fought for, protected and served.

The old farmhouse door creaked open - white paint cracked and chipped as the old screen mesh was torn from left down and flapped on the winter wind - slamming back to the frame as he didn't care, the sound seemed to be muted behind all the thoughts that circled his dangerous brain. A danger to itself, but also a danger to others and that was something he had proved time and time again, just ask the bodies that were left covered in muddied puddles of water, tread by the Russian tanks that invaded unfamiliar towns full of the unaware. This dangerous brain was only a threat to the host at the moment as the other side was turned off, a response to the memories that flooded back like tsunamis in this time of war yet again. This time, it was so different. The soldier was no longer within his squad, they were all gone now, and he had a family, a pack that accepted him and tried to help when he was at his worst. Something he still could never get used to.

Black combat boots stalked along the weathered wooden porch, his steps were not commanding as they usually were, they were softer and almost like he did not want to disturb the quiet that was his land; A baren abandoned town that was built to serve the war efforts, making ammunitions as the people tried to make it home even through tyrannical leaders and horrific conditions, but in the end, people left it. Leaving the ghosts of family members behind with the most gentle reminders of the humans that stayed there, like children's toys and family photos framed on cracked walls. This place had seemingly met its match when the wolf stumbled into town looking for refuge. Seeking a home. Ironic for what he did... back then. Everyone deserves a home, however, those were never thoughts that crossed his mind as he was the man behind the gun.

The wolf's body was slumped. Not standing to his full confident height that screamed of his dominance but he displayed a weak form, one wounded and struck. Andrei knew he couldn't do anything this time, he would be executed the moment he stepped foot on the battleground and his side was undetermined. Russian loyalty, honour, strength and courage ran through his veins where being a coward was worse than death, but what did he have to lose now? He fled from his own death, turned his back on his blood, was bisexual and killed his brothers in arms. Coward. It was practically branded into his porcelain skin as he lived each day hiding and protecting his family. And that was just it, to add to the turmoil in his head, he had a family now, they were his life and he was helpless.

Andrei pulled the carton of white Winston cigarettes from his beige military jacket, specks of rust-coloured stains could not be removed from the rough fabric as much as he tried. Learning to live with the bloodstains was just another daily occurrence as the soldier kept the screams of the dead down on most days but now it seemed deafening. Worn hards lit the cigarette once it was placed between Andrei's pale pink lips, inhaling the strong bittersweet taste of his favourite generational addiction.

Taking a few steps forward and down a stair of the porch, the wolf sat with a groan. His body felt heavy, muscles ached from pure tension he couldn't release as he used to. A raw desire laid quietly between his bones and seeped from old scars was somehow dulled when it should be at its peak. Only a numbness overcame him as Andrei's ice blue eyes watched the heavy snowflakes fall in a dull wind. He remembered the flakes of ash from the burning homes falling on the bodies as his country laughed, he laughed with them riding on the tanks.

Muted footsteps carefully came from behind and a warm body sat next to him as he smoked the toxic tobacco. A new sweet smell overcame him as he turned his head slowly to see the woman he was absolutely enamoured with. Xaviera Lah-Mo, now Xaviera Kulokova, or that's at least what he called her never being able to officially sign papers.

"The babies are down for a nap and I made you some tea, my wolf" She softly spoke, handing him the grey coffee mug into his large hand from her small one, knowing everything going on was affecting the love of her life more than words could ever say. Xavi felt it.

Andrei simply nodded, turning his head to the right, pulling the cigarette that hung loosely from his lips to exhale the thick white smoke away from her. Hot ash fell onto the snow, making it melt beside his boot and blue, tired eyes gazed out into the vastness of his land, he was so far from here within his head. Xaviera sighed seeing the great wolf torn open and nothing but a bleeding, exhausted shell of himself. Her dreamy soft blue eyes examined the tension in his body, taking the burning cigarette that was becoming all but just a stump and throwing it in the snow, not wanting Andrei to burn himself as he was lost.

"Andrei..." She tested, seeing a small flinch reaction in the muscle.

Drawing his attention towards her, the Russian only glanced in her all-knowing eyes before looking at how the wind tangled between her long white hair. This was submission, he couldn't face what was on his mind, for her to know. He could hear them crying out, all the souls wasted.

"Want to talk about it?" Xaviera's voice was peaceful and like whispers in the wind.

She never pressured him no matter what he did and Andrei couldn't say just how much he was grateful for her. This woman was his life, truly the only one that could tame him in rough times, but this was beyond the depths even she could reach. He never knew his life could change so much for a partner and for the better. Knowing that, Andrei tried desperately to hold her and give Xavi the life she needed and deserved every day, however, the thought always lingered of 'is this enough?'. Meeting on the frozen mountains and wanting to kill her to having twins and calling himself a husband wasn't his life plan, and no one would ever think it was, they even told him.

With a deep breath, his eyes finally met and held hers. Heavy bags lay beneath the red dull orbs. Andrei parted his lips as to speak, but no words would come except a cracked sigh. The beautiful woman before him almost seemed like a daydream between the nightmares because of everything she did for him. He couldn't leave... Yet, he needed to go.

Delicate fingers brushed the ashy brown hair away that rested on his brow bone, she could feel torture more than ever since this war started. He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat and he wasn't the same man but the little snow leopard never even thought about leaving his side for a second and that's what hurt the most. Giving Andrei a few moments to feel the skin on skin he reached up to hold her hand in his; Twice the size, broken and scarred compared to the soft, gentle beauty were worlds apart.

"Xav..." He took a sharp inhale as his rough thumb ran over her knuckles "I don't-- I don't know what to do"

Andrei admitted in a whisper, closing his eyes and turning his head not to break. The frustration and shame of all of his emotions and thoughts began to bubble up, making the solider rise from the porch and walk off the steps leaving the hot mug and her hand behind, now just standing in the snow and looking at the ground then to the grey sky in hope for an answer.

"There is noth-" She began to speak but he quickly snapped towards her.

"Don't say that!" Andrei tensed his jaw, he never meant to sound so rough and cold with her, it just made him more frustrated within the helplessness "...Fuck... sorry" he whispered and leaned on the front of his old black range rover slipping his destructive hands into the pockets for his black cargo pants.

"Just-"

"I know, I'm sorry too," She too placed her mug on the old floorboards and got up to stand in front of the towering wolf with broken eyes. "I shouldn't have said that. My wolf, I never meant that"

Xaviera lifted up her ever warm hands to cup Andrei's stubbled cheeks, fingers grazing over pink, shiny scars and their gaze met again. There was indecision, fear, helplessness and the sense of needed freedom etched into his features and she tensed. A wash of strength found him and she swallowed, knowing what was about to come. The wolf had the face of a warrior once more for something he was so uneasy about and was not sure he was with his country anymore but only time would tell. All he knew was to go fight, that was what the wolf of the north was built for, but Andrei remembered his father; He left the life of war for him, for love, to raise and protect a family despite what others had said.

Blue eyes became cold with drips of guilt, and when he speaks, it's quiet, so much unlike the usual dominating growl of the wolf:

"I... I gotta go"

-----------------------------------------------------

WAYS TO DONATE TO UKRAINE:

- The Red Cross

- International Medical corps

- 736 project

- Project Hope

- UNICEF

- World Central Kitchen

- International Humane Society

#might delete this #just very very unsure rn #my writing #andrei kulokova #oc

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

I’ve been listening to ‘tis the damn season far too many times to be healthy and idk about the end of the year, it’s always so depressive? So I’m thinking... how would Marcus Moreno comfort a girl in this situation? But they’re not officially together yet 😶💕

Perhaps some heartbreak? Perhaps some soft Marcus fluff? Both? Both!

Marcus Moreno x Fem!Reader ; warnings: slight language

Pedro Characters Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The rain was falling down in absolute buckets and it was nearing one in the morning, and it was dark and freezing and... you shouldn't have been there, you shouldn’t have come, you shouldn’t have done a lot of things, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d hastily thrown your things in the old, worn suitcase and gotten the soonest flight home. Home - your real home, the one you enjoyed being in, the one where you felt you alive and loved. Your parents’ home wasn’t home - not anymore anyway. It hadn’t been for a long time, and you should have realized that. Going back was a mistake; you should have stayed back and home and spent the holidays with Marcus and Missy, just how he had asked - insisted even. But no; you’d been stubborn and insisted that you hadn’t wanted to intrude on his celebration with his daughter, his family. You are family, Marcus promised sincerely, those chocolate brown eyes crinkling in the corners and that singular dimple proudly on display.

You panicked; your heart constricted and clenching as you listened to his words. And gods, you’d wanted to stay, wanted to say yes. But you couldn’t - couldn’t do it to your heart. You’d loved him so much it hurt, physically ached, sometimes, but you couldn’t tell him. What if he didn’t feel the same, what if he saw you as just a friend, a neighbor, something? You weren’t about to set yourself up for failure and a broken heart.

And yet...here you were, pounding on his door in the middle of the night, tears running down your cheeks as they mixed in with the fat, cold drops of rain. Heartbroken.

Joke was on you; you’d ended up in pain either way.

Tis the damn season, you’d scoff at yourself.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself as you lowered your hand from the door. You couldn’t be doing - showing up at his door in the middle of the night and waking him up. It wasn’t fair to him; he was such a good man, and he didn’t deserve to be forced to deal with you in this state and to pick up the pieces. It would be cruel; he was much more than just a shoulder to cry and he didn’t need to do this for you. No, you’d go home and cry it out and pick yourself up by the bootstraps just like you’d done before, “fuck.”

You wiped at your wet eyes with your even wetter sleeve, bitterly laughing at your idiotic move and turning to walk back home. Maybe the walk in the cold rain would work to bring some sort of clarity to your mind or...something. It was almost cathartic in a way; to be forced to come to terms with the choices of your actions, and inactions, as you walked home in the silence of the wee morning hours.

Just as you got to the end of the driveway, you heard the door open slowly, followed by the most reverent whisper of your name that you’d ever heard. You turned on your heel, trying to keep your lip from trembling as you looked up at Marcus. He pulled the door fully open before running over to you without a moment of hesitation, or a care in the world as he easily became soaked as well.

“I'm sorry!" you almost yelled over the rain as he reached for your hand in order to pull you into the sanctuary of the warm house, "I didn't mean to wake you up. I-I-I should go."

"You didn't," he insisted, gently pulling you along with him, "I was in my office - I almost didn't hear you over the rain."

"Missy-"

"She's at her friend's house for the weekend," he explained as you relaxed and acquiesced to his touch and let him lead you inside, "but you are going to come in and warm up and tell me what's going on."

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Better?” Marcus’ voice was soft as you padded back into the kitchen, now in a fresh new set of clothes - his clothes. He’d been insistent that you take a hot shower to warm up and gave you a clean set of pajamas. You hadn’t been expecting for them to be the softest things you’d ever worn, or for his smell to cling onto them as much. It was enough to make you weak in the knees as you had slipped them on, smelling of his soap, shampoo, and now sporting his clothes. His eyes flicked up when he saw you come in, his lips parting slightly as his tongue darted out to wet them; he hadn’t expected to quite feel that when he took in the sight of you in his clothes...but damn.

“Yes,” you nodded softly as you walked over to the him, pulling out one of the stools at the island and slipping onto it. Marcus had busied himself with making hot chocolate - complete with mini marshmallows, just like you loved, “thank you for everything, Marcus.”

“Don’t mention it,” he tried to play it off as cool, but relished in the small praise as he set the large mug in front of you, before grabbing his own and making his way around to you. You tried to suppress the wild beating of your heart as he took the spot next to you, his leg brushing against yours and causing a flurry of sparks to run down your spine.

The two of you sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, nothing but the sounds of your spoons in the mugs and the sipping of cocoa sounding in the quiet space. There was an ease, an instant sense of comfort and warmth that inhibited everything when Marcus was around. It was easy to know that this was home; nothing else mattered.

Before you could get too deeply lost in thought, Marcus gently nudged his leg against yours, capturing your attention. You turned to face, watching as he pulled off his glasses and tossed them onto the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He looked tired, and a sense of annoyance at yourself settled into your bones. You shouldn’t have disturbed what was likely the only bit of peace he had experienced in a while. Marcus must have been a mind reader or something because he slowly shook his head and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not you, hon-” he stopped himself but his would be pet name was not lost on either of you. It wasn’t usual for him to call you something sweet; honey, sweetheart, love. You just never thought much about it, chalking it up to him being a nice man who liked to give his people pet names. But this was different - there was something much more left to be said, “will you tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s silly,” you said softly, not sure if you wanted to humiliate yourself in front of him right now. Not sure if you wanted to delve into what both of you could feel bubbling up to the surface. But you couldn’t deny it any longer, both of you had been dancing around the issue, skirting it at best, for so long. Maybe this was the push in the right direction that you both needed, maybe it was time to stop running just because you were scared, “I...ugh, I shouldn’t have gone home to my parents.”

Marcus paused for a moment, nodding slowly in a knowing manner. The two of you had been friends - foolish oblivious friends - for years, and there were no secrets at this point, he knew you inside out and you knew him just as intimately, “you saw him.”

“Yeah,” you blew a long exhale before laughing at yourself, “I should have listened to you - it was stupid to go. It’s not home, it hasn’t been for a long time. This is home - you’re home.”

“What did he say?” Marcus’ hand closed tightly into a fist as he tried not to make his fuming too obvious, “did he-”

“No,” before you could stop yourself, you’d put your hand on his, slowly unclenching it from its closed position, inviting him to relax, “he just...nothing happened. He...he said I’d changed. That it was stupid for me to show up.”

“Why?” his breath hitched in throat as the word caught and he tried not to panic too much. Internally it was like the Kill Bill sirens were going off and his whole body was beating like his wild heart.

“He said even though it was just a mindless fuck, he couldn’t do it,” you admitted with a shaky breath, “that I didn’t belong there - back at my parents, back in that stupid town - anymore. That I should go back to my real home with the man I loved.”

“And what did you tell him?” Marcus was positive there were only a few times in his life when he’d been this nervous before - the day he’d gotten married, the day he found out he was going to be a father, the first time he’d held Missy in arms and now...this.

“I...I told him that it wasn’t possible,” you admitted softly, as Marcus’ eyes were glued onto yours, “because there was no way that the man I love would love me back. Because he is everything, and I am a mere...I’m just me. But I left and packed and got on the first flight back here - home.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Think what?”

“That the man that you love doesn’t love you?” your throat felt tight as you allowed yourself to look up and met his eyes. His expression was soft - gentle - and the ghost of a smile was tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Because you could never love me, Marcus,” you finally said it out loud, answering the silent question that had been lingering between the two of you for so long.

“And why is that?”

“Look at you,” you blinked back a few tears, “you’re amazing and wonderful and you’re perfect and I am such a mess. I couldn’t even...I show up on your doorstep, a crying pathetic mess, and here you are, amazing as always and picking up all the pieces. I - fuck - I would never flatter myself into thinking you loved me.”

“I do,” he said softly, turning to face you properly and reaching for your face to gently cradle it in his large hands. His gaze was intense as he studied you, and your stomach dropped. Did he...was he… he loved you? Marcus wiped away the single tear that had rolled down your cheek, “yeah, I do love you, honey. I have for a long time now - we both know it. I think we just got so scared, so caught up in ourselves that we never said it.”

“Oh,” you looked at him with the sweetest expression as he just beamed at you, “I...I love you, Marcus. I have wanted to say that to you forever, but I was so nervous...I just never…”

Before you could continue to ramble, Marcus leaned over and kissed you; it was soft, and gentle, sweet - but with a hint of longing as you practically melted into his touch. Kissing him was, to put it simply, utterly perfect. There was no fumbling awkwardness and no learning curve, it just was.

When you pulled back for a breath of air, he held you close, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours, his nose nuzzled against yours.

“I…” you sighed softly, contentedly, as you chased his lips with your own for a few more kisses, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he promised firmly, “you are home - you are family. Please don’t ever doubt that again.”

“How could I?” you whispered, “when you make me feel like this? I am never happier than when I’m with you, with Missy - never.”

“Neither are we,” he promised, “you are everything, just like you think I am. I will never let you forget that.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #wcbh #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #sighhhh #i love him

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southslates · 3 years

Text

you are lost without the waiting

for the @grishaversebigbang mini bang 2021!

lovely art was done for this piece by amethyst @amethystmoonart [here!] and door @doorhandle16 [here] ! these two were absolutely amazing to work with <3

Summary:

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

In which Inej is Persephone, Kaz is Hades, and she chooses to stay.

ao3 link!

“Tell me you loved to destroy.

Tell me you need me. Please. You are the bones

of my spine. You are the ground beneath my feet.

You are made of deeper stuff than the earth

can give. Admit it: you are lost without the waiting.

― clementine von radics, letter from hades to persephone

Can you even imagine yourself in paradise?

Even the daughter of gods must know loneliness,

must sometimes want nothing more than to be

trapped in a hell of forevers. Thank me, you queen.

I’ve given you forever.”

Inej had been a wind spirit.

Technically, she still was. She didn’t feel like one anymore. She used to dance across rooftops and skies—her parents said she was a gravity-defier. That there was no place in the world—no land, nor ocean—that could bind her feet—or her—to anything.

They were wrong. She had been taken when flying through the skies, swept away into a deep sleep until she woke up in a bed at the Menagerie. There she met Tante Heleen, purveyor of lost spirits. Heleen had told Inej that she saved the girl from a fiery fate, and that now she owed her an indenture. An indenture Inej paid by tending the lands the goddess reigned over and touching the men who let Heleen carry out her whims.

Inej had been a wind spirit, but she did not think she was one anymore. She could not break free. If she left the grassy fields of Heleen’s island world she would be caught and subjugated to an even darker fate.

She stayed. She tended to the fields. She danced in front of gods with long teeth. She belonged to the Menagerie, the girls with lost spirits. She distanced the innocent who breezed through the flower fields from the one who balanced on rope. She felt like two people. She wanted to leave but had nowhere to go.

One day, airing out a field of daisies, she stopped. She could see a flash of color between the deathly white blooms, and held her breath as she reached out to thumb bright orange petals. It was a geranium. It had been her mother’s favorite flower.

In a moment of weakness and pain and longing, she reached for the stem and tugged it out of the earth. And then the ground opened, and Inej fell.

Inej felt as though she fell for days. She thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces when she finally hit the bottom of this well. She thought she would fall forever.

When she reached the bottom of the hole, it was an ocean. She found herself submerged in water and darkness, and pulled herself up until she felt dry air. The darkness stayed omnipresent. She couldn’t see anything. “Hello?” she called into a void.

For a minute, nothing happened. She could almost believe that she was nonexistent. And then something, a bullet, whizzed past her. She barely dodged it.

A light flicked on, and she saw a man in a bright orange waistcoat holding a . . . small cannon in her direction. She assumed it had dislodged the bullet that had almost torn her immortal life. The light disturbed Inej for a moment, but she found her balance quickly. She anticipated another attack, but the man just frowned in her direction. “Who are you?”

“Where am I?” Inej countered.

The man took in her silk dress and the painted spots on her face, and he seemed to come to his own conclusion. “Not anywhere you should be, goddess. Your kind are not welcome here.”

“Where is here?”

The man sighed. “My name is Jesper,” he said, then gestured to his side. “Welcome to the land of greed. I suppose I’ll have to take you to the boss.”

Jesper took Inej to a large black palace in the middle of . . . absolutely nothing. It wasn’t particularly enchanting, unlike the gilded arches of the Menagerie. The building seemed to speak to her, to warn her away from its obsidian glare. She wanted to turn back when Jesper gestured for her to enter, but she had nowhere else to go. Even if she could find her way to the surface, she would land in Hell that was simply more discreet.

And she was certain that she was in Hell. The land of greed, Jesper had said. The land of greed, of rocks and riches and death. What lay under the fanciful pretenses of the land Tante Heleen and men such as Pekka Rollins claimed to rule.

Inej didn’t know who ruled this land, but she was certain she was about to find out. She took one last look around the landscape, blank and dead and black, before stepping into the palace. The stone of the entrance cracked under her feet.

Jesper led her around dilapidated columns and stairs and walls, human architecture, until they reached a large room at the top of the palace. Even up here, Inej was distinctly aware of the stillness of the air. She felt as though a part of her was missing. She felt like a wind spirit again. When she looked down, she could almost see through herself. She required air to stay formed. This place was sucking out her lifeblood, and she could not find it in herself to care.

“Kaz!” he yelled. Inej startled at the sudden noise, but stayed deft on her feet as they approached a tall, lank, pale figure, sitting at a throne that almost seemed like a desk. There was a hat on the man’s head and a cane next to him. Inej frowned at it. She had met many gods and spirits, and none needed aids such as that. “We’ve got a four-hundred-sixty-three.”

The man looked up, and his searing brown eyes met hers. He didn’t break that contact as he stood up from his seat and gripped his cane. “I don’t know what your asinine numbers mean, Jesper. Speak proper. We have a guest.”

Jesper almost blushed at Inej’s side. She found herself entranced by this man she knew nothing about. “She fell from above.”

“Indeed,” Kaz said. He was unnaturally still. “So? Take her back up.”

“No!” Inej shouted. Jesper’s gaze fixed on her too, and he seemed a bit scared.

“No?” Kaz questioned. “Why would a wind spirit not want to go back to the lands above?”

“I’m indentured to Tante Heleen,” she murmured. “Please, I can help you.”

“Can you?” Kaz asked. She couldn’t let her eyes off him, either. His voice was a salty rasp, dead but safe. They stood in that silence for a moment, looking at each other, until Jesper cleared his throat.

“Kaz?”

“Put her in a guest bedroom,” he said easily. “Always fine to piss on darling Heleen.”

His name was Kaz Brekker, and he was greed’s guardian. Truly, he was the guardian of Hell, but few called him that. “Death does not bow to me,” he told her at breakfast the next day, a table length apart. He wore leather gloves and kept his cane close to him. It was topped by a crow’s head. Late at night, Inej had heard them flying around the palace. They were the only form of life she’d seen so far, though no wind followed. She was the faintest bit translucent. “Death bows to no man. But greed? It is my servant and my lever.”

Inej was a bit overwhelmed by it all. She was frightened of this new world, one of death and decay. She knew she did not belong. But she knew it was better than what awaited her above.

“How do you intend to help me, Inej Ghafa?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know all things,” Kaz said. “There is unrest in my fields, those of the deceased. You will learn why.”

“Why—”

“Yesterday,” he said, “you came with Jesper, bells on your ankles, bracelets on your wrists. I could hear my enforcer from a mile away, but not you.” He leaned close to her, several bodies apart. “Spy for me, won’t you?”

Inej made a deal with the devil. She had faith in him, for whatever reason. His eyes were black as dirt. They were cold. They were home.

Inej saw Jesper occasionally. He ensured that she had basic necessities, and he toured her around the land of greed. She saw rubies growing on trees, diamonds blooming from the ground. She met shades, those who had died centuries ago and entered the land crying for the saints she knew were above. The more days and weeks she spent here, the more see-through she became. She was almost afraid she would become one of them.

She made herself silent and danced through them. And when she knew what they spoke, she went back to the palace. She went to the river. She went to valleys and canyons, and she learned of the guardian of this Hell. She found peace in the darkness, in the stillness.

Kaz Brekker was a true demjin, she was told. She was told he started wars himself, when he grew tired. She heard he controlled all the riches and corruptness above her.

She believed it, too. She ate twice a day with him, and then he did whatever demons did as she wandered the terrain of his domain. They spoke only occasionally. He tended to stare into her soul, and those looks always said more than words. Inej was a wraith, a ghost, but Kaz made her feel solid and seen.

One day Kaz Brekker asked her if she would like him to take her to the shadow fold. “You’re curious,” he told her, as though he could see inside her and also right through her. She wondered if he could. “It’s intriguing.”

So they’d gone on a walk through something dark and damp, sapphire-studded weeds carpeting the ground under their feet. The air was moist and still. The fold was somehow darker than the rest of this world, and it frightened Inej. As they stood at its precipice, she grabbed Kaz Brekker’s gloved hand.

She had seen him shy away from Jesper’s touch, seen him stay feet away from her. But when she held his hand that day, he didn’t let go. The next day he was not at breakfast, but there was a bouquet of flowers in front of her, studded with orange opal. Inej had never mentioned to Kaz her favorite flower.

The walks became a daily occurrence, and she slowly started to wring fragments of humanity from this immortal. Kaz Brekker enjoyed drinking wine and his work, the guardian of the souls of the worst kind of men. He was sure of himself as a monster. He asked her twice as many questions as she asked him.

If she wrung humanity from a demon, he wrung personality from a shadow. He brought her up into what she once was—until she remembered the wind spirit again. Inej talked of flowers and her friend Nina and how she loved dancing across rooftops. She talked of her parents and her siblings and the freedom of the air. Kaz seemed to drink her in, with his menacing, freeing gaze. He knew her. He saw her.

Once, she asked him why he wore gloves, why he avoided the river at the entrance of his realm, and why he used a cane. He only explained the latter, only said there was strength in being broken.

They didn’t touch. Inej grew used to the feeling of leather around her palm. Kaz seemed aloof, but he grasped her translucent hand through his clothing as though he never wanted to let her go. And yet she never felt stuck, or alone, until—

Until one day she woke up to Jesper forcing her back into her rooms. He seemed frenzied, and Inej went back to bed only to crawl out through her window when she heard loud sounds in Kaz’s throne room. She sat at his window and heard a voice which seared her invisible soul. Pekka Rollins, indeed.

“You must return her. She is indentured—”

“And you would think that something I would consider? I am your safes and vaults personified. It’s meaningless.”

“The girl belongs to—”

“The girl belongs to no one,” Inej heard Kaz hiss. “Go tell your Tante Heleen that Inej Ghafa belongs to nobody.”

Inej slipped a little at that admission, right into Rollins’ eyesight. He looked at her slight, ghost-like body with his eyebrows afloat—as though he’d won something. “Come, little lynx,” he cooed at her. “You don’t have to stay in this land anymore, with this demon.”

“She doesn’t want to come with you,” said Kaz. Rollins laughed.

“Found a new master already, have you?”

“I belong to no one,” Inej repeated what Kaz had said.

“Little girl,” Rollins said. “You would stay here? In a land of no sky, of death and decay and greed? You are a free spirit. Come to the world above.” His eyes traced her figure. “You are nothing here.”

She knew he was referring to her barely corporeal form. His words still stung deeply.

“I am freer here than I could ever be,” Inej said. And yet she knew the hard skies of Kaz’s world were dulling her sensibilities. She didn’t want to leave; but she would have to soon, if she didn’t want to fade into the fold itself.

Pekka appeared as though he had more to say, but Kaz stood up in protest to his unsaid words, ghosts in the air, leaning on his cane, something truly—truly demonic in his eyes. “If you do not leave now, Pekka Rollins,” he said, “it is your mortal son who will suffer. Kaelish, isn’t he?”

The man left. His words stayed in the air. Inej was in a nightgown and Kaz was dressed like a monster, but she felt as though she had the power in the room. His gaze did not fall away from her. “He was right,” she said. She was fading.

“I know,” he said. He stared at her enough to know that she did not have much time left before she became invisible. “You would never be able to pay off your indenture.”

Inej knew this. She knew that he could give her all the riches of his realm, and she would never pay off her indenture. “I have no choice.”

He walked across the room and pressed a gloved hand to her cheek. “Greed is my servant,” he said. “And my lever.”

The walls started shaking, and Inej fell away from Kaz. She could feel leather on her face.

Then she saw darkness, and nothing more.

Inej woke up in a field of flowers. They were jeweled, and they were orange. They smelled like dirt and decay. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in that field. She lifted her hand and saw herself, all of herself.

When she stepped forward, she was back home. She heard the news soon afterward, that the entire Menagerie had fallen into Hell. That the guardian of greed had taken the woman who loved it above. That the girls forced to be animals were free.

Inej was home, and yet she was not home; how did she explain to her people of the air that she yearned for a place with croaking birds, cloaked in darkness? She did not—Kaz Brekker made it his business to know all things. It was six months later that she found a fresh geranium in a field of flowers outside of her cottage.

She fell again. This time she didn’t fall into water, but the open embrace of a demon without armor. She thought she would fall forever. She thought she could find peace.

#dee writes #gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #gang 2 #kanej #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #shadow and bone #six of crows #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kanej fic #amethystmoonart #doorhandle16

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