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wintersoldiersoul · 11 months

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Bucky x reader- super angsty but fluff ending

In a relationship, bucky doesn't want reader going on mission because it's a hydra Misson, they argue and don't talk to each other, bucky hears reader get hurt and he hears her say "im sorry buck, i love you" and then her comms go out and he can't do anything to help because he's pinned down and by the time he gets to her she's bleeding out and passed out and bucky is breaking down apologising and saying he didn't mean anything of what he said etc and I dunno how you would wanna end it

A/N: So sorry it took me so long to get to this request!! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, throwing up, lots of angst and fluff

“Bucky, stop it!” You shouted. “I’m going on this mission, okay? I can handle myself.” You had been having this fight all morning. The mission you were going on was extremely dangerous. You were basically marching right into the center of Hydra.

“I am begging you,” Bucky pleaded. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

“You do realize I’m a superhero in my own right? I don’t need you to protect me!” You snapped back. You knew he just wanted to protect you, but the fact that he acted like you weren’t capable of this made you angry. You had spent years fighting with the Avengers back when he was still the Winter Soldier. You had fought aliens and bionic humans and monsters. You didn’t need him to help you.

“I know but you don’t understand. They know we’re together. That means you have a target on your back. They’d do anything to hurt you because it would hurt me!” You almost felt bad but you had to stand up for yourself. You weren’t some helpless little girl.

“You’re being stupid! I thought you were smarter than this, Y/N. You’re acting like a child!” Bucky said, matching the stern tone of your voice.

“I don’t care! Let me be stupid then!” You left your room, slamming the door on your way out to go meet everyone at the jet. Bucky followed shortly after and the team got ready to leave.

The two of you didn’t say a word to each other on the flight across the world to Europe. The tension between the two of you hung heavy in the air, casting a fog over the entire jet. Everyone could tell something was going on, but no one dared to ask. Your relationship was incredibly passionate - full of love that could burn the world down. But the same principle applied when you fought.

You were paired up with Natasha, splitting off from Bucky, Steve, and Tony when you arrived. You subtly snuck around the Hydra base, using your spy skills to remain hidden. You had been trained by the Red Room like Natasha, turning you into a silent killer full of stealth and surprises.

“Status?” Bucky spoke through the com device in your ear.

When you didn’t immediately make a move to respond, Natasha filled him in. “There’s agents everywhere. We’re hidden right now but we gotta make a move soon.”

“Same here,” Bucky answered.

An agent passed by but didn’t spot the two of you. All at once, you and Natasha passed, jumping onto the man's shoulders from behind and snapping his neck. “One down, a hundred to go,” you smirked at Nat. You could do this. You could prove to Bucky that you didn’t need his help.

Steve updated everyone, panting through the coms that they were deep into battle now. You and Natasha took a more subtle approach, trying to remain as hidden as possible before sneaking up and stealthily taking out agents as you could. Everything was going well. It was all under control.

Until you felt the gun against your head.

“Don’t move a damn muscle,” a low russian accent purred in your ear. “I’ve got you right where I want you,” he said, dragging the gun from your temple around to the base of your neck. Your arms were pinned behind you. You couldn’t move.

Natasha was too far away, locked into her own battle with an agent. A battle that she was winning but one that could easily go wrong if she turned her focus. You wanted to scream out but you were terrified that if you did, the man would shoot.

In the blink of an eye, the man who was holding you pulled out a knife and sliced your thigh deeply. You couldn’t help the cry that escaped your mouth as he did it, grabbing Natasha’s attention just as she finished off her victim.

“Y/N!” She ran over to you but was sidetracked by another agent stepping in her path.

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice rang out in your ears. “Y/N? Natasha?” Panic was evident in his voice. “Someone talk to me!”

“Bucky!” You cried out, hoping he would show up any second to save you. “Help me!”

The Hydra agent laughed, hearing your calls for the man. “You’re Barnes’ girl, aren’t you?” He laughed, coldly. “Oh, we’re gonna have fun.” His voice sent chills down your spine.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Where are you?” His voice came through your ear.

“I-I don’t know!” You answered. “He-has me!”

“I’m coming, baby, I’m coming. Are you hurt?”

You were still terrified each time you answered, expecting that the man would pull the trigger every time you opened your mouth. But if these were your last moments, you wanted to spend them talking to the love of your life.

“Y-yes,” you choked out.

“Alright, I think I’ve been nice enough to let this go on for so long,” the russian accent spoke before ripping the comms out of your ear and smashing it on the ground.

“No!” You cried out. The blood you were losing from your leg was already making you feel dizzy. A puddle of crimson from your body began to pool on the ground.

“I was gonna shoot you in the head,” the man behind you whispered in your ear, making you feel sick. “But it would be such a shame to mess up this pretty face.”

Before you could even register what was going on, the gun was pressed to your back and a bullet was fired into your body. He shot you two more times. The man laughed as he walked away, leaving you to bleed out alone on the floor. Natasha had left, you had no idea where she had gone. She didn’t mean to abandon you, she really thought you’d be able to get out of your situation on your own while she completed the mission.

Across the building, Bucky was frantic. “Y/N? Talk to me! Where are you, baby?” He was panicking. One minute you were talking to him and then you were just…gone. His worst fear was coming true.

He sprinted as far as he could, dodging Hydra agents left and right, taking them out with the metal arm that they had put on his body. He swore he had never run faster in his entire life. He knew back at their post, Steve and Tony were still fighting, yelling at him as he sprinted away. He knew he’d be in trouble later. But he didn’t care. He only cared about you.

But he was intercepted by more agents. Suddenly, he was pinned down, completely unable to move. “Y/N!” He yelled out again while he thrashed. He didn’t even care that these men would probably kidnap him again. Turn him back into the Winter Soldier. All he cared about was reaching you.

He tried as hard as he could, thrashing and squirming. Time was running out. He didn't know exactly what had happened to you, but he knew you didn't have long. Especially with the nature of the enemy you were dealing with.

After minutes of trying to escape the agent's grasp, he was able to free his metal arm, punching hard and knocking down the agent who had his legs. He was then able to use more strength to fight, taking down each person who had tried to separate him from the love of his life.

He was sick when he saw you, bending over to throw up at the sight in front of him. You were laying on the ground, still as a rock. Blood stained the concrete below you. He swore he had never seen so much blood come from one person at once.

“Y/N!” He screamed out, running over to you. Your eyes were closed. “Y/N, wake up! Wake up, please!” He cried. “Oh my god, please!” He chanted over and over, trying to get you to open your eyes while putting pressure on you to stop the bleeding as much as possible.

Suddenly there was a gasp from your frame. “B-bucky!” You called out weakly using every ounce of strength you could. “I love you.”

“I love you, angel. So much. I didn’t mean a word I said! Please just hang on! Please! I can’t watch you die right now.” Tears streamed down his face as he spoke.

"So...tired," you said weakly, your eyes fluttering between opened and closed.

"I know, baby, I know," he stroked your hair. "But you gotta stay awake, okay? You gotta fight."

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve spoke in his ear.

"It's bad, Steve. I gotta get her to a hospital. Now," he said, through tears.

"Alright. It's clear now. You can take her."

Bucky swore time moved in slow motion as you waited for an ambulance. He held your hand the entire time, terrified every time your eyes closed for more than a second. You kept drifting in and out of consciousness even as the paramedics began to work on you in the vehicle. He couldn't believe this was really happening. If he lost you, his entire world would stop.

9 hours and an emergency surgery later, you were still unconscious but stable. He sat by your hospital bed, eyes red from crying, still holding your hand.

"Baby, I don't know if you can hear me right now," he said to your unconscious body. "But I need you to wake up. I need you to come back to me. I can't do this without you, I-" he paused as his voice broke. "I never thought I'd have any good in my life again. And then I found you. And I can't lose you. I don't know what I'll do. I don't know who I am without you." Tears wet his face as he spoke. "Please, baby. My darling. Please, come back to me."

He didn't leave your side all night. He waited and waited for hours, not sleeping or eating. He was terrified to not be watching you even for a second.

The sun was rising the next morning and he was exhausted and scared and he just wanted you. His head was in his metal hand as he cried, still holding yours with his flesh one, when he felt it. It was small, but he felt it. The subtle squeeze from your hand. "Y/N?" he said, immediately lifting his head.

You groaned softly, eyes still closed. "Am I dead?" You asked as you very slowly opened your eyes, trying to adjust to the light.

"No, baby," he sniffed, getting up and kissing your forehead. "You're not dead. You're alive. Oh my god, you're alive."

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donat-senpai · 4 months

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Can you please write a platonic Yandere Adrien with (best) friend reader. Reader also has a miraculous, Adrien finds out. Kinda like a scenario

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere!

Pairing: Yandere! Adrien x Reader

tw: platonic obsession, stealing other people's things

Adrian sighs heavily. Lately, too many problems have been piling up on him. He didn't get a moment's peace at school. His father was constantly demanding something. And Hawk Moth seemed to never sleep. He added work for the heroes at the most inconvenient times. During a recent attack on the city, another person joined the famous hero duo. A little later, Adrian (or Chat Noir, to be precise) learned that Ladybug had nothing to do with it. This made him worry. Who is this person? Can they be trusted? And where did another Miraculous come from that doesn't belong to the guardian of the box? Too many questions filled the blond's head.

———

You greet Adrien with a joyful hug. The boy finally relaxes and forgets all his worries. In your presence, he feels calm. You excitedly start telling him about a new game and make him promise to play it with you this weekend. Adrien looks around the classroom. Every classmate is busy with their own thing. Once (when he had just started going to school) they used to tease you with jokes about being long-lost sibling. You two had just become friends too quickly and easily. Adrien sometimes joked himself that you were actually an Agreste. A bright glint distracts Adrien from his memories, and he notices a new pendant on your chest.

"What’s that?" Adrien asks.

You don't immediately understand what he's talking about. But when you catch his gaze, you start to stammer.

"Oh… Umm… just a piece of jewelry," you answer awkwardly.

"I’ve never seen you wear it before."

"I found it recently in a shop. Just some junk. Doesn't matter," you laugh nervously and change the subject.

Adrien raises an eyebrow in surprise. You've never behaved like this before. So… strange. It's like you're hiding something.

———

The villain throws Chat Noir into some trash cans and moves further into the city center, leading Ladybug away. Cat Noir groans in pain and tries to stand up, not very gracefully. A new hero lands softly next to him and extends a hand.

"I thought cats always land on their feet."

"Ha. Very funny," Chat Noir grumbles, but accepts the help. Chat Noir's gaze stops at the new hero's Miraculous. It's a pendant. The jewelry reminds him of something, but he can't remember what exactly.

"Let's deal with this quickly. I still need to make it to the book fair," the hero heads towards the noise, not waiting for his partner.

Chat Noir freezes. There’s only one fair in the city today. And Adrien was already planning to go there with you. A strange feeling washes over him. Now that he knows the new hero will be there too, he’s not so sure if he should go. Although there will be hundreds of people. The chance of revealing someone's identity is practically zero. Even if he accidentally starts scanning the crowd.

———

Ladybug was delayed. The heroes found themselves in a disadvantageous position. They barely escaped. Chat Noir was in a panic. He admitted that he hadn’t come up with the best plan. But the idea was reliable if they wanted to throw the villain’s minions off their trail. The minions ability will not allow them to find specific heroes if the heroes exchange Miraculouses and become new heroes. They needed to buy time until Ladybug showed up. That was what Adrien thought as he handed his ring to his partner behind the door.

He shuddered at the thought that if they wanted to betray him and reveal their connection to Hawk Moth, now would be the perfect moment. But they obediently handed him their pendant. Adrien almost thanked them but restrained himself. It was best not to talk too much without the magic of the Miraculouses. After all, Adrien was a famous model and it wasn’t hard to recognize his voice.

He finally looked at the other’s Miraculous and felt a shock. In his fingers lay a very familiar object. He couldn’t help but recognize your pendant. He had looked at it too often since he first noticed it. You were the new hero. Adrien panicked, wondering if you would recognize his ring. You rarely paid close attention to his hands. The hero (it can’t be… it’s you!) knocked on the door and asked him to hurry. Adrien decided to put his inner turmoil aside. The city needed saving right now.

———

The next day, Adrien watches you more closely than ever. You act as usual, which leads him to think that you haven't figured out Chat Noir's identity. A whirlwind of emotions overwhelms him. He's angry that you haven't told him anything. He understands you because he kept his secret the same way. And he's scared. What if one day you can't handle a villain? What if Hawk Moth finds out too? What if all of Paris learns your identity? Adrien starts to have a small panic attack. Nino jumps up and tries to help. Adrien is gasping for breath and can't explain anything.

-------

Adrien sneaks into the empty locker room while you and the class are swimming in the pool. It's one of the rare moments when you take off your pendant. It turns out that not all Miraculouses are as convenient as his ring or Ladybug's earrings. He never thought about how lucky he was before. He quickly finds your locker and breaks into it. The lock is so flimsy that Adrien feels a bit ashamed of how easily he was able to open it. He grabs the pendant and goes to hide it in his bag.

Adrien mentally prepares himself to comfort you. If he lost his Miraculous, he would be horrified. He thinks about what words he could say to console you. Adrien wonders if you would tell him your secret if you had nothing left to lose. He wants this. This will prove your trust in him.

Adrien thinks about what to do with your Miraculous now. He would like to use it sometimes along with his ring. But that would completely ruin your opinion of Chat Noir. Maybe he should bury the Miraculous in the forest or throw it into the sea so that no one could find it.

Now, you don't have to worry about the villains. And Adrien doesn't have to worry about your safety. Protecting Paris is no longer your job. Ladybug and Chat Noir will handle it together.

#yandere miraculous ladybug x reader #yandere miraculous ladybug #yandere x reader #adrien agreste x reader #yandere adrien agreste x reader #yandere chat noir #chat noir x reader #miraculous ladybug x reader

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infamous-if · 1 year

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As won by the poll, the MC x Seven first kiss drabble is first! A few things: 1) this drabble is fucking long sorry and 2) though this is what I imagine their first kiss to be like, I don't want to go as far as saying it's completely canon, mostly because I'm sure it can go many different ways with different types of MC's. And 3rd) I tried really hard to make this fluffy and not so serious and I'm sure you can see the shift where I thought 'oh crap' but...I am not a fluff writer and I will be working on that lmao 4th) as always, I do not edit my drabbles and I really only do one draft of them so excuse the wordy/awkward sentences or typos or any of that sort and finally, sorry about that last line lmfao

“Have any of you seen Seven?”

That’s the question you’ve been asking all night since your band left The Golden Spoon, a bar in the crux of the city. It had one of your best audiences in recent memory; there were no lulls in engagement, no dull moments that made you question yourself. People loved the songs and danced their hearts out, some even asked for pictures once the set was over. Fame, however small, feels pretty fucking good.

That holds the most truth in Seven. After the set was over, they were on a high, laughing and talking to anyone who offered them even a sliver of their time. That’s usually how it goes with a successful set--Seven becomes a magnet for all sorts of attention. Unreachable, untouchable. No wonder you barely had a chance to talk to them after leaving.

It didn’t bother you, considering you were all heading to the bar owner’s apartment for a small after-party. You just assumed you’d talk to Seven there, considering it’s an apartment. Eight-hundred square feet at most. Small enough that you could spot Seven’s familiar red bandana in any crowd.

Or not.

The group you just asked share equally confused looks and answer with varying shrugs.

You huff, pushing through the slightly sparse but growing crowd. You maneuver through the kitchen and ask a haggle of women who claim they didn’t even see Seven arrive. The man standing alone in the hall? Saw Seven once and never again.

You’re growing frustrated.

With every answer, your impatient grows. Where the hell could Seven be? You came with them but were quickly swept away by the hordes of people throwing various questions and praise your way. Seven hasn’t responded to any of your texts either, which sprouts up a small seed of worry in you.

“Hey, MC!”

You look up to see Jazzy beckoning you over to the couch in the living room, where most people have congregated. In the center stands Rowan, gesticulating wildly as he tells a story from high school...one you’re sure you’ve heard many times before.

Jazzy waves you over again and you sigh. Half your mind still on Seven’s whereabouts, you stride through the living room and take a seat in the corner of the couch next to Iris, half your body pressed against the armrest.

“…and that’s when I had to sit down because I kid you not, I was about to fucking eat concrete…”

The group laughs as Rowan weaves a tale of failed skateboarding antics. The names of you and your friends come up a few times, and whenever Seven is mentioned you can’t help but jolt and look around in hopes that they slipped back inside at some point in the story. With every mention, your body deflates further and further.

Until your phone buzzes.

You turn it around, only to catch Seven finally responding to your million texts asking where they are.

Seven: Roof

You quirk a brow at the message—the one word that says so much—and type something quickly in return.

You: Thought you died.

Another buzz.

Seven: Can’t get rid of me that easily.

You snort, though no one else is laughing. You lower your phone a bit to appear engaged but send back a quick text.

You: Aw, really? I was hoping I’d finally be free of you.

Seven: Har-har. Are you coming or not? I’m feeling lonelyyyy

Your heart races and another laugh bubbles out of you when Seven sends a GIF of someone ungracefully falling on the floor. You didn’t realize how much of a relief it is to hear from them until now, seeing Seven’s text on your screen. Is your body that attuned to them? That, whenever they’re gone, you can feel their absence, so palpable it’s as if a part of you is missing? When they’re near, you feel more than complete. Drowning in so much joy that it’s almost overwhelming?

What do you call that?

You shake away the thoughts and send a reply: Coming.

Brushing yourself off when you stand, you catch your friends looking at you. You shoot Rowan a small smile and walk out of the living room, where you quickly hear him go into another story about who-knows-what. At least the party seems interested.

Another buzz.

Seven: Bring some bears please

You: Bears?

Seven: Beers. Whatever.

Shaking your head, you put your phone away and divert your path to the kitchen where you swipe two bottles of beer. You use the end of the counter to pop open the tops before making your way out of the apartment…only to soon realize you don’t actually don’t know where you’re going.

Dangling the beers between two fingers, you take out your phone.

You: Where am I going?

Seven: Are you serious? It’s a roof. Just go up.

Seven: lol

You: I will kill you.

Seven: OMG you really are trying to get rid of me

You: Seven Lawless

Seven: Using my whole name? Just shivered. The roof entrance is down the hall to your left. Ignore the signs telling you…not to go to the roof.

You move to the door and sure enough, there is a large sign warning of any trespassers.

You: You mean the sign saying that ‘violators will be fined and/or arrested?’

Seven: Ignore it. It’s just a very strong suggestion

Seven: (trust me)

Scoffing, you push it open with your shoulder and go up the single flight of stairs to the roof. Stepping outside grants you a cacophony of sounds; car horns, the sound of the wind rushing past your cheeks, music playing from Seven’s phone.

“I’m starting to think you look at the floor plan of every place you enter just to find the roof,” you say by way of greeting as you approach them.

Seven looks behind their shoulder from their spot on the ledge, their previously blank face widening into a sly grin.

Your heart races at the image of Seven smiling at you, though you quickly push it down. You don’t know what’s been happening but lately, everything Seven does pulls a reaction from you. A simple look makes your stomach squeeze. A brush of their hand sends goosebumps up your arms. A smile can throw your whole body out of whack.

“I needed a break,” Seven replies, turning back around to face ahead. As you get closer, you see their legs dangling over the edge. It’s not too far below—the building is four stories—but it’s still enough to give you vertigo when you go to sit next to them. “Someone asked me to sign their divorce papers."

Your lip twitches as you hand them a bottle. “Did you?”

Seven looks over to you, gaze glittering beneath stray strands of dark hair that fall in front of their eyes. “Yes.”

You laugh and Seven swats your following hand away in your attempt to shove them to the side. “Woah, woah!” Their brief panic from the possibility of falling is laced with humor and you let out a small, ‘sorry!’ that Seven waves off.

"Signing divorce papers," you muse. "I wonder what we'll sign when we're global rockstars."

Their humor subsides, and their smile weakens as they toy with their bottle. You wait, silent, as Seven inhales through their nose and says, “Do you ever regret it?” They gesture vaguely around them. “Doing…all of this?”

You face ahead and think about it, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Not really. Do you?”

Seven takes a swig of their drink before setting it down next to them, lifting both shoulders in a quick shrug. “No. This is all I ever wanted to do.”

“Then why don’t you sound so convinced?”

Their eyes cut to yours and they snort a little.

“Hey, you brought it up,” you prod.

They huff through their nose, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “Shut up.” Once again, their humor is brief, and you start to think that there must be something within Seven that’s torn, fighting to come out. It wouldn’t surprise you; Seven has always loved too much, hurt too much, felt too much. They call it a Fatal Flaw, how attached they get, but really, you find it endearing. It’s rare to find people like them in this world. You wish they knew that. “Ah, I don’t want to ruin the mood.”

You nudge them. “Say it.”

They begin rocking back and forth in thought, nudging you back every time they move. “Sometimes…when I’m on stage…” They clear their throat. “Sometimes I feel so lonely.”

Oh.

You expected many things, but not that.

Lonely? Seven is lonely? Granted, Seven hasn’t had the greatest home life, but you assumed that they found an abundance of people to surround themselves with. Hell, they looked like they were having the time of their life after the gig!

Seven’s frowning now, their eyes glazing over with an emotion you can’t read. “I see all those faces and I love it. The attention. The way they sing our songs. I feel fucking alive, you know?”

You nod, hanging on to every word. You understand them; the feeling of music and standing on that stage, singing emotions and states of being that can’t be explained in any other way but through song.

“But then I look back and…” They chew on their inner cheek, brows furrowing as they evidently search for the right words. “I wonder if they see me. Like really see me.”

Your lips part. For a moment, you’re speechless. “Sev—“

“And I know it’s unfair to think that,” Seven breaks in quickly. “They’re fans. I shouldn’t put so much responsibility on them, but it just….fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“No!” you say. Seven jolts and whips their head toward you, giving you a look of alarm. “I get what you’re saying.” You adjust to face them completely. “I feel it too, sometimes. You just want to be seen not as Seven Lawless but…” You clear your throat. “Seven Duckstein. You know?”

Seven holds your gaze. Their eyes sparkle under the fairy lights that are strung around the lattice detailing on the roof. As their eyes dart around your face, searching for something, you wonder if it was wrong to bring up their real name. It’s always been a sore topic for them, amongst other things. You just hope Sev understands what you’re trying to say.

They crack a small smile and nod. “Yeah.”

You let out a small breath of relief, grateful Seven understands what you mean. You gaze around, looking down at the street below. Distantly, you can feel Seven’s eyes still on you. Your skin burns under their stare, but you do your best to keep looking at the tiny people running inside shops, chatting, and slipping into cars. Living entire lives that you will never know the depth of.

You wonder if you have learned the true depth of Seven Duckstein. Even after all these years…they still seem like a mystery to you.

And you sort of hate how exciting that feels. As if uncovering the hidden layers of your best friend is something to look forward to.

“I’m not lonely with you, though.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet theirs. You laugh a little. “How could you be? I’m with you 24/7.”

Seven rolls their eyes and it’s their turn to shove you. “Can you be serious a sec? I’m trying to tell you I appreciate you.” They drag the syllables on the word ‘appreciate,’ trying to emphasize the severity of the moment.

You raise your palms in mock surrender. “Keep going. I’m listening.”

They pause for a beat. “No. I’m nervous.”

“What!”

“Too much attention.”

“You’re a performer?!”

They raise a finger. “That’s different.”

“Oh, please—“

Somehow you and Seven fall in a lighthearted round of bickering, swatting each other’s hands as you playfully fight. That fighting soon turns into tickling, and Seven’s usually even voice turns into high-pitched squeals that you wish you could record to use against them later.

You don’t know how it happened, but somehow Seven ends up on their back, sighing happily at the darkened sky that hovers over you both. You lean on your side, your body pressed against Seven’s, and rest your head on your hand.

“Come onnnn,” you prod, poking their rib. They squirm. “Tell me how much you appreciate me.” Your voice softens as Seven’s humor dies. “Tell me how you really feel.”

You meant for it to come out as a joke, but the delicacy in your voice betrays the true intention that’s hiding deep within you.

Seven’s eyes slowly, hesitantly, glide away from the stars pulsing in the sky to meet your eyes. With their hair framing their face, their small smile, and the glare of the fairy lights dancing on their face, they have never looked so vulnerable.

So…different.

“I don’t think I should.”

That has you stiffening. A flare of panic rises in your stomach. What does Seven mean by that? Part of you knows but…no. You’re being ridiculous.

They turn their head away, rolling their lips. It’s silent for a moment. You convince yourself Seven won’t speak until they say, “I’m afraid. Of you.”

“What?” you blurt, eyes wide. You hardly know how to act right now. This conversation has gone a direction you’re not sure of.

They turn back to face you. “You have too much power over me. It scares me.”

You open your mouth to speak. The only thing that comes out is a pathetic noise from your throat.

Seven snorts at your reaction, frowning at the sky. “You really don’t know the effect you have on others.”

“I doubt I have any impact on others," you mutter, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“Fine then. You don’t know the effect you have on me.” They huff, throwing their bandana aside to run a hand through their hair in frustration. “It’s kind of annoying.”

You sputter out a laugh, reaching out to poke them again. “Are you seriously insulting me—“

Seven grabs your hand mid-way, their skin warm against yours. You look down, staring at the polish on their nails as they curl their hand around your palm. “I’m not trying to insult you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” you mumble, your eyes still on your joined skin.

“I’m trying to do as you asked.” Seven inhales a shuddering breath. “I’m telling you how I really feel.”

You jerk a nod. “Okay. Sorry.” Your voice is quiet. “Go.”

Silence.

Seven’s lip twitches as they look up at you. “Nervous again. Too much attention.”

“Fuck off,” you throw out, though there’s no strength behind your words.

It’s Seven’s turn to apologize. “Sorry.” They swallow. “I just think I might mess up my words with you looking at me.”

You debate something. Debate the logic behind whatever you’re going to say next. This moment feels too big to make decisions on feelings you don’t know are fleeting or not. This is Seven. Your best friend. Anything you do will permanently change the comfortable camaraderie you two have had since you were kids.

But…you can’t stop from thinking it might be worth it anyway.

“Then don’t use words.”

Seven’s lips part, mostly from surprise. And then you see it; the shift in their expression-- from uncertain to determined. Their eyes darken and slowly, they release their grip on your hand to place it on the back of your neck, pulling you toward them.

Your heart races in your chest. Are you two really doing this? After years of casual closeness; sleepovers, handshakes, private looks across crowded rooms. Has there been an underlying attraction you just never paid attention to? Or maybe you did, and both of you were too afraid to confront it.

Seven is slow at firs, as if they aren't quite sure they should be doing this after all. But when you don’t pull away they grow the confidence to close the remaining inches of space between you.

Kissing Seven isn't like anything you imagined. And you can't lie; you've imagined it plenty of times.

What is happening...?

Lips warm against yours, you clutch the leather of their jacket as they pull you closer. The kiss is a messy and desperate dance of teeth and tongues but you don’t mind. Not when Seven tastes like gum and alcohol and is sending goosebumps down your arms as they absently run circles on the skin of your neck.

Messy seems about right.

Seven smells of lavender and pine and mint and so many other smells you never noticed until now, when you’re so aware of them and their existence that your brain can’t make out any words except Seven Seven Seven.

Seven kisses you like it's their own salvation; as if kissing you now is the only thing anchoring them to this moment. As if pulling away means breaking whatever dream you two have found yourselves in. So they pull you even closer, deepening the kiss and sighing happily into your mouth.

You could kiss Seven Lawless all night. Shit, you could kiss Seven Lawless forever.

They tug on your lower lip with their teeth just lightly before closing their mouth to plant a more chaste kiss before pulling away. You swallow a frustrated groan, stifling the urge to pull them back into another kiss.

Your eyes flutter open at the loss of warmth.

"That...that was a lot better than I thought," they breathe.

"You've thought about it?" you joke, careful not to speak too loudly in fear of ruining the moment.

Their answering nod is jerky. "Yeah. An embarrassing amount of times."

You both laugh. The humor quickly dies. Then...the worst part comes: the silence.

The horrible, awkward silence.

See, no one ever talks about what comes afterward. The reality of realizing what it is you've just done. The panic that follows the post-kiss clarity.

“Uh…”

“Er…”

They slowly drop their hand from your neck.

And then they burst up, making you fall back on your ass.

“You—“ They whirl around. “Did you just kiss me?”

“Me?!” you guffaw, standing on your feet as well. “You mean you kissed me!”

“Me?” They stand there, and then a manic, happy laugh escapes them. You watch as they put their hands on both of their cheeks, blowing out a long breath. “So I did, didn’t I?”

It’s your turn to laugh. You feel drunk. “Yeah. You did.”

“You kissed me back.” Their voice comes out almost accusatory.

“Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “…I did.”

Seven and you stand there. A rush of wind passes. Neither of you speak.

Until both of you do.

“That—“

“We—“

Seven physically clamps their mouth shut with their hand. Your brain is a static fuzz of nothingness.

Songwriters at a loss for words. It’s almost funny.

“Is…” You clear your throat. “Is that how you really feel?”

Seven meets your eyes and then quickly looks away. “Yeah.” A mumble. “For a while now.”

Your eyes widen. “I—“

“Don’t say anything!” Seven raises a hand, stopping you.

You jolt, mostly because Seven just acted like they saw a bug or something. “What!”

“You know in the movies and TV shows where a person confesses to another person and that other person feels obligated to say something back even though they likely didn’t think it through as long as the other person?” Seven says in one breath.

You blink. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“—well, I always found that to be pathetic. Almost like a pity response.” They begin nervously smoothing their hands on their pants, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Just don’t…say anything, okay?”

“Seven.”

Seven, still a bit frantic, comes over to you and puts their hands on your shoulders. “Just forget this happened. I’ll get over it. I just…I may have drank a bit and I needed to get it out of my system and I don’t want this to ruin what we have.”

You have whiplash. Maybe it was you who drank too much. You two were just kissing—kissing—and now Seven is telling you to forget it...?

“That kiss was in the heat of the moment and I mean, I did like it but it may be weird and we’ve been best friends for so long that I know you might find it odd. And hey,“--they let out a burst of shaky laughter--"maybe we can write a song out of thi--'

You pull their face forward, stifling the rest of their words in another pathetically desperate kiss that burns you all over.

It takes Seven a few seconds to catch up, but when they do, their hands go from your shoulders to your cheeks, cupping your face.

By the time you pull away, you're both slightly breathless. You say, “Just…shut up.”

Seven simply stares at you, parted lips glistening and eyes peering at you as if you’re a painting in the Louvre. Like you're something worth their awe and wonder.

Maybe it’s now, just like when they were laying down, that Seven is seeing you differently too.

The sound of metal squeaks in the air with the door opening. You and Seven jolt, quickly shuffling away from each other just as Rowan, Iris, Devyn, and Jazzy appear.

“We were looking for you gu—what’s going on?” Jazzy asks, her eyes darting between you two.

“Nothing.” Seven takes a wide step away from you, swiping a hand across their lips. You swear you see the shadow of a smile on their face. “We were just...talking.”

“You were missing the party, Sev Sev.” Jazzy comes over to Seven and throws her arm around their neck in some sort of move that can’t possibly be comfortable. “Where did you go?”

“Sorry, Jazz Jazz,” Seven jokes back, exasperated. They keep one eye on you as Jazzy pulls them away back inside. They steal one glance at you before they disappear down the stairs.

You stand there, ruminating over what just happened. Your lips still sting and the phantom touch of Seven’s mouth still makes the hair on your arms rise.

“You okay?”

Rowan’s voice has you jolting back to the present. “What?”

“You and Seven.” Rowan gestures at you. “Are you guys alright?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You wave a dismissive hand as you begin walking back inside. “Totally. We’re just peachy. What are we doing?”

“We’re heading home, actually,” Iris says, shooting you a curious look. “Party got boring.”

You snort, and you and your friends walk down the stairs to meet Seven and Jazzy in the hall. Seven looks your way and quickly averts their gaze, grazing the bottom of their teeth along their lip in evident thought.

You know, eventually, you and Seven will have to talk about…whatever that was that just happened. You’re not quite sure yet what it means. Though you do know one thing: tonight has changed something. Suddenly your friendship is something far more than precious: it’s fragile. And you can’t help but wonder what that kiss means for it.

“Should we get something to eat?” Iris asks the group as you saunter out of the building. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Rowan snorts, weaving Iris’s jab.

“I’m okay with anything you want.” As Seven says this, they look over to you, and you know they’re not just talking about food.

“Yeah,” you decide. “Me too.”

“Burgers it is,” Iris says. Devyn hums in agreement.

Seven smiles at you, and you can feel the shift in them. When they gaze at you, something else lies there. Something else that makes your heart quicken.

Yeah, you may not know what comes next in your friendship, but you do know one thing: you and Seven will never part.

And that thought comforts you.

#drabble #seven lawless #writing #AHHHHH #ripping my hair out #it was fun writing a Not Angry Seven #It was also weird though #writing a seven that's friends with mc #snores

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wallflowerwritesstuff · 2 months

Text

You Chose: Zayne

border credit goes to cafekitsune here on tumblr 🖤

We’re sorry for the delay, please remain seated while we do our best to resolve our current—

You’re nearly half asleep as you hear the same recording for the fifth time in the last hour. Your body is in agony at this point, your mind scrambling to solve this problem as you do with all the others. Ignoring it is no longer viable, so, swallowing your pride, you pull your phone from your pocket. As if the universe knew what you were about to do, it begins to ring before you can even reach the contact screen.

You accept the call from Dr. Stranger, your arm protesting as you lift the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“So you answered. I had an inkling you would. It isn’t in you to miss a call regardless of your situation.”

You frown. Rather than greet him as usual, you find yourself stuck on his first statement.

“Did you expect me not to answer? Why call instead of text, then? And I like to make sure people don’t think I’m ignoring them,” you grumble in a hushed tone, still very aware you are in public and not everyone wants to hear your riveting conversation.

“I called to leave a voicemail since you didn’t answer my earlier texts, though this is better as now you have no reason to try to avoid your next check-up.”

A groan leaves you as you nearly slam your head against the bus window.

“You could have easily called me in the morning, Dr. Zayne,” you insist, pausing before sitting up and biting back the groan that wants to escape. Even with the pain, you’re aware he wouldn’t have called just to leave a voicemail if there wasn’t something else important to say. “Is something wrong? Is it a Wandere—”

A huff that you assume was meant to be amused left him, but it almost sounded mixed with something heavier—annoyance, maybe. He would deny it to the moon and back, however, claiming his patience was hard to wear down.

“Even when you seem ready to fall asleep, your mind goes to protecting Linkon,” he sighs. “Look out the window, silly girl.”

You do as told, getting close to avoid seeing your own reflection and seeing a familiar silhouette standing with a bag that you automatically recognize. You wave hesitantly, Zayne nodding once to show he had seen.

“You went to the sweets shop again, huh?” you tease, relaxing as best you can. It was nice to see a familiar face when mere minutes ago you were contemplating life as you knew it. “You know we have a dentist appointment coming up, too. They’re gonna be so mad at you~”

“Funny enough, I understand their frustration,” he says, not bothering to elaborate and instead walking toward the bus. You watch curiously, surprised when he steps on, ignoring the driver’s warning about it being repaired to walk toward you. “It’s difficult to have a patient that doesn’t listen to even the smallest advice,” he adds, voice echoing as it came through the receiver. You lower the phone and hang up, attempting nonchalance as you cross your arms.

The wince takes away from your act, but you proceed despite the narrowing of his eyes.

“For someone that claims it’s funny, you don’t look too laugh-y.”

“I suppose you’d be right in that regard considering laugh-y isn’t a word.”

“So I guess this is a bad time to claim I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Zayne doesn’t answer, instead holding out a hand to you. Watching it, you find yourself bouncing between his stern expression and his outstretched hand. You take it almost automatically once your brain catches up, unsure if the way his shoulders relax is because he won’t have to argue or because of something else.

His hand is cold, and yet when he squeezes, you feel yourself warm from head to toe.

He turns and you scramble to follow, legs like lead but seeming to have an autopilot feature that hides the fact you feel like falling over. It’s when you two arrive at his car that you find yourself wanting to ask the hundreds of questions threatening to slip off your tongue.

“Dr. Zayne—”

“I believe I clocked out for the evening,” he says, opening the passenger side door and being patient as you maneuver your way in. He shuts the door carefully, walking to the driver’s side as you chew on your lower lip. You were thankful that area was uninjured, sure it would have stung had you dug teeth into a busted lip.

“Zayne,” you correct, coming face to face with him as he leans toward you, causing you to blank on what it is you wanted to say. You watch him closely, his eyes flickering down before meeting your gaze again with a calmness that has you holding your breath. Zayne’s brow lifts as the soft click of a seatbelt has you realizing why he’d leaned over in the first place.

You shrink away, clearing your throat but not missing the slight curve of his lips at your reaction.

Jerk.

He put his own on before starting the car, the ride silent until you remembered that you had been on your way to interrogating him—in a friendly manner, of course.

“You lied to me.”

“Did I?” Zayne questions, keeping his eyes forward.

“Yes! You said you called to leave a voicemail, but you had seen me on the bus and that’s why you did it, right?”

Staring at the road, he doesn’t meet their eyes as he responds. “Consider us even, then.”

“When did I lie?” you ask incredulously, glad Zayne was preoccupied lest you risk folding under his intense gaze.

“I’m glad you asked. Should I begin with you saying you’d be home early today to rest after that last concussion you received last week?”

You part your lips, the promise having been made before you were called in to replace your fellow injured hunter.

“But that—” you begin, already dreading letting him know you technically have another and this one was particularly nasty. You were cleared to sleep, but had ignored the ‘no screens’ rule due to your report.

“Or should I remind you of our brief but telling phone call where you insisted you were fine despite barely being able to walk without looking as if breathing hurts?”

You blink, wondering if this is the most you’ve gotten him to speak in the last few months.

You wished it was under better circumstances.

“But that was—”

“Or, if you want something that hasn’t happened yet, I can play fortune teller and tell you about a future where you undoubtedly attempt to convince me that you’re fine right now by doing something that most definitely would end up hurting you more.”

Deflating, you groan in defeat.

“I get it! I’m the worst patient, but it’s not like I try to do this on purpose. The wanderers are getting so much worse and Hunters are falling left and right—”

Zayne has a particularly hard stop at one of the street lights and you're thankful for the seatbelt that keeps you firmly in place.

“That doesn’t mean you have to be one of them. You are my patient,” he says coldly. “What happens to anyone apart from you isn’t my concern.”

“But right now, you aren’t my doctor,” you snipe back, “You said so yourself. You clocked out for the evening.”

Zayne didn’t answer immediately, but he did drive more carefully which was a sign he had heard you. After some time for you both to breathe and the atmosphere to cool, he hums, his version of conceding to your point.

For now.

You know for a fact that he isn’t done talking about this, but the remainder of your ride together is quieter: slow to the point you find yourself drifting off.

“You can sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

“Mmhm,” you murmur, your sleep-addled brain deciding that if he wanted to talk, you’d show him you weren’t easily silenced. So you let him know through slurred words that you weren’t done discussing tonight with him, either.

You swear you hear the infamous Ice King chuckle, but when you awaken in your apartment the next morning with a note at your bedside and a cup of water and pills, you’re positive it was nothing but a pleasant dream. Zayne rarely laughed, a part of you curious if it was even in his programming.

“Maybe one day,” you say to yourself, though you aren’t sure if you believe it or if you’re attempting to convince yourself of it.

Surprisingly, you’re feeling pretty decent. You grab a shower, change into clothes that allow your bruises and cuts both some breathing room, and head to the kitchen to see what you can have for a late breakfast.

You stop short of your destination, however, Zayne sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee in one hand while the other pressed against a page of the book he was reading. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, seeming to have heard your sharp breath at the sight of him.

“You’re awake.”

You nod, stuttering out an agreement as you ask why he was still here.

Lifting his head, he places down his cup and shuts his book, twisting where he sat to stare at you while he speaks. “I believe you said you weren’t done with me just yet, correct? It would be rude to leave without hearing what it was you had on your mind.”

You nearly fall to your knees with how tense your body becomes, even more so when you see that dangerous flicker in his eyes: the immediate switch from Zayne to Dr. Zayne obvious as he took triage of every visible mark on your body.

“So. Talk.”

A nervous laugh leaves you as you rip some skin from the inside of your cheek.

You and your big mouth.

Want to explore some of the other routes?

Click here to return to the main post for a refresher.

Or, pick your other favorite love interest below:

Xavier

Zayne

Rafayel

Sylus

#love and deep space #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne x reader #love and deepspace zayne #lnds x reader

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mingtinys · 5 months

Text

how flowers bloom and wither

pairing : lee chan x gn!reader , platonic! boo seungkwan x reader

apocalypse!au , exes to lovers , angst , hurt / minimal comfort

warnings : language , death , apocalyptic themes , depictions of wounds and blood , suicidal ideation , this is not a happy ending or story

word count : 6.3 k

requested ? no

a/n : heavily inspired by this juyeon fic that made my cry in my car (p.s. there is a jeonghan ver as well).

Your voice is the first to call his name in months. It's been so long that the cadence of it sounds foreign to his ears. Almost like another language entirely. A cry from the distance, barely audible in a way he easily dismisses it as a hallucination. Perhaps he was finally going mad.

He knows other survivors exist, he'd seen them in nearly every town he scavenged. Though in no reality had he ever assumed any of them knew his name. The world had not been kind enough to spare anyone who knew and loved Lee Chan. They'd all been swept away in the initial outbreak. And with no one tethering him to his own existence, he was no more than a living ghost amongst the ruins.

But then the voice calls again, this time closer. Behind him. Louder.

"Chan? Lee Chan!"

And even stranger, he knows this voice. Better than he knows the sound of his own name. Could pick it out of a crowd, blindfolded and all.

Though he still can't bring himself to believe it. Not even as he turns and your silhouette comes into view against the setting sun, your elongated shadow reaching out for him. Tattered shoes well beyond their usable years slap against the pavement as you sprint.

"Oh my God, Chan!"

It has to be a mirage. You'll pass straight through him like an apparition and the universe will laugh at him for believing another one of its cruel jokes.

Yet still, his arms open, and seconds later your full weight crashes into him. Like a tide breaking the shore, stirring up memories like loose sand in its wake.

It's the first time in months he's been held. Felt the warm touch of anything living, much less the safety of something familiar. Tears fill his eyes instantly as Chan clings to the one thing from his past he could never seem to bury. To what he can only assume is a pity gift from the universe making up for all the times it fucked him over. To you.

Your chest heaves against his as you ask, "Is it you? Is this real?"

Chan himself doesn't know the answer to that.

"I can't believe I found you," you breathe out once the air surrounding you two settles. You haven't let go yet and Chan doesn't want you to. Worried that when you finally do, he'll wake up back in the crumbling shed he'd used for shelter the night before. With his back against a cold, moldy mattress instead of being held by the warmth of a thousand suns. Alone again.

"Please say something," you nervously laugh. Despite the chill in the air, Chan's cheeks are burning up. He's at a loss, far too overwhelmed to produce anything remotely coherent. Though as you peel away to examine him, concern knitting your brows, one word does come to mind.

Wow.

You're still as radiant as he remembered. A diamond amongst the ruins of the world. It looks, for the most part, the universe has been kind to you. Good, he thinks.

"You're not..." Your expression falls. "You're not sick, are you?"

It's the fear in your eyes that finally prompts Chan to push down the lump in his throat. "No!" He rasps, then clears his throat. "No, I'm not sick. Promise."

"Are you hungry?"

Chan looks back at the reason he'd left his shelter in the first place, the rundown mini-mart about a hundred feet away. The stabbing pain in his stomach brings him back down to reality.

"There's nothing worthwhile in there, we already checked."

We?

Your arm extends to point past the mini-mart. Towards a small abandoned town that pokes out just beyond the darkening horizon. "Our shelter is just about a mile that way. Would you–"

He agrees before you've even finished your sentence.

Chan cannot fathom the hope you hold in your heart in a world like this. Not until he meets Seungkwan. The vibrant boy you've been traveling with thus far.

"You can't go around picking up strays."

"He's not a stray, Kwan, he's an old friend. Besides, you were a stray at one point too." You disappear into another room before the boy can argue any further. Leaving him to glower at his new guest.

"If you start acting strange, I'll kill you." Seungkwan points at Chan, though he's not the least bit threatening. His shiny eyes and round face are far too friendly to ever be perceived as intimidating.

Yet Chan humors the boy anyway. "Virus-free, I promise." He raises his hands in surrender.

"And don't touch anything." He motions around the living room, which is surprisingly homey.

When you mentioned you had a shelter nearby, Chan was expecting something a little less... comfortable. Something like the random sheds or raided stores he'd crouch into for just a few hours of shut-eye, never any longer. Or perhaps even a poorly constructed tent made up of various scrap parts. But when you climbed the stairs to a tiny townhouse, one of the better-looking ones amongst the multiple shells of former homes in the neighborhood, Chan almost couldn't believe his eyes. Perhaps this really was all just a dream.

The outside, for the most part, looked pretty decent. There had been some obvious repairs done; trash cleaned from the yard, wooden boards haphazardly nailed over broken windows, a tattered blue tarp covering a large section of the roof, and Chan could just barely make out remnants of graffiti that couldn't be scrubbed away. But the blue paint was hardly peeling and the stone steps had only a few cracks.

When it came to the inside, one word came to mind. Charming. None of the furniture matches, meaning either the previous owner hadn't cared for aesthetics or you and Seungkwan had at some point scavenged the surrounding houses in search of the least fucked up looking decor. Even then, it was really just the bare essentials. A surprisingly comfortable couch, two rocking chairs that look as though the wood had been chewed by squirrels, a metal center table, and a couple bookshelves filled with various novels, picture frames of strangers, and knickknacks.

Down the short hallway to the left are two closed doors. Of which he assumes is a single bedroom and bath respectively. Behind him, where you had disappeared to, is a door he'd quickly caught a glimpse of the kitchen through.

Most notably, however, against the back wall of the living room is a stone fireplace. Ablaze with such life it fully illuminates the space, providing a much-needed warmth as the brisk night rolls in. Chan watches it dance over the mound of logs, completely entranced until that same lovely voice from before calls his name once more.

"All we really have left from our last supply run is tuna, I hope that's okay." In your hands is a bowl with a small portion of rice and half a can of tuna, along with a glass of water. It's no five-star meal, but Chan's mouth still waters at the sight. And better yet, it's warm. He can't remember the last time he had a meal that wasn't a can of cold mystery mush or a granola bar.

He half expects Seungkwan to gripe about him taking something as precious in this world as food. But the boy snorts and a teasing smile creeps its way onto his lips. "Poor kid looks like he'll start drooling any second, I think tuna is more than okay."

He's right, tuna and rice is more than okay. In fact, it's the best damn thing he's ever had in his life. Even as he shovels spoonful after spoonful into his mouth, it only gets better. It isn't until every morsel of food has vanished from the bowl that Chan finally acknowledges his drink. Gulping the clear, luke-warm, liquid down in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you," he breaths out.

"So what are your plans? Are you leaving in the morning?" Seungkwan promptly asks.

Oh.

A chasm opens in Chan's stomach. Right, he thinks, How could he be so naive? Sure, the two of you knew each other. But it's been what, three years? Three years of the two of you living your own lives, growing, becoming new people. Almost a full one of those years spent fighting to survive. You didn't even owe him a meal to begin with, much less a place to stay. And, not to mention, Seungkwan doesn't know him from a hole in the wall.

He isn't sure why he assumed you'd stick by his side. But he'd sure hoped you would.

You have an equally solemn look on your face. "Right, you probably have people you need to get back to. They'll be worried if you stay too long."

"No, actually, it's just me."

Please. Chan silently pleads. Please don't leave me alone again.

You lock eyes with Seungkwan. A silent conversation between the two of you has Chan's heart pounding against his ribs.

"Can I talk to you?" Seungkwan motions you to follow him down the hall and into the solo bedroom.

Minutes feel like hours; and no matter how hard he tries, Chan can't decipher anything from the muffled whispers. It's just a flurry of back and forth until it stops with Seungkwan letting out a long sigh.

When Chan sees your nervous, fidgeting, figure appear with Seungkwan in tow, he starts mentally preparing for a no.

"There's only one bedroom," Seungkwan states, arms crossed. "So we'll have to rearrange the sleeping arrangements—"

"I'll sleep anywhere," Chan immediately bargains. "I can take the couch—"

"Absolutely not." The older boy jabs a finger at him, his stare menacing. "That couch is the nicest thing we have, if anything it's mine."

That is perfectly fine with Chan. In fact, he'd take the termite-chewed wooden floor if that's what it would take. "Does this mean..?"

"Yes," the boy exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, but the action doesn't feel malicious. More like a brother teasing his younger siblings. "You're lucky, you had a very reliable source vouch for you."

It feels like Chan can breathe for the first time since this whole shit-storm began. The weight that lifts from his chest makes him feel as though he's floating. And as your soft gaze catches him, he sees it. That indomitable glimmer of hope humanity has to offer. A light at the end of a dark tunnel. Security wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket.

A second chance to be alive.

Seungkwan, as Chan quickly learns, had dreams of being a singer back before. There's rarely been a quiet moment in the week since you found Chan. If he's doing repairs, he's humming. If he's taking inventory, he's softly mumbling along to some tune. If he's sat by the fire at night, his voice carries beyond the walls and into the night.

It's strange. Chan hadn't realized just how quiet being alone was until now. But you enjoy Seungkwan's voice, and it eases you to sleep on Chan's shoulder. So he enjoys it as well.

"Are they asleep?" He asks, letting his song teeter off, voice just barely audible above the crackling logs.

Chan looks down at the slow rise and fall of your chest. He smiles fondly, dropping his shoulder a tad lower to not strain your neck. By now, he's finally gotten over the disbelief of his luck in finding you— well, more so you finding him. Deciding to no longer question the probability of it all and simply cherish the feeling you bring him.

"Yeah, I think so."

Similarly, Chan has also learned that as much of a tough guy act as Seungkwan puts on, he's got an incredibly soft heart. It's pertinent in his gaze and the discreet ways he dotes on anyone around him. Bickering with Chan to wear something warmer even though Spring is around the corner or fussing at you to take an extra portion of rations.

In an alternate life, Chan likes to think he and the boy could've been life-long friends.

"How long were you out there alone?" He muses, a curious look on his face.

"Since the first outbreak," Chan answers casually. Though, Seungkwan's eyes go wide in horror.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, why? How long were you?"

"Three weeks, maybe." He shrugs. "Give or take a few days. We ran into each other pretty early on and we've stuck together ever since. Found this place about four months ago and tried to make it feel somewhat normal."

"Oh, that's nice." Chan forgets that for some, life kept moving. Even as society crumbled, humanity persisted. Some in vain, some succeeding, and others, like himself, not at all.

"Can I ask something else?" Seungkwan pulls him from his thoughts. There's a prying curiosity that's scribbled all over his face. Grinning like a schoolgirl with fresh gossip to tell her friends. Chan decides to entertain his curious mind, nodding.

"How do you two know each other?" He gestures at the two of you curled up on the couch. "Like, what's the story there?"

Chan's heart drops straight into his ass and like a reflex, he glances down to ensure you're really asleep. The two of you haven't exactly gotten the chance to talk about everything quite yet. So as of now, he isn't sure where you stand. He decides the more vague the better.

"We met in our third year of university. Their roommate was friends with my roommate."

Seungkwan squints his eyes, visibly displeased with that answer. "And?"

"And..." Chan toys with the material of his pants. "We dated. Two years. Just... didn't work out in the end."

Chan seriously wishes Seungkwan's facial expressions weren't so telling. That way he'd be able to at least pretend he was getting out of this conversation any time soon. But still, the boy persists, nagging him about the who's, what's, when's, where's, and why's until Chan caves. Explaining everything from the stolen glances that started it all, to the teary-eyed bittersweet end.

He vividly remembers the way regret pooled in his chest the moment your front door shut. Making his chest feel cold and empty, a feeling that stuck around nearly every day after. Reminding him of what he let go of for the past three years. The conversation plays on in a loop in his head, and since then, he's thought up about a thousand ways he would've done differently.

"Are you saying you want to break up?" Your voice was so small it ripped Chan's heart in two.

"No! I just— I mean, but... shouldn't we?"

"Our lives started growing in different directions faster than we could keep up." He explains to Seungkwan, who's been uncharacteristically quiet. Not once stopping to interject his opinion or pop in another question. "They were offered a really good internship a few cities away. I was given the opportunity to be mentored by a renowned choreographer. We'd both be so busy. It didn't seem fair to hold each other back from our dreams. There wasn't much of a choice."

But that's not true. Chan ripped the bandaid off long before it could prove to stand the test of time because he was scared. He assumed the love you felt for him would slowly wither and die with the distance. Drawn out in a slow and painful process he couldn't bear the burden of. So he ran, like a coward, and left you to deal with the fallout by yourself.

It's funny, how the universe deals out karma.

"Probably the dumbest decision I've ever made."

Seungkwan hums, relaxing back into his wooden rocking chair, seemingly deep in thought. A silence settles over the room, only the sound of dying embers softly crackling fills the air.

You stir next to him, nose cutely scrunched up as you search for a more comfortable position. Chan hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you to fully lean against him, being extra cautious not to accidentally jostle you awake. You finally settle, and he can't help but notice your body still fits against his perfectly. Just like to used to.

And when Chan lifts his head back to meet Seungkwan's eyes, he catches the tail end of a fond smile. He rises from the chair, making his way around behind the sofa.

"You made it back, that's all that matters." He whispers, hand on Chan's shoulder. "You don't get a lot of second chances in life— much less in the middle of the apocalypse. Maybe it's time you stop just trying to survive and start letting yourself live. Whatever that looks like for you."

Spring rounds the corner like an old friend. Marking officially one year since the world went to shit and bringing with it much-needed rain in the form of rolling storms. One brews on the horizon, dark clouds gradually closing in on the afternoon sun. The cool breeze feels refreshing against Chan's damp skin. A pleasant contrast to the heavy bag slung over his shoulder, filled with scavenged treasures from the latest scout.

"You know, I offered to carry it halfway," you tease, significantly less out of breath than Chan on your trek back home. The exterior of the townhouse hadn't fared well with the harsh storms, yet it's a welcomed sight nonetheless.

"Yeah, but that would require him relinquishing about this much pride," Seungkwan laughs while pinching his fingers together, squinting through the narrow gap between them.

"It's not even that heavy," Chan scoffs, and if you clock his lie, you don't make it known.

"Whatever you say, golden boy," Seungkwan snickers, the corner of his lip quirked up in a smirk before veering off to the small plot just to the left of the entrance steps.

Seungkwan, arguably the most excited for Spring to arrive, had taken up gardening. Plowing up the soil with a water-logged wooden shovel and planting various packs of seeds he'd once found on a scout. They were mostly just flowers, anything useful like fruits and veggies having already been snatched up by other scavengers. However, he'd been lucky enough to find one packet of tomato seeds, one of green onion seeds, and another of squash seeds. The boy has a surprisingly green thumb, having created a flourishing garden in just a month.

"It's looking beautiful, Seungkwan. Another few weeks and we may actually have something to eat that isn't out of a can." You praise, admiring the colorful arrangement as well.

Sure, the fruits and veggies are nice, but Chan much prefers the cluster of voluminous purple hyacinths. Their vibrant color reminds him of the rich sunsets he'd use as a child to gauge when to return home for dinner.

He swiftly plucks a single bloom from the arrangement and places it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, and it somehow shines brighter than the flower itself. A sight he believes is capable of parting the gray clouds stretching across the sky.

"Stop killing my babies, Lee Chan." Seungkwan chastises, annoyance evident in his tone.

"Sorry," he sheepishly grins, remembering Seungkwan's no-touching rule he had applied to the garden.

In the distance, there's a low rumbling that draws your attention to the sky. "We should go in before it starts pouring." You take Chan's hand, tugging him inside while his heart beats out of his chest. You call out for Seungkwan as well, urging him that his babies will be fine in the rapidly approaching storm.

Rain slowly begins to patter against the rafters the second the front door squeaks shut. Crescendoing to a downpour within a matter of minutes. Sounds like the three of you are in for a long one tonight.

It was hard to notice at first. The occasional slip-ups here and there. Easy enough to blame the rising Summer heat on Seungkwan's mood swings. Even if the boy had been more readily agitated lately, his bubbly moments stuck around in an abundance that excused the outbursts.

Though Chan can't quite get over that look on your face the first time Seungkwan snapped at you. Something about his bush of hydrangeas being disturbed despite you insisting you hadn't laid so much as a finger on his garden. But the moment tears slipped from your irises, Seungkwan crumbled. His eyes blown wide in horror as the realization hit. He uttered endless apologies, begging for forgiveness until you assured him everything was okay.

And to his credit, he hadn't had an outburst that big since. But still, you made sure to be extra cautious around his garden from then on out.

The red patches painting his arms are harder to ignore, though. Especially with the incessant noise of nails obsessively itching at dry skin.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks, finally voicing his concerns after watching the boy go at his skin with an inhuman determination for the past half hour. The sight reminding him of a rabid dog infested with fleas. With little care for its own health, left only with the insatiable urge to make the itching stop.

Seungkwan's head snaps up with feral eyes, though they dissolve into cheery crescents quick enough to fool Chan into believing he was just imagining things. Perhaps he'd been a little too on guard around his friend. The sweltering heat surely didn't help his nerves.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "I must've gotten into some poison ivy, it's been driving me mad."

It only got worse.

The scratching.

It keeps Chan awake in the late night hours. That dry sound echoing in his head over and over and over and over. And during the day, despite it being the peak of Summer, Seungkwan wears long sleeves. They do well in muffling the sound and hiding whatever visuals resulted from the night before. Yet, he forgets to scrub the dried blood from under his nails.

There's an unease that settles in Chan's chest and makes a nest there. A feeling that comes in waves, yet never fully leaves him. It consumes his thoughts and taints the air in his lungs until he feels like he may choke on it. Unable to breathe a single word about his worries without accidentally manifesting them into fruition. Because perhaps nothing is awry. Perhaps Chan is the one slowly losing his mind.

After all, you've yet to mention anything. Content with humoring Seungkwan's better moments in spite of his worst.

Perhaps, Chan is still stuck in his mirage.

It happened again.

Seungkwan snapped and this time Chan had to intervene.

Over his garden again.

The once glorious flowers were sad and wilting, through no fault of anyone's, but the elements. The heat was harsh on them and there hadn't been enough rain in a while to revive them. Not to mention, Seungkwan simply hadn't been tending to them as much as he thought he had. He spent most of his days now obsessing over illusions instead.

Swore he saw spiders in the rations. Heard scratching in the walls. Had caught shadows of looters pacing outside at night.

You called it dehydration.

But he'd somehow gotten it into his head you'd been poisoning the soil when he wasn't looking. He swung the front door open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, yelling obscenities about how you betrayed him. How rotten and horrid you were for killing the one thing that'd given him any semblance of joy. Chan swears he's never seen someone so unhinged as Seungkwan in that moment.

All it took was three large steps in your direction for Chan to brace himself in front of you. However, all it really took to freeze Seungkwan in his steps was his name. Loud and firm. Lighting a clarity in his eyes that's been missing for a few days now. He ushers the boy outside with haste. Too afraid to look back at your crumbling face.

Seungkwan collapses down on the stone steps. He pulls his knees to his chest and digs his palms into his eyes, hard. "I fucked up, didn't I?" He whimpers.

Chan doesn't know what to say. He did. But confirming it when he's in such a state seems cruel. And he doesn't care to twist the knife any further. He just takes a seat next to what's left of his friend and lays a comforting hand on his back.

"I'm scared." Seungkwan's head tips back to the sky. Chan had always been under the assumption that Seungkwan was oblivious to his deteriorating state. But the steady stream of tears down the boy's cheeks says otherwise.

"I can feel my mind slowly becoming not my own."

"Maybe it's not—"

"I already tried telling myself that." Chan's heart sinks as the boy hikes up his sleeves. Revealing the angry red tracks and rust-colored scabs covering a majority of his forearms. Some wounds still look fresh, and painfully deep.

"That's the first symptom, right? Feeling like there's ants under your skin. Being easily irritated. Foggy memories, whole days missing..." He looks ahead at the setting sun. "I'm already seeing things. Was it one or two months the broadcast said the infected have once those start?"

Chan tries to remember back to when his radio crackled to life for the first time. He's pretty sure it's one.

"I can't remember."

Seungkwan pushes a bitter laugh through his nostrils. "Me either."

Chan glances at the sad plot of greenery beside him. He frowns at the way the tulips droop and their petals hang limp. At least those who are still trying to hold on. Desperate to escape the same fate as their counterparts that have already begun decaying into the soil.

He looks back to Seungkwan and wonders what it's like. To have the tulips weep for you. For them to bow their heads and shed their petals like tears. He also wonders if you'll grieve for Seungkwan as gracefully as they do.

"Promise me one thing?" Seungkwan whispers. His eyes already look like they're glazing over again.

"Anything."

He speaks your name with longing. "Take care of them, yeah? I know it seems like they have their shit together, but that's not how it always was."

"What do you mean?" Chan asks, skin crawling. But Seungkwan continues to stare ahead, eyes focused on who knows what in the distance. He blinks slowly, "It's not my story to tell. Just... promise."

"I promise. Don't worry, it's not something you even have to ask."

"The garden, too." His lips lift at the corners. Chan thinks it's a smile, but it's too uncanny to recognize. "If you're taking requests."

He agrees, partly to provide Seungkwan with what little peace of mind he can offer him, but also because he already has been. Chan tries on occasion to care for the sad little plants. Wetting the soil with what little water he can spare.

Part of him naively hoped that maybe somehow, some way, if the garden could be nursed back to its former glory, so could Seungkwan. But deep down, Chan has learned to tell the difference between a dream and reality by now.

And the reality is, Seungkwan reeks of borrowed time.

The world stole your smile when it stole Seungkwan. It ripped his soul from your grasp as Chan held you in his. Kicking and screaming.

Endless tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to hold you back. Your pleas grew more desperate and wrangled. Mixing with the garbled, wretched, shrieks of your friend. Fingers clawing at his eyes. The virus embedded so deep in his brain he was no longer Seungkwan.

Just another host.

Your voice was the last to call Seungkwan's name that day. Raspy and hollow as you begged for his life. Begged the universe to not take the last ray of sunshine the world had to offer. Begged Seungkwan to fight just one more day. Begged Chan to let you save him despite all hope having set when the sun did. The scratches you'd left on his forearms remained a week after. But the hole Seungkwan's presence left has yet to fade.

Neither of you spoke of the boy in that time. He still doesn't know if that's for better or worse. Chan's terrified you'll shatter if he so much as whispers the boy's name. But to act like he never existed in the wake of it... well, that just doesn't feel right either.

But Chan knows there's no proper way to grieve. He figured that out at the beginning. He'd had damn near a year to mourn everyone he ever loved, you've only had a week. He knows with time, acceptance will come. But it kills him not knowing how to help.

So instead, Chan does the hard stuff.

He buries Seungkwan. Next to his garden, so that next Spring he can watch it grow. He stacks rocks as a makeshift headstone and plucks dried, stiff asphodel from the garden to make it look neat. He rearranges the bookshelf into a tiny shrine of Seungkwan's things. His favorite books he'd read over and over. A silver ring, with some date Chan doesn't know the meaning of carved into it. A liquor bottle that he used as a makeshift vase with the last flowers he picked still in it. Long dead, but the petals somehow still holding on. Replaces one of the bronze picture frames of strangers with a photo he found tucked away in Seungkwan's bag. One of him and two other people he assumes are his parents.

And when he's done, he lights a candle, the flame drawing you out like a moth.

"What is this?" you croak. It's the first you've spoken to Chan since it happened.

"Something to honor him," Chan whispers, keeping his gaze locked on the flickering light. He's too scared to see your reaction. Afraid you'll break down again. Afraid you'll hate it and scream that he has no right to mourn someone you loved for longer. Afraid that if he sees your tears flowing, he won't be able to stop his own.

Because he also knows part of you still resents him for that night. For grabbing your waist and stopping your momentum from hurtling towards Seungkwan. Robbing you of the chance to hold and comfort your friend one last time. Your screams echo in his head as a reminder whenever your gaze refuses to meet his or you shrug away from his touch.

But then your head falls to his shoulder like an olive branch stretching across a battlefield. Your sniffles break through the silence. Chan hesitantly pulls you closer, and when you don't flinch away, he does even more so until your full weight is against him.

When Seungkwan was here, there was rarely a moment of silence. But now, the house, and you, are quiet. And all Chan can hear are the sounds of heartbreak. Never before had he thought it could be so incredibly loud.

The cold air sneaks in sometime around mid-November. Bringing with it longer nights and temperatures low enough to warrant nightly fires again.

You haven't talked much since the night you cried your heart out on Chan's shoulder. Operating more like a zombie replicating past routines from life before. Wake up. Scavenge. Eat. Sleep. So when you offer up the first ounce of interest in something other than your daily routine, Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

"I miss the ocean," you mumble, solemn eyes looking down at the crackling fire. The tip of your nose red from the chill.

"We can go if you want... If it would make you happy." He says though he'd settle for content. To bring you back, he'd do anything.

You nod. "Yeah, I'd like that."

And Chan makes it happen.

Maps out the closest beach. Rigs up two rusty old bikes he found in a shed. Packs enough provisions just in case. All for the sake of maybe returning with a sliver of the person you used to be.

The two of you easily find the rocky formation looking over the dark sea, waves raging below. It's here, that Chan truly realizes just how much of a shell you've become of your former self. The way you inch closer and closer to the sharp edge is lifeless. Like a magnet being pulled at with no will of your own. It lodges a dagger of dread through the center of his chest.

"Don't go so close, you could slip." Chan doesn't know if you can't hear him over the crashing waves below or if you simply choose not to. But your feet keep moving and Chan's feel cemented to the ground.

"That's close enough!" He calls.

Again, nothing.

Your toes hang over the edge now, hands in your jacket pockets. Raging waves slam against the cliff, reaching up for you. You close your eyes and point your nose to the sky.

Wind rushes around Chan. His shoes slip on the slick rocks below as instinct takes charge of his momentum while his brain remains frozen in panic. His lungs refuse to work until his arm can hook around your torso. Yanking you back with such a force it throws the both of you off balance. It isn't until his back meets solid rock that he finally gasps in a sputtering breath. The dull throbbing is instant, but the full weight of you atop his chest is comforting.

Chan desperately scrambles to collect you in his arms. Pulling your back against his chest so that he can curl around you like a protective barrier from the world.

"I wasn't going to jump." You whisper. But he feels no comfort from your empty words.

"Please don't make me lose you twice." He pleads like a child, rocking you in his grasp. The salty spray from the ocean mixes with his tears until he can't tell what is what. Right now, the only thing he's certain of is the one in his grasp. The feeling of you in his arms, safe, and he doesn't want to ever lose that. Call it selfish if you must. Lee Chan will wear that title proudly.

There's a rush of déjà vu as you crumble, muttering Seungkwan's name between wretched sobs, nails deep in his forearms. Sobbing about how you miss him, how unfair it is, everything you've been holding in since. Chan holds you tighter. Scared you'll slip away like the tide. Like Seungkwan did. Plunged into cold, thrashing darkness.

He prays to whatever merciful forces have forsaken him to please not do the same to you.

It's a silent trip back to the townhouse and you all but collapse from exhaustion the second you're through the door. Dragging yourself over to the couch and immediately curling into a ball. Chan takes the liberty of lighting the fire before sitting down beside you. He opens his arms, and to his surprise, you accept, letting your head fall into his lap. His arm securely drapes over your torso, though you're quick to cradle his hand. Hugging it to your chest so that his palm can feel the rhythmic thumping of your heart.

Chan lets out a long-held sigh, counting each beat like a lullaby. Then focuses on the rise and fall of your chest. Letting the steady swells ease the adrenaline from his system.

For a second, life is okay. Happy, even. Like how it was back before the world ended. Before he broke your heart. When he didn't care about anything except you and passing chemistry.

"I'm scared to lose you." When you say it, it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. "I always thought maybe, because we'd made it this far, that meant we were somehow immune. That the worst was over for us."

You pause to take a deep breath. But Chan doesn't push, simply thankful you've finally decided to let him shoulder the weight you carry.

"But if Seungkwan can die, that means you can too. Then who do I have?"

"I'd never leave–"

"You can't promise that," you drop to a whisper. Compensating for the waver in your voice. And you're right, he can't. Not in a world as cruel as this.

But he wants to.

"I don't believe in this world anymore. Not after what it did to him."

"Can you believe in me?"

Your answer doesn't come in the verbal form. Nor does it come quickly, which makes Chan think he's officially lost you. But then your fingers thread with his, squeezing in a way that he can only describe as feeling like pure hope.

Chan can't remember when the turning point was. All he knows is that today, months after the ocean, life feels peaceful once more. The Spring breeze is gentle against his skin as he lays in the soft grass with your head on his stomach. Surrounded by the aroma of the newly bloomed tulips that far outshine the rest of the garden.

He doesn't have as nearly green of a thumb as Seungkwan did, but he's proud. The garden is lush, green, and full of life. A little chaotic, but beautiful nonetheless.

Chan had even managed to revive the hydrangeas Seungkwan was so fond of.

You point to clouds with upturned lips, remarking on their resemblance to various animals. It's not the first time he's been lucky enough to catch you smiling in the subsequent months. But he knows to cherish each one more than he once did.

There's still a chill to the spring air and Chan tugs at his sleeves. Ignoring the incessant urge to animalistically claw at his arm. At the itch so deep under his skin, it feels like it's in the bone.

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razorblade180 · 2 months

Text

Master Arrival

March:A hundred and twenty tickets to rule them all! May luck be on my side!

Dan Heng:Shouldn’t Yanqing be here?

March:He said and I quote, “She definitely won’t rush over if I’m around.”

Dan Heng:Honestly…I can’t say that’s not possible. Should we count or-

March:Already dumped eighty.

Ticket Glitch!

March:Master is on the way! I already have this nice Boba prepared and-

E1 Bronya:*walks out* Hello again.

March…..

Dan Heng:D-Don’t panic. She’s the first off the train so-

Bronya:I’m the only passenger.

March:Noooo!

Bronya:I’m sorry.

March:It’s okay. It’s you. I can never be mad at that. Guess we’re crossing our fingers. We’re running low.

???: Not really.

Everyone: *looks left*

E6 Yukong: *holding currency* This is easily an extra twenty.

March:Oh hey! You’ve jumped from one to six just like that. I wish it was always that easy. I’ll put in a good word with Stelle to help you out!

Dan Heng:(We don’t have the resources for that…)

March:You know what? If we’re doing this then we’re doing it right!

xxxxx

Yanqing:Why am I holding the tickets and boba?

March:Trust a cute girl’s intuition! This will work out for the best. Everything she likes is in one spot! Toasty snack, swords, tickets, you…Now then, begin when you’re ready.

Yanqing:Don’t think I didn’t hear you! *feeds ten* If she didn’t come early before then why would she-

Ticket Glitch!

March:Never. Doubt. Me. Again.

Yanqing:…It’s clearly for the tea.

Dan Heng:Multiple things can be true at once.

Door opens dramatically

Yunli:Ha! Ha!!! Look who’s practically begging me to arrive and-

Yanqing:I’ll drop the drink.

She scurries over quickly and politely grabs it from him.

March:Dan Heng, thank you for being my emotional support through this. Our work here is done.

Yunli:You’re leaving!?

Yanqing:And where are you two going exactly!?

Dan Heng:You can show her around. It’s easy. We still have errands to run. *walks away*

Yunli:Ugh, guess I’m stuck with you for a little bit. We’ll double her exercises.

Yanqing:Agreed. Also…*hands relic bag* Something to get you started that I put together. Nothing special. Should get the job done.

Yunli:Gee, “how generous.” You could at least pretend to sound like you didn’t just grab whatever- worked…?

84/116, on set.

Yunli:…Yanqing, I’m going to ask you a question and you better answer seriously. How long did this take?

Yanqing:Why would I keep track?

Yunli:You little- *shakes him* Be serious you idiot! *red* What. Are. We!?

Yanqing:*red* SWORDSMAN! Now let me go!

March:*watching* Huh…not what I expected. At least she knows the effort!

Dan Heng:You’re worse than the general.

#honkai star rail #hsr march 7th #hsr dan heng #hsr yunli #hsr yukong #hsr yanqing #hsr yanli #hsr bronya

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months

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okay so I just read the blurb about cannibal and reader going north to avoid family drama and that got me thinking !!

what if reader went to dorne and arrived at sunspear during the name day celebration of qoren martell eldest daughter (who is also the heir to dorne) and reader is invited to dine with the martell as a special guest.

the martell's have a lot of questions for her. here are a quotes I came up with from the dinner conversations:

a martel prince - "so which colour do you bare in this brewing war. black or green?"

reader - "neither, my loyality is to myself and my dragon. the highborns can do as they please, but I will not allow myself and my dragon to be turned into pawns so incestious maniacs can war over an ugly-looking metal chair and matching hat"

qoren martell - "there must be somthing special about your blood, as it is not everyday that someone who is not a targaryen claims a dragon."

reader - "there is not much special prince qoren, if you were to cut me now and smear my blood next to another hundred common borns I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

and then the eldest daughter (who is clearly into reader) asks to ride cannibal and begs her parents to let her (they reluctantly agree) but reader needs a bit more convincing.

heir princess of dorne - "I am not scared"

reader - "it is not a question of being scared or not. it is the question of if cannibal will eat you or not."

okay now stay with me on this what is reader rubs her sent (like an item of her clothing) on the princess to decrease the chances of cannibal eating her. and the two go for a flight and end up kissing which cannibal isn't to happy with. and the two girls def end up becoming a lot more than just friends. heheh hope you like this idea feel free to ignore it if it's shit <3

I hope this was alright for you, sweetheart. Sorry if it seems a little clunky in some places.

I love the idea that people have heard news of reader being a non-Valyrian who claimed the wildest of all dragons, and are just naturally curious as to what makes them unique for Cannibal to finally yield and take up a rider.

It’s a mystery that no one will ever know, not even reader cuz they’re probably just as confused about that. However it isn’t something that you want to delve in deeper because you were well aware that many houses, both big and small, had their eyes on you and were anxious.

Houses such as Bracken, Blackwood, Celtigar, Tully, lannisters, Baratheon’s, Starks, Greyjoy, Aryn etc. The realm holds its breath whenever you pass by on Cannibal, halting all forms of conflict as you soared above them unbothered. You just wanted to be left alone and you could feel that Cannibal felt similar.

You knew from stories that to doubt your bond with a dragon was dangerous but your bond with cannibal was forged out of your common desire, to be able to be free to live how you felt fit, free of the personal agendas of the highborn.

So when you arrived at Dorne, you were easily spotted by the royal family and were greeted in kind as a guest on the behest of the princess of Dorne herself, who was quick to cling onto your arm and smile as you spoke while Cannibal watched on, tired of yet another person filling to hide their seemingly immediate infatuation with you. He only hopes that you were asked for your hand…again.

So once you arrived to dinner, the questions were quick to spill and you answered them in quick succession.

‘The throne is rather ugly, I see no reason to fight over it when I’d rather have it burned.’ You told them as you sipped from your goblet, trying to not be affected by the way that the Dornish princess was rubbing the back of your hand softly, sweetly. ‘Besides people have already forgotten the cause of this war and are too fickle to remember as they’re too eager in spilling blood.’ You add.

Qoren Martel, with wise eyes, leaned forward. ‘You are a nomad? You fly no flag for either cause?’

‘No.’ You tell her.

‘Why? Were their offers not sufficient for you? Did gold and glory not arise any temptation within you?’ Qorne pressed as a silence befell the table as you felt the eyes of the princess and prince on you, but you were far too use to the questions being asked as they were the same you’ve heard from the likes of Alicent, Otto, Rhaenyra and Daemon.

You were the wild card they didn’t see nor expect and now we’re trying to quell you and Cannibal before the war reached a point where Dragons were brought into it. You were Cannibal’s counterpart in human skin as he was yours in dragon scales, you two were a force to be reckoned with and you had yet to engage in combat.

‘The thoughts of riches and glory and power is enough to tempt even the strongest man in Westeros, I however value things that go beyond such.’ You told her.

‘And what is that?’ Qorne inquired, raising her brow, curiosity taking over her as it did Dornish prince beside her as he too leant in close to her your words.

‘To find peace, to be left alone and out of the minds of every person in the realm. There was a reason cannibal never left his cave and yet, he came out for me and now he will not know rest because of me, and I want him to find rest be it with or without me.’ You tell her as you thought about how tired Cannibal had become during your journey, you could feel the ache of his bones as though it were you who were tired, you loved Cannibal and respected him immensely but you didn’t wish to have him suffer for the greed of others.

From a distance Cannibal lets out a groan, as though feeling your emotions through your bond to let you know that he made his choice in his rider, and that he did not liked his choice to be one of contention if his rider is feeling strongly about his wellbeing. For he was a dragon of old Valyria and could handle more than what was given to him now.

Stubborn old fool. You thought to yourself.

I heard you little one. You then heard cannibal speak in your mind, his voice a low timbre that could be felt within your chest, through your bones and more. You weren’t certain if Aemond, Aegon, daemon or the others could heard the voices of their dragons within their one head, or if you were the only one who had achieved such a thing; Either way it was just another thing that made you feel even more alone.

‘You put the realm at risk for the sake of your dragon?’ The Dornish prince asked as though the thought befuddled him.

‘It is not I who will torch Westeros.’ You reminded him, ‘it’s the Targaryen’s that are currently infighting right now who will, in merely a commoner who just so happened to be favoured by a god.’

‘A god? You consider your dragon on equal footing with the gods?’ The princess next to you asked eagerly as she gripped your hand.

‘Shouldn’t we all?’ You rhetorically replied before carrying on. ‘The Targaryens have fooled themselves into thinking their superior due to their control over them, a fallacy I call it, but if you take away their control. So who’s to say that they can’t be cut down like any other man regardless of social status.’ You looked into Qoren Martel’s eyes when you say this as a look of understanding passes over her face.

‘Can I ride with you on Cannibal?’ The princess asked suddenly and you almost chocked on your drink as Qorne was quick to voice her displeasure at her daughter’s brashness.

‘Of course you cannot.’ She barked, ‘that beast will seat no other than his rider.’ She then looks over to you, ‘am I correct in that assumption?’

‘Of course!’ You replied quickly as you aided in her attempts to prevent the princess from doing anything reckless. ‘Cannibal will not permit anyone other than me to ride upon his back, he’s…’ you paused as you looked behind yourself to see Cannibal reach up and feast upon a flock of birds passing by, ‘…well he’s as the legend of old speak of.’

The princess didn’t seem pleased with your answer as she stared you down. ‘I can handle it.’

You and Qorne Martel shared a look across the table that spoke of exhaustion that felt as though lasted for hours on end until it was broken by a sigh. ‘Fine you may fly with our guest on Cannibal but on one condition.’

‘Anything mother.’ The princess said, back straightened.

‘Come right back.’ Qorne said with finality as the princess was quick to grab you by the arm and drag you towards cannibal but before she was about to mount him, you pull her back and she looked at you with furrowed brows. ‘Why did you stop me?’

You didn’t speak a word but rip a piece of your clothing from your person and began rubbing it on the princess wrists, neck, cheeks and arms. ‘Protecting you.’ You said afterwards, letting go of her arm as she quickly mounted cannibal who gave you a look before you mounted him.

‘Hold on tight princess.’ You whispered in the beautiful woman’s ear as you reached past her and patted Cannibal twice before gripping the princess by her waist, pulling her close to your front as you took off to the skies above.

Cannibal wasn’t at the least impressed, and was even made more so when he looked behind to see that the princess had your face held between her hands as she leant in for a kiss. You didn’t make any moves to stop her as you indulged yourself in her sweet lips, heavenly and intoxicating as she was as you closed your eyes. Who’d knew kissing in the sky would be as romantic as you initially thought?

Cannibal only huffed as he continued to fly onward, he’ll let you have this one moment, you’ve been more then deserving of it for what the realm has put you both through.

#house of the dragon #hotd

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thetimetel · 9 days

Text

I see a lot of people hating so hard on Calypso for forcing Odysseus to stay on the island against his will - and seeing him as her new lover. And believe me, I get it. Those are horrible things no sane person would do.

But I keep being brought back to this line in her song with him. The part where she specifically says 'under my spell we're stuck in paradise. No one can come or go, my island stays unknown'.

She can't leave either. And that paints a whole new light on the situation.

How long has she been stuck there, all by herself? Years? Decades? She says in her last song that it's been a hundred years. Long enough that she has stopped calling it a prison and now calls it a paradise. How long has it been that she has done the same thing every day, pining for any other contact at all?

Then one day, something changes. A man washes up on the shoreline. She immediately takes him to her bed so he can rest and recover. She can already see the new life that they're going to have together, thanking the gods for finally answering her prayers to no longer be alone. She is immortal after all, and eternity is so much more bearable when you have someone else to spend it with.

But something's wrong. He's sleeping for so long, not waking up. And the panic starts to set in. Is he dead? Have the gods played some horrible trick on her, sending a dead man to the island? It's been so long since she has seen a mortal that she doesn't know how to check for signs of death. Is she really so desperate that she brought a CORPSE to bed and thinks it's going to wake up??

Then oh, it's good! He's talking in his sleep! Everything's good, everything is fine. Corpses don't talk. So she stays near him and listens as he whispers of Ithaca, of monsters and politics - wait, Polites, a few other names and then -

'Penelope'

And in that moment her entire vision for her new life comes crashing down. He said that name with such passion, such love, even in his sleep. No. It can't be. The gods aren't THAT cruel, that the first person they'd send to her is . . . no. She can't accept it, doesn't dare to think of the implications. Once he wakes up she'll ask him.

Then finally he does wake up. And it's like a dream. She's in the room, has clearly been taking care of him, and the very first thing he sees is her eyes. It's so romantic. She gets him up to speed, making a light joke about that 'thought you were dead' moment because it doesn't matter anymore. There's only one more thing to ask to ensure her vision of their future.

'did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me though, who's Penelope?'

'She's my wife'

And in that instant all her fears are confirmed. Something in her head just snaps. How dare the gods do this to her? How DARE they send someone already married to her island, after so long?

She's not giving up that easily.

So she continues her plan like nothing had happened. Letting slip her intention to wed him and make this wonderful family, of which she has likely named their first ten children already. And this man snaps at her, threatens to kill her.

'Oh handsome, you may try. But last I checked, goddesses can't die!'

And just how many times has she checked, being trapped on an island that she can't escape all by herself?

But again she brushes it off as a joke. Because that's all behind her. There's something for her to live for again! And silly Odysseus tries to claim that this isn't how it's going to be. She totally gets it, she went through that the first few years herself. So she spells out that he's all hers now.

Now all she has to do, is wait. Wait for him to come to terms with their situation. Wait for him to realize he will never reach Penelope. It will be ugly of course, that moment he finally accepts this cruel fate. But once that has passed, he'll fall for Calypso. She knows this in her heart. And they can finally set out to truly make this hellhole a paradise.

So she waits.

One year passes.

She's still having the time of her life. In between his escape attempts she's getting him to open up to her. When she explained her past to him he even showed sympathy! After all, they both were constantly getting screwed over by the gods. It wouldn't take long.

Two years pass.

His constant escape attempts are just amusing. She's taken to telling him 'welcome back!' every time the raft turns around and brings him back to the island.

Three years pass.

He tries to kill her, under the thought that it was her that was keeping him on the island. But she just laughs as she shows it didn't do a damn thing. He'll run out of ideas soon. He'll accept that he's trapped here, just like her.

Four years pass.

She's lost count of the number of escape attempts. There's at least five a day. He's trying to find a loophole in the curse that keeps them there. She's trying to gently push him over that edge, to get him to accept the reality of the situation. Once he does, their new life together will start.

Five years pass.

Any day now, he'd give up. The escape attempts had stopped, but now he would just sob on the shoreline. At this point he was going to raise the tide with how many tears he had cried. She understood of course. Her breakdown hadn't been any prettier all those years ago.

Six years.

Why? Why wasn't he giving up? Why was he doing this to himself? The escape attempts had renewed. He'd searched the entire island, trying to find something tethering them to this accursed paradise. He'd tried everything to escape. She wasn't even sure where he'd gotten the 'wax wings' idea from, but it was just as pointless as the other attempts.

Seven years.

She finds him at the edge of a cliff. And for the first time she feels a deep, primal fear. He'd never accepted her gift of immortality. She desperately tries to talk him down. But every attempt seems to be making it worse. She doesn't know she's repeating the words he's heard before. Then he cries out for Athena, and when she doesn't answer he just collapses in tears.

It was scary. But this had to be his breaking point. He didn't resist when she brought him back to their home, though he stayed in bed for the rest of the day. She just had to give him some space - though she was going to make CERTAIN he stayed away from that cliff.

Then something happens. The last thing she expected.

A visit from Hermes. He tells that Zeus himself has decreed Odysseus be freed.

And yet again, her vision of the future is shattered.

She pleads. She begs. He's falling for her, she knows it. That new life is so close, she just needs a little more time! But her cries fall on deaf ears. And when she tries to refuse, a lightning bolt lands a little too close for comfort.

There's only one chance left.

And in her heart she knows how it will end. But she tries. She tries to convince Odysseus to stay, knowing that if she fails he will leave her all alone again. She doesn't want to be alone again. She pleads, she begs, she pours out her entire soul to him. All while knowing what his answer will be. It hadn't changed for seven years, why would it change now? Why would this fucking world EVER give her what she wanted!?

And it ends just like she expects it to. With her watching as he gets on that raft and sails off into the horizon. Except this time Hermes keeps the curse at bay, and stops the island from bringing him back.

And just like that, she's all alone again.

#epic the musical #Odysseus #Calypso #Yeah I'm thinking of writing fanfiction for Calypso #How did you guess???

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hebewebe · 1 year

Text

Knowing Me, Knowing You - {Y.Okkotsu}

cross-posted of my ao3, do not steal!!!!

La Douleur Exquise

(n.) The heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.

Yuuta Okkotsu is a man who knows many things, he’s spent most of his adolescence in fear of Rika hurting others and training to control her, along the way he’s also learned a couple of things on the way such as the reversed curse technique which no longer allowed him the need to visit Shoko as often.

He also learned how to master cursed speech, something that his friend was born able to do, he’s also learned how to copy other cursed techniques and wield many weapons.

Along the way he’s also learned you , you joined him not long after your first year at Jujutsu Tech and have been close friends for a while (much to Rika’s dismay at first), his friends were your friends, his likes and dislikes were also yours, two peas in a pod something that Gojo would tease you both about.

he’s learned almost if not all your dreams and aspirations, your reasons for joining the horrific world of jujutsu sorcery, “I don’t want to just sit here wasting my life away in some office job knowing I could be out there helping the world.” something you told him a little after the fight of a hundred demons, he had asked you after watching you help fight in the city.

And you know him just as well, his favorite colors, movies, likes, dislikes, why he’s here, who Rika is, and what she means to him.

Why he double knots his shoelaces, why he is surprisingly good at making french toast and smoothie bowls, how he never really contacts his family but tries to stay close with his sister, and how he’s good at geometry and quadratics.

You believe he’s the reason the sky is blue and that the night is dark, why the nights without him are cold and lonely, why the days without him are somehow even worse.

You find yourself on autopilot when he’s not around you, sharing the same air as you, feeling an empty and aching void in your chest when he’s not with you.

And when he is with you, you can’t help but feel whole again, like the aching and empty piece inside of you has been filled with something unknown, warm, and true.

You’ve decided to call this visceral feeling a small passing crush , but you know better than to think so little of these growing feelings.

You love him, you love him more than anything, you find yourself at a loss for words whenever he’s near, and your cheeks grow warmer when he brushes his hand against yours.

“Hey, Yuu? Can I ask you something?” it's a whisper, that could’ve easily gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the silence in the room. “You can ask me anything, you know that.” he smiles when he says it, almost as if a reminder that you both already know he’d listen to any question; stupid or not.

“What do you think it feels like to love and be loved in return?” there’s a moment of pondering silence between the two before one speaks up.

“I think it should feel… suffocating, like your drowning in an endless sea of.. warmth, I believe that once you find someone to love you should love them hard, love them with every atom that makes up your existence, love them hard to the point where if they’re not with you the world feels as if it’ll come crashing down on your shoulders. And to be loved in return? Well, that’s a kind of complicated question, I guess it would feel like... A boulder falling and crashing against a dam?” it’s said just as silently as the question was asked.

“A boulder falling and crashing against a dam? Why do you say that?” there you go, always wondering, always asking why when things don’t add up to you, its cute in a sense how you’re always eager for an answer.

“Because no one truly expects to be loved just as hard as they love someone, if anything maybe half or less than that, but never fully, never wholly. Nobody ever truly expects to be loved so hard that they forget how to breathe when one is not near, nobody expects to feel all that love, and definitely not at once.” He always makes sure to answer any of your questions in full, another one of the many upon many things you love about him.

“Are you supposed to feel loved all at once?” You will always have a mountain of questions ready to be asked and answered he supposes.

“I don’t think so, I guess it just depends on the circumstance, for instance, if both parties love hard then I guess it’ll be suffocating on both ends, but if it festers like a warm disease then it’ll take its time, it might start with things such as the way they prefer their tea or coffee, or which hand they might drive better with. Presumably small things that then fester until they are the only thought that consumes your mind, they're the only thing that plagues your dreams at night and even again when you wake, until you realize that they have complete control over your heart.”

He says the words as if he’s fond of them, he probably has considering how he felt about Rika, and you know that if you ask there’s a strong possibility that your heart might end up in small shatters but you can't help but wonder if.

“Have you ever felt that way towards someone?” it’s said even quieter than before and you fear not if he heard you but if he didn’t hear you .

“I have actually, I still do.”

Oh , it’s all that comes to mind, your heart freezes and does nearly every blood vessel in your body.

“Have you?”

A simple question regarding such a simple answer.

A moment of silence passes.

“I have.”

I have felt that way and I still do, everything about you plagues me like a horrid disease and I can’t help but warmly accept it, even though the possibility of my feelings being unreciprocated is strong I still love you if not even more than the day I met you, I love you so much that my soul aches and my heart shatters and my mind begs for you. I would lasso the sun to bring you eternal warmth so you would never feel cold again, I would overthrow all the demons in hell just so I can control the demons you fight and make sure you forever have peace of mind because I know that late into the nights horrendous thoughts poison your mind and leave you scared, I would manipulate the sisters of faith so you can face nothing but good fortune, I would become god to make sure that every blessing would come forth to you.

“That’s wonderful y/n, did they feel the same?” an innocent question asked by the person guilty of blindly robbing one’s heart, “I’m not sure actually.”

“Well, I’m sure one day someone will,” it’s said with a friendly smile, and your heart somehow breaks even more. “Well, I should get going Inumaki is expecting me,” he kicks his feet off the bed and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s still in love with Rika, does he dream of a life where instead of a horrific appearance one could only conjure up in horror movies does he dream of her youthful and beautiful? Does he still love her the same he did all those years ago? He still wears the ring so one could only assume.

Does he dream of kissing her in the rain? Comforting her when she has nightmares? Marrying her? Starting a family with her? I mean they must obviously talk about what they could’ve been had that tragic incident not happened.

Does he love her the same way you love him? So many questions you wish to bombard him with but no position to ask.

You hate the feeling of being in love, it makes the days long and miserable and the nights even worse, the constant nagging feeling of loneliness and desperation, the aching feeling of longing that settles deep within you.

How everything brightens up when Yuuta’s near.

How your heart beats faster.

How your cheeks heat up.

You hate it all, because at the end of the day.

He’s not yours.

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aughtpunk · 5 months

Text

So in the comments of "Primum Non Nocere" someone asked what would have happened if Shaun didn't get sick. I answered briefly, but I really felt like getting lost in the weeds of this idea for a bit. Because there's just so many possibilities, you know?

To start, Shaun would have ran. Shaun had been running his entire life. He doesn't know how to do anything else when faced with such potential danger. Shaun would run, leaving the safety of the Grand Temple and everyone within behind. It's from there our possibilities begin to branch off.

It's possible that, with time, Shaun would calm down and reflect on what he learned and the life of his twin. Maybe it would take weeks, months, years, decades, but with time and distance he could begin to understand what Jacob had gone through. Perhaps as more and more lambs come back to life and return to the world Shaun would slowly believe that--despite their evil actions in the past that--Jacob is now fighting for a peaceful, better future. Perhaps then Shaun would return to the Grand Temple. Older, yes, but more mature and understanding and willing to rebuild his relationship with Jacob.

or maybe

Or maybe Shaun never returns to the Grand Temple. He instead spends his life in hiding, too scared to return to the only family he's ever really known. Maybe he starts a family of his own. Maybe he spends his years alone. When he eventually passes he's not too shocked to find himself alive again in front of Jacob and Narinder. Would he run again? Or would the weight of a life alone make him more eager to forgive?

or maybe

Or maybe once he's alone Shaun would find it so easy, so painfully easy, to convince himself that the God of Death isn't his twin. That Jacob died kneeling in front of the Bishops over two hundred years ago. This thing, this monster known as the God of Death is not Jacob. Maybe it's just the Red Crown using his body as a puppet. Maybe it's a demon, or some other sort of monster that had taken Jacob's form. Because there's no way Jacob, his Jacob, would ever do those horrible things. No, this must be something else. It must be. Whatever it was it had to be stopped or Jacob's soul would never be able to rest.

Shaun couldn't do it alone. But The God of Death and their followers have plenty of enemies. How easy it would be to join those ranks. To rise up thanks to his knowledge of The Lamb's weaknesses and fears. Shaun wouldn't think twice about leading these troops into battle. He would show no mercy to those within the Grand Temple, nor would he hesitate to take on the thing that wore Jacob's flesh himself.

Shaun would lose, of course. Dead before he even knew what happened. Jacob wouldn't want to do it but they'd have no choice. It was the only way to end this. The only way.

And Jacob would bring him back, of course. Apologizing the whole time. Begging their twin to hear them out, to listen, to stop this senseless violence.

Shaun would run again. He'd come back more powerful. He'd fight Jacob. He'd die. Jacob would bring him back. He'd run again. An endless cycle fueled by rage and denial.

or maybe

Years pass. Decades. Centuries. Jacob still hasn't felt Shaun's second death after all of this time. But they're not shocked at all.

Because, you see, on the night Shaun left someone also stole the translated text about how to create a crown.

There are rumors of a new cult in the air. This one lead by a God of Justice. A lamb.

Jacob could easily crush the new cult, but they don't. They can't. All they can do is wait until the day The God of Justice decides to make Jacob pay for all of their past sins. Even if it meant killing The God of Death themselves.

And frankly? Jacob may let him.

***

In all of these possibilities, these strange and twisted branches, Kallamar will sometimes look and his old chess set and feel an odd lump in his throat. It made no sense, really. He'd only known The Lamb's twin for a few short days. Yet there was still a part that missed him. He'd then go back to whatever he was doing before and forget all about it.

Still. It was a shame he never got that rematch.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #cotl shaun #cotl kallamar #I spent way too long on this #whoops #Primum Non Nocere

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Note

I'm patient but I'm not but I'm patient but I'm not are we going to pee in this elevator and is Joe going to hear us go pssssss I'M PATIENT BUT I'M NOT please pretty please part three soon? 🥺 🥺 🥺

so, ive learned that apparently peeing in front of a stranger is literal nightmare fuel for some of you and i wasnt aware and im very sorry for exposing you to this fear without having put a proper trigger warning in place... but, um, here's part three :) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Between Floors and Feelings

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“They say this station’s haunted, you know?”

It had been forty minutes. Forty-five, maybe, of being stuck in a lift with a stranger, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

Just… have a cheeky little nap. Some good quality shut-eye.

If you would’ve been by yourself, you’d have laid down already, no doubt about it. Would’ve dozed off until firefighters or whoever else knew how to save people from lifts would come to rescue you.

If you’d have been alone you also would’ve definitely pissed yourself, but you thought that maybe the dress would hide it well enough. You could easily pretend the lift already smelled like urine when you stepped inside just before it had gotten stuck. Before you’d gotten trapped inside with a handsome man in an expensive suit who had introduced himself as Joe.

Joe, who was now trying to distract you with some spooky shit you didn’t believe in.

“Actor William Terriss, murdered in 1890-something. There used to be a bakery here,”

You were far too tired to really interact with him, but Joe didn’t mind. He just talked, and you just listened. You also didn’t really care for what he was telling you, but the fact that Joe was trying to make casual conversation in an attempt to distract from the stupid and increasingly annoying static from the intercom was sweet.

“And now they say he stalks the corridors, looking for bread. Tall guy, apparently. I’ve been told some tube workers were so scared of him, they requested to be transferred to a less haunted tube station,”

“Less haunted,” you repeated, “Not not haunted. Just, less.” that tickled you.

“A little haunting is fine, a touch of spook keeps you on your toes. But a tall actor looking for bread?” Joe looked at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows raised, and then jokingly answered his own question, “That’s too much.”

You just smiled, eyes heavy-lidded. A silence fell and your mind wandered a second. If you thought about it, almost every tube station could easily have scary spooky ghost stories. They were all underground with groaning tunnels and echoing passages, if you believed in the paranormal, any noise could be coming from the other side. Especially when a little more deserted, every single tube station could give you the creeps.

But you'd never seen a ghost, and were planning on keeping it that way.

If you could just… slump sideways and rest your head a little. Close your eyes a second. Let the ghost of the bread-actor roam freely and do his thing without bothering him... if you could just sleep. Doze off, just for a little while.

Joe pressed the emergency button for what felt like the three hundred and eighty-third time.

Pressing the emergency button no longer made anyone ask you any questions. It was just static now. Static that would last about 20 seconds before it died again, and every time it did, Joe would just press the button once more.

He’d been assigned the button-pressing task, which was good work, because you felt busy enough focusing on staying awake and working your pelvic floor muscles.

You were uncomfortable, and grew a little more uneasy when you felt eyes on you. You turned your head to see Joe give you a wary once over.

“You all right?”

How deep was this pit of concern this man held within him? You tutted and slumped your head forwards by ways of answering.

“I’m so close to my bed, I can practically hear it call my name,” you whined.

“If you’re an easy sleeper, I don’t mind if you close your eyes a second,”

Too kind.

“I can’t, I’ll piss myself,” you deadpanned and hissed straight after, because mentioning it made you feel it more. You tried to relief the pressure by pressing both hands firmly into the floor and leaning heavily into your stretched arms. It did nothing.

“That’s OK, I’ll pretend I don’t see,”

You gave Joe a stare, one that said, ha ha, very funny, even though you had to work to hide your smile.

The static died.

Joe pressed the button again.

“So, you live close then?”

You nodded. “Bow street, just down the road,”

Joe blinked, then let out an impressed whistle that sliced through the air with a sharp, clear tone.

“My God, I didn’t know I was in the proximity of an actual billionaire.”

You were hardly a billionaire, but you’d be lying if you said you had never used your postal code to impress people.

“It’s a tiny studio above a Pizza Express, it’s not that glamorous,” you argued.

“Oh, so… millionaire, then,”

Had you not been so tired, had you not needed the loo so badly, you’d have reacted more to it. Joe was funny. Sweet. All you could give was a slight smile before a grimace overtook your face once more.

“Should’ve gotten off at Leicester Square,” you muttered.

Because you did all the time. Especially in rush hours. But you hadn’t wanted to walk the extra few minutes. Minutes that, in hindsight, would’ve passed anyway. Minutes that would’ve meant you could’ve been home right now.

“Nah,” Joe reasoned, having a sip of his own water before continuing, “You probably would’ve gotten your dress stuck in the escalator, making the whole system tear it off, and that group of drunk guys likely wouldn’t have gone easy on you,”

Joe had seen and heard those guys too.

“To be honest,” you started, eyes closed and entirely focused on the strength needed to keep every single drop of urine inside your body. “I’d take the humiliation if that meant I would’ve been home right now.”

And you meant it.

Fuck, if you just kept thinking about it, you would only feel it more. You needed something to make you forget about the building pressure in your lower stomach all together, but it wasn’t as if there were ample options of entertainment.

There was just Joe.

“Do you live close? Or do you still have a whole trek home once we get out?” it was the easiest way of asking if you were potentially stuck in a small metal box with a neighbour.

“Quite the footslog for me still, yea,” so not a neighbour then.

You assumed he must have had plans. Maybe Joe was meeting friends in a bar somewhere, or maybe he’d been on his way to meet his girlfriend - you knew nothing about him, and didn’t know what to assume.

“Maybe we can convince the ambulance to drop you off at your place later,” you tried your hand at a joke.

“Ambulance?”

“For my ruptured bladder,” it came out all constrained, and instead of a goofy laugh, you received a concerned glance from Joe that then turned into something more determined.

“Yea, all right, hang on, I’m gonna…” Joe trailed off, and twisted to cap off of his water bottle again before he drank whatever was left inside. Just, chugged it all down.

“No, don’t– there’ll be two full bladders inside this lift, and–”

“One.” Joe said, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand before he got up onto his feet. Then, he held a hand out to you, and without much thinking you took it. Joe helped you stand, and then gave you the empty plastic bottle.

“What?”

“I promise I won’t look… or listen, I won’t, you just– you’re risking a bladder infection, and you’re clearly in pain, so–”

“Oh my God, you think I’m going to pee into this water bottle?”

“I don’t think, I know, I’ll just… here, look, I’ll squeeze myself into the corner with my back turned,” Joe demonstrated, turning with his face pressed into the corner before he covered both ears with his palms.

“You’re joking. We could be in here for hours, I don’t–”

“Exactly.” Joe looked over his shoulder. “So, please, go ahead. If you gotta go, you gotta go. I’ll give you as much privacy as I can.”

He turned back, and you just blinked at his backside.

What the fuck was this guy on?

You looked at the water bottle in your hands and for a split second actually contemplated doing it. But then, how the fuck was this ever going to work?!

“I’ve not got the aim for this,” you said. “I barely got it all into an open handbag earlier, this is never– hey!”

“You what?” Joe turned around, hands lowering from his ears, giving you a sort of panicked, definitely confused look.

“You have remarkably good hearing for someone who was very actively not listening to me peeing,”

Joe's throat stuttered as he quickly turned back, hands back over his ears. To really sell that he wasn’t listening, he started singing, “That’s me in the corner… that’s me in the, spot, light, losing my religion,”

He wiggled his hips a little to the words as he sang way off pace, far too quick, and you thought to yourself that if you were going to have to be stuck in a lift with a stranger, it was good that you’d gotten stuck with this one. This light-hearted, big goof of a man, who seemed to not have a single judgmental bone in his body. Or, a musical one for that matter.

Feeling no judgment was very refreshing after heavily judging every single aspect of yourself from the moment you’d walked out of your office.

“Joe,” you said, clearly not going ahead and even attempting to use the empty water bottle as a toilet. But Joe was definitely going to think twice about turning around after that comment you'd made.

“Joe,” you tried again, louder.

But that just prompted Joe to raise his voice as well, “Oh no I’ve said too much,” Joe dragged out his words to keep the silences in between to a minimum. “I haven’t said enough– I thought that I heard you– ow,”

Joe turned and saw that the bounce he'd felt on the back of his head came from the soft plastic of the water bottle you were now holding by the cap in your fist, like a weapon.

“Thank you, but, I think I'd rather die,” than pee in front of you into a water bottle that would then just be full of your yellow piss. You shudderd at the thought of it.

“Okay, well then,” Joe swiftly took the bottle from your hands and stepped around you. You turned and saw how Joe placed the bottle right side up in the corner furthest away from the intercom.

“It'll be here for when you need it,”

“I won't need it,” you said, sliding down the lift doors opposite to sit back down.

“Hmh, debatable,” Joe scrunched up the side of his face, making him wink as he did so as he moved to go sit down next to you.

“I won't use it,” you rectified.

“Then it'll just be there,” Joe bickered, gesturing towards the plastic bottle with one arm.

“For no reason,” you honestly weren't going to fucking use it. You'd probably end up pissing all over your own hands, and Joe just drank the last bit of water that you could've used to wash them after. Although, working with just the one container, that wouldn't have worked anyway.

“It'll be there because I like to keep my empty water bottles in corners of lifts. Feng Shoe and that.”

Joe had one of those faces where he joked a bunch without showing it much, expression all serious, or all annoyed, but then he'd crack straight after. Would press his lips together to hide the smile that he couldn't escape as his eyes found yours.

“Um, it's Feng Shui,” you corrected, and the giggles Joe was trying to repress came out in a snort.

Sat next to each other now, you felt a lot more comfortable because there weren't constant eyes on you. Both you and Joe had the same view: your own legs, feet, the empty lift, the water bottle in the corner across from you near the opposite doors...

You let your head fall back against the door and closed your eyes a second.

That whole ordeal had woken you up a little, but you were still tired. Resting your eyes was still very welcome.

“So... I have um, I've got some questions,” Joe started after a short silence.

You kept your eyes shut, but stopped breathing for a second.

“If they're about pissing into a bag, no you don't,” you said, and you heard a small disappointed hum escape Joe's throat.

“So, um, I have no questions,”

That made you laugh.

Still didn't feel great. You still had to pee, but you were determined now. Your body was going to have figure out a way to just... reabsorb it all back into your system.

You laugh turned into a frown and an extended groan.

“All right,” you sat up a little, ready to get into it. You were going to tell the full story, whether Joe actually wanted to hear it or not.

“No, please, you don't have to,” Joe laughed as he backtracked.

“I've already said too much,” you sighed.

“I could wonder for the rest of my life,” Joe was sweet. Didn't want to pressure you into sharing anything you didn't originally want to share.

“It'll be like therapy,” but you were already talking yourself into sharing everything that had happened to you that evening, all the things that lead up to you getting onto the tube looking like you did.

It didn't feel right to just let this guy think you were crazy.

Which, maybe you were crazy, but, at least you could make him understand.

Right?

So you told Joe about the annual costume party at the office. This year the theme was the letter B. You went with bride. Your boyfriend - fuck, ex-boyfriend - dressed up as a business man which meant that he could just wear his own office attire. You had joked that you were going to tell people he dressed up as 'boring'. You had given him so many alternative ideas; batman, bra salesman, Bob Ross, a banana, Baby Spice, a blue man group member, Buzz Lightyear... you had more up your sleeve, but he'd insisted on business man. Would just be easier.

Yea.

Easier, and also more boring. But it was whatever. Showing up in a wedding dress with him wearing a suit was kind of cute, you thought.

And the party had been fun! Everyone had looked amazing, really amazing. Most people had gone all out with their outfits and it made you feel less silly for walking around in a big puffy white cupcakey wedding dress. Someone had dressed up as big foot, the full costume, and you'd had to figure out who hiding inside that costume by process of elimination.

But then, when you were hunched over the table that held all the drinks with two of your colleagues, mixing stupid shit together to make awful brown-looking drinks, it all went wrong.

You looked up, searched for him with your eyes, because you had a gross drink to give to him, and saw him across the room, talking to Derek whose desk was three seats over from yours.

You saw how he excused himself. Saw him say he was going to go for a quick toilet break.

But then he walked the opposite way. Derek hadn't even noticed.

And you were dumb.

Thought he just didn't know where the toilets were.

So with two drinks in hand, you rushed after him. Had a sip that spilled down the sides of your mouth because you weren't being careful, and you'd grimaced and laughed at how nasty it was.

Then you saw him step into your boss's office, and you slowed down. Why was he going in there? Surely he knew, could see, that wasn't where the men's room was.

You were about to call out for him, were about to go, “Babe, are you lost?” with a laugh stuck at the back of your throat that was ready to slip out when you'd see him all confused and all alone in your boss's office.

But then, when you stepped into the doorway, he wasn't all confused. And he wasn't all alone.

His face was stuck to your boss's face, and you could see actual tongue. You saw her fingers work to loosen his tie. You saw his fingers pressed into her waist. She was dressed as a bunny, the Playboy kind, because of course she was.

You didn't think they'd even seen you. Not that you spent a very long time looking at them. You'd instantly turned on your heel and marched back to where the party was still in full swing.

Two colleagues saw your ashen complexion, saw the shock and the panic and the hurried shaky steps you were taking and cornered you. Said things like, “I'm sorry you had to find out this way,” and “We would've said something sooner, but, you know, she's our boss,” and “I'm sure you understand, don't you?” because they'd all known. And apparently for fucking ages, too.

Your face had been streaming down with tears once they were done talking to you. Once they'd advised you to go home, you had mascara all the way down your neck and two empty glasses in your hands. The godawful cocktails that held nothing but strong liquors mixed together had been a godsend.

You'd hitched, “Tell her I quit with immediate effect.” without wanting to look anyone in the eye.

Everyone could go and fuck themselves.

And then, just before you walked out, you saw her handbag. You knew it held her planner, her cigarettes, maybe even her phone, and you thought, I've got to pour something in.

The table that held all drinks was too far back into the office. People would notice. Maybe you could go hold it open under a tap. Place it in the sink in the toilets and just.... fill it up.

That's when you had felt your lower stomach pinch.

“Listen,” you said to Joe, regrettably in tears once again.

God, what a pathetic evening.

“I'm not proud of what I've done. But I did exactly what you think I did and I only stopped because I heard footsteps.”

Joe had just listened to you without interrupting besides the hand he'd placed around your wrist when he saw your eyes well up as you spoke.

He very slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth, but didn't say anything. It felt like the most appropriate way to comfort you. He was used to hugging strangers, but that didn't mean that you were, and he had to actively work against the instinct to curl an arm around you.

The hand on your arm felt nice.

The thumb rubbing felt nicer.

“So, I left her bag there, on the floor, and just hauled myself out of there... and, against my better judgement, decided to get the tube home instead of a taxi.”

You rubbed at the underside of your nose, and then at a cheek. Maybe these tears actually cleared your face of all the make-up remnants. There was going to have to be a point where it'd all just... wash off, right?

You were expecting Joe to say something like, I'm sorry, or, that's awful. But then he softly said,

“Should've shat in it,”

And the laugh it erupted from you was embarrassingly loud. Came right from your core. Made Joe laugh too as he bent forward a little to find your eyes with his. Made your tears suddenly become tears of joy once more. Made you grab onto Joe's arm with the one that he wasn't holding onto. Made you suddenly sit up in an attempt to not wet yourself.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. No, fuck.

“Bottle!” you cried, moving your feet underneath you as you tried to stand up. "Quick, bottle, bottle, bottle!" you reached with hands you knew wouldn't reach far enough.

Luckily, Joe shot into action, almost seemed excited to do so. Jumped up, took the bottle, turned back to you as you were still trying to get up.

“I can't– help,” you squirmed, feet and bum on the floor still, both arms outstretched, waiting for Joe to pull you up.

You felt like you would sometimes feel when you really needed the toilet and you were right outside your flat, fumbling with the keys as you tried to hurry which only made things take so much longer.

Joe helped you stand, and the gave you the bottle before he slapped the emergency button. The static would help drown out the noise, you know, besides the loud singing Joe was about to do.

He stepped around you to go hide in his little corner again, hands already moving up to cover his ears, but you said, “Wait,” and used both hands to work you dress up, to get the bottle under the skirt.

Joe did wait, looking at you with big, rounded, expecting eyes. And you couldn't believe what you were about to say, but right now, everything was about survival and survival only.

“You're going to have to hold me.”

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #between floors and feelings #part 3

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