#I feel so connected to my childhood self right now. sitting in the dark room with the only light coming from one window with the blinds draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunnytaes · 2 years

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Midnight Confessions | LJY

☆ Pairing: Lee Jooyeon x gn!reader

☆ Genre/themes: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, high school au, best friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers

☆ Warning(s): descriptions of anxiety, mental breakdown, brief mention of a ~compromising position~ but it's nothing lol

☆ Word count: 2.7k

☆ Summary: Y/N is having some friend drama and they turn to the only person who can give them comfort, their childhood best friend and crush, Jooyeon. Little do they know, Jooyeon feels the same way.

☆ Note(s): this is based entirely off of a dream I had so if it's bad we can blame my subconscious, I literally woke up and all I had to do was transcribe it. I wasn't going to post this bc I wasn't sure how many people would read XH fic but @honeyvocalhwang inspired me to post something today since it's Lunar New Year. So enjoy this purely self-indulgent fic and have a happy Lunar New Year!

Tears streamed down my face as I knocked on Hyeongjun’s door. His parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway but I knew he was home because I could see the light coming from his window. I knocked harder and tried calling his phone again, but he wouldn’t pick up. Grumbling in frustration, I picked up my bike and got back on, the wind quickly drying my tears.

I debated going to Gunil’s house because he’d talked me out of some dark places before, but honestly I knew I needed comfort more than I needed advice right now. I found myself pedalling the familiar route to Jooyeon’s house before I knew what I was doing.

By the time I got to Jooyeon’s house it was late, and dinner time had long since passed. Dropping my bike on the lawn, I knocked on the door and prayed someone would answer. Less than a minute later, I was greeted by Jooyeon’s mom’s familiar face.

“Hi Y/N- oh sweetie, what happened?” she said, her warm facial expression shifting to one of concern when she saw my state.

I probably looked like a mess. I was still in my uniform even though school had ended hours ago, my eyes were probably red and puffy, and I could feel the dried tear tracks on my face every time I moved it.

“Is Jooyeon home?” I asked, cursing how fragile my voice sounded.

“Yeah, of course, love. Come in,” she said, waving me inside. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

I shook my head as I toed off my shoes, following her up the carpeted stairs. She knocked on his door but got no response. Jooyeon and his parents had a system for how they could come into his room, it was cute. If the door was ajar, as it was now, it meant they could come in, but they usually still knocked as a courtesy. The whole thing was really sweet and respectful, I had trouble believing it was a real parent-child relationship. My parents just barged into my room whenever they pleased, only knocking half a second before they opened the door.

Jooyeon’s mom pushed open the door to reveal him sitting on his bed with his back facing the door, headphones on and connected to his bass, which he was playing. No wonder he couldn’t hear the knocking. His mom left us alone as I stepped into the room, dropping my backpack by the door and walking slowly in a wide arc around his bed so as not to scare him.

My tactic failed, of course, because when Jooyeon was playing music, he got really into it. He didn’t notice me until I was practically in front of him and he jumped a mile in the air as his headphones fell around his neck and his glasses got knocked askew.

“Jesus, Y/N, you scared me! How did you get in here?” he exclaimed, putting his hand on his chest.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, scuffing my socked foot on the carpet, “your mom let me in.”

“What’s up? Why are you here so late?” he asked as he fixed his glasses and started to put his bass away. “Did we have plans that I forgot about?”

“No, nothing like that,” I rushed out, shaking my head worriedly. I didn’t want him to feel like he was obligated to hang out with me. “I just um-”

“Jooyeon!” his dad called from downstairs, interrupting me. “Can you come help me with something?”

“Sure!” he yelled, looking at me. “You’re good here, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” I said, waving my hand in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner.

Jooyeon must not have given it as much thought as I did because he rushed downstairs in an instant, leaving me alone in his room. I stood there for what felt like an eternity but was only two minutes according to the clock on his nightstand before I decided to head downstairs as well.

I went into the kitchen where I could see Jooyeon’s mom sitting at the kitchen island reading a magazine, her reading glasses perched on her nose. If I looked to my left I could see Jooyeon in the garage helping his dad take down a bunch of boxes from the shelves.

“Hi, honey,” Jooyeon’s mom said, taking off her glasses to look at me. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Yes please,” I said quietly, sitting at the island as I continued to watch Jooyeon.

A few minutes later, a steaming hot bowl of ramen and a glass of water were placed in front of me. I smiled at Jooyeon’s mom gratefully and began to eat as I waited for my friend to return.

I’d just finished my bowl when Jooyeon walked in from the garage, going to the sink to wash his hands.

“There you are,” he said, taking my dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, “do you wanna go up to my room now?”

Nodding, I followed him up to his room, closing the door behind us.

“Do you wanna play a game?” he asked, setting up his console before I could even reply.

Sighing, I took the controller from him and settled myself on the floor, preparing myself to lose. I knew I was Jooyeon’s favourite person to play video games with, because even though I wasn’t as good as some of his friends, I was the only one who didn’t complain when he won several times in a row.

We played a couple of rounds, but every time I tried to talk, Jooyeon didn’t seem to be paying attention. Eventually, I got frustrated so I died on purpose early in the game so that Jooyeon would finally turn his attention to me.

“Hey, why did you-” he started to ask, stopping when he saw the tears gathering in my eyes. “Hey hey hey, what’s wrong?”

He turned off the TV and scooted closer to me, any thoughts about the game surely escaping as he saw his best friend in distress.

“It’s Mel,” I got out, my voice sounding warbly again as the tears spilled out of my eyes.

“Melanie? What did she do now?” he asked, putting his warm hands on my shoulders.

“She-” I hiccuped, gasping for air as my chest shook with the intensity of trying to contain the sobs from wracking through my body. “She got all upset because I’m moving and she said we should stop being friends now before I forget about her.”

If Jooyeon was shocked by the news of me moving, I couldn’t tell, because my eyes were screwed shut as I attempted to stop the tears from coming out.

“Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, sympathy and concern lacing his voice. “Do you need a hug?”

I nodded, my bottom lip quivering as the tears threatened to spill over again. Once Jooyeon pulled me as close as he could with our knees touching, the floodgates opened again as I began to cry into his shirt.

It was really difficult to hug while we were both sitting on the floor, but I didn’t want to say anything because I was scared he’d pull away and I really needed to be held. Luckily, I didn’t have to, because Jooyeon noticed too.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, pulling me into his lap so he could bear-hug me properly.

Wrapped around him like a koala, I buried my face in the crook of his neck as I continued to cry. We’d never been this close before, but if he was uncomfortable with our proximity, he didn’t say anything as he rubbed comforting circles on my back.

“Jooyeon, you know you’re supposed to keep your door open when you have gue-” his mother started to say as she came in, stopping when she saw her son and his best friend in what probably looked like a very compromising position on the floor. I started to scramble away but Jooyeon held me firmly in place.

“Mom, I swear it’s not what it looks like!” he explained hurriedly. “Y/N’s going through a tough time.”

“Oh honey,” she said, her eyes softening as she came further into the room to hand me a tissue box and a bottle of water from Jooyeon’s mini fridge.

“Feel free to stay the night, Y/N,” she said. “I’ll call your parents and have Jooyeon’s father put your bike in the garage so it doesn’t get stolen.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled appreciatively.

She patted my head comfortingly before leaving the room, closing the door behind her as she left. Jooyeon took a tissue from the box and pulled away slightly so that he could wipe the tears from my face.

“Melanie’s dumb anyway,” he said, opening the water bottle and giving it to me, “remember that time in second grade when she wouldn’t let me play with you guys because I spent one recess playing with Jiseok because he was new?”

I nodded, drinking half of the bottle in one breath.

“She’s always been protective of her friends, scared she’ll lose them. It’s why she cut me and Jiseok out when we switched schools. She pushed us away before we could push her away, and now she’s doing the same to you.”

“It’s not fair,” I mumbled, burying my face in his neck once again, “how does she know that I’ll push her away? I didn’t push you guys away, and I even made new friends because of it.”

“I know,” he said, patting my back, “you just have to convince her you’ll keep being her friend even if you don’t live nearby or go to the same school anymore. Now let’s get ready for bed. I think I still have a set of your emergency sweats in my drawer.”

I disentangled myself from my best friend and stood up, wiping the rest of the tears from my face as he rummaged around in his drawer for whatever clothes I’d left the last time I’d stayed over. I retrieved the toothbrush I always carried around for this exact reason from my backpack and took the clothes from him as I went into the hall bathroom to get ready for bed.

I was glad I’d had the foresight to leave a set of comfortable clothes at each of my six friends’ houses. My house was the furthest from all of theirs since we went to different schools, so I usually ended up sleeping over when our hangout sessions ran late. My only friend that lived in my neighbourhood was Mel, hence why she was so upset that I was moving both neighbourhoods and schools.

The clothes were a blessing, though, because my school uniform had to be made of the most uncomfortable material ever made. It was like they had mixed cardboard and pure static electricity and turned them into clothes. Stepping into the sweats I’d left was like coming home after a long day, which in a sense, I was. Even though the clothes were mine, they smelled like Jooyeon because he kept them in his drawer next to his. It was a comforting mix of the scents of the detergent his mom used and something else I couldn’t place but was undeniably reminiscent of Jooyeon.

When I returned to his room, much more composed after my breakdown, Jooyeon was clearing textbooks and sheets of music off of his bed. I knew he normally just slept with them pushed to one side, so it was a kind gesture that he was clearing them off for me.

When he was done, I crawled into the right side of the bed because I knew he normally took the left, and held my breath as Jooyeon placed his glasses on the bedside table and settled in next to me. It wasn’t the first time I’d shared a bed with Jooyeon, but it had been a while since all of our recent sleepovers also featured Gunil, Jungsu, Seungmin, Jiseok and Hyeongjun and consisted of the seven of us in a pile of blankets on the floor.

As Jooyeon turned off the light, plunging us into darkness, I tried to remember when the last time we’d shared a bed was. Probably before he changed schools, before… Before I realized I had feelings for him. I don’t know how I would survive this proximity now that I was in a post-breakdown state of clarity. Jooyeon’s gentle voice interrupted my train of thoughts.

“I’ll miss you when you move,” he said.

I turned to look at him but could only see the vague outline of his head in the dark.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m moving closer to you. That’s why Mel’s mad.” “What?” he asked, turning to face me as well.

“Jooyeon, you know I’ve been trying to get into your school ever since you applied. The music program there is much better than the one at my current school. I finally got in, I start in September. We’re moving so that I have a shorter commute to school.”

“You mean- I get to see you at school every day?” he asked, his voice sounding breathy with wonder. “And live close to you?”

“Yes,” I said, reaching blindly for his hand and finding it resting on the covers between us. I gave his hand a comforting squeeze, which he returned. We’d been doing that for as long as I could remember. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you, I was gonna tell you after I told Mel but as you can see that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“I don’t care,” he said, pulling me to his chest in a crushing hug. “I know now, that’s what matters. Is it bad to say I’m happy?”

“No,” I managed out, my lungs being squeezed in his tight grip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, easing his grip on me but not letting go.

Now that we’d been in the dark for a bit, my eyes were starting to adjust. I could see Jooyeon’s face, only inches from mine. I could feel his warm breath mixing with mine as my eyes scanned his face. He watched me carefully, letting go of my hand bringing his up to cup my face.

“I have to tell you something,” we said at the same time, each letting out a laugh at the synchronicity.

“You first,” I said, worried that I’d change my mind depending on what he said.

“Y/N,” he started, and I could feel his heart racing under the palm of the hand I’d lifted to rest on his chest, “I’ve been in love with you since second grade.”

My eyes widened and I let out a short gasp, trying to remember all the way back to second grade.

“Please say something,” he urged, his eyes staring imploringly into mine.

I silently blessed and cursed the fact that my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, the only light being the streetlights outside flooding in through the windows. It was a blessing that I could see the sincerity on Jooyeon’s face, but it was almost too much for me to handle.

“You’ve got me beat,” I murmured, feeling his breath hitch at my confession, “I only figured out I loved you when you left for a different high school.”

“That’s still- That’s three years, Y/N,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I scoffed, lightly slapping his chest. “You waited ten!”

“I thought you didn’t feel the same way,” he whined.

“If you’d told me sooner I might’ve realized I did sooner,” I whined back.

We both laughed at the ridiculousness of our situation, his head falling until his forehead was pressed against mine.

Feeling charged from our confessions, I closed the gap between us and kissed him. He reciprocated immediately, using the hand that was cupping my face to pull me closer. We kissed for what felt like an eternity until we eventually pulled away because we ran out of air.

“Do you think the rest of the guys know?” he asked, his voice low even though we were the only ones in the room.

“Oh, definitely,” I said, thinking back to all of the knowing looks I’d received from Gunil. “They’re definitely going to make fun of our obliviousness for a while.”

“We’ll get through it. Together,” he promised, kissing my forehead.

We fell asleep like that, with my head tucked into the space between his chin and his chest and his arms encircling me protectively. If his mom saw us like that when she came to wake us up the next morning, she didn’t say anything.

Masterlist.

Photo credits: 1. 2. 3.

Taglist: @felixtok @saltyone101 @burningupp @honeyvocalhwang @bittervoid

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oscopelabs · 3 years

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Isn’t Everything Autobiographical?: Ethan Hawke In Nine Films And A Novel by Marya Gates

When asked during his first ever on-camera interview if he’d like to continue acting, a young Ethan Hawke replied, “I don’t know if it’s going to be there, but I’d like to do it.” He then gives a guileless shrug of relief as the interview ends, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. The simultaneous fusion of his nervous energy and poised body language will be familiar to those who’ve seen later interviews with the actor. The practicality and wisdom he exudes at such a young age would prove to be a through-line of his nearly 40-year career. In an interview many decades later, he told Ideas Tap that many children get into acting because they’re seeking attention, but those who find their calling in the craft discover that a “desire to communicate and to share and to be a part of something bigger than yourself takes over, a certain craftsmanship—and that will bring you a lot of pleasure.”

Through Hawke’s dedication to his craft, we’ve also seen his maturation as a person unfold on screen. Though none of his roles are traditionally what we think of when we think of autobiography, many of Hawke’s roles, as well as his work as a writer, suggest a sort of fictional autobiographical lineage. While these highlights in his career are not strictly autofiction, one can trace Hawke’s Künstlerromanesque trajectory from his childhood ambitions to his life now as a man dedicated to art, not greatness.

Hawke’s first two films, Joe Dante’s sci-fi fantasy Explorers with River Phoenix and Peter Weir’s Dead Poets Society with Robin Williams, set the tone for a diverse filmography filled with popcorn fare and indie cinema in equal measure, but they also served as touchstones in his development as person drawn to self-expression through art. In an interview with Rolling Stone’s David Fear, Hawke spoke about the impact of these two films on him as an actor. When River Phoenix, his friend and co-star in Explorers, had his life cut short by a drug overdose, it hit Hawke personally. He saw from the inside what Hollywood was capable of doing to young people with talent. Hawke never attempted to break out, to become a star. He did the work he loved and kept the wild Hollywood lifestyle mostly at arm’s length.

Like any good film of this genre, Dead Poets Society is not just a film about characters coming of age, but a film that guides the viewer as well, if they are open to its message. Hawke’s performance as repressed schoolboy Todd in the film is mostly internal, all reactions and penetrating glances, rather than grandiose movements or speeches. Through his nervy body language and searching gaze, you can feel both how closed off to the world Todd is, and yet how willing he is to let change in. Hawke has said working on this film taught him that art has a real power, that it can affect people deeply. This ethos permeates many of the characters Hawke has inhabited in his career.

In Dead Poets Society, Mr. Keating (Robin Williams) tells the boys that we read and write poetry because the human race is full of passion. He insists, “poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for.” Hawke gave a 2020 TEDTalk entitled Give Yourself Permission To Be Creative, in which he explored what it means to be creative, pushing viewers to ask themselves if they think human creativity matters. In response to his own question, he said “Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about poetry, right? They have a life to live and they’re not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg’s poems, or anybody’s poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don’t love you anymore, and all of the sudden you’re desperate for making sense out of this life and ‘has anyone ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?’ Or the inverse, something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can’t even see straight, you know, you’re dizzy. ‘Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?’ And that’s when art is not a luxury. It’s actually sustenance. We need it.”

Throughout many of his roles post-Dead Poets Society, Hawke explores the nature of creativity through his embodiment of writers and musicians. Often these characters are searching for a greater purpose through art, while ultimately finding that human connection is the key. Without that human connection, their art is nothing.

We see the first germ of this attraction to portray creative people on screen with his performance as Troy Dyer in Reality Bites. As Troy Dyer, a philosophy-spouting college dropout turned grunge-band frontman in Reality Bites, Hawke was posited as a Gen-X hero. His inability to keep a job and his musician lifestyle were held in stark contrast to Ben Stiller’s yuppie TV exec Michael Grates. However in true slacker spirit, he isn’t actually committed to the art of music, often missing rehearsals, as Lelaina points out. Troy even uses his music at one point to humiliate Lelaina, dedicating a rendition of “Add It Up” by Violent Femmes to her. The lyrics add insult to injury as earlier that day he snuck out of her room after the two had sex for the first time. Troy’s lack of commitment to his music matches his inability to commit to those relationships in his life that mean the most to him.

Reality Bites is also where he first positioned himself as one of the great orators of modern cinema.” Take this early monologue, in which he outlines his beliefs to Winona Ryder’s would-be documentarian Lelaina Pierce: “There’s no point to any of this. It’s all just a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details. You know, a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle, and I, I sit back and I smoke my Camel Straights and I ride my own melt.”

Hawke brings the same intense gaze to this performance as he did to Dead Poets Society, as if his eyes could swallow the world whole. But where Todd’s body language was walled-off, Troy’s is loud and boisterous. He’s quick to see the faults of those around him, but also the good things the world has to offer. It’s a pretty honest depiction of how self-centered your early-20s tend to be, where riding your own melt seems like the best option. As the film progresses, Troy lets others in, saying to Lelaina, “This is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You, me and five bucks.”

Like the character, Hawke was in his early twenties and as he would continue to philosophize through other characters, they would age along with him and so would their takes on the world. If you only engage with anyone at one phase in their life, you do a disservice to the arc of human existence. We have the ability to grow and change as we learn who we are and become less self-centered. In Hawke’s career, there’s no better example of this than his multi-film turn as Jesse in the Before Trilogy. While the creation of Jesse and Celine are credited to writer-director Richard Linklater and his writing partner Kim Krizan, much of what made it to the screen even as early as the first film were filtered through the life experiences of Hawke and his co-star Julie Delpy.

In a Q&A with Jess Walter promoting his most recent novel A Bright Ray of Darkness, Hawke said that Jesse from the Before Trilogy is like an alt-universe version of himself, and through them we can see the self-awareness and curiosity present in the early ET interview grow into the the kind of man Keating from Dead Poets Society urged his students to become.

In Before Sunrise, Hawke’s Jesse is roughly the same age as Troy in Reality Bites, and as such is still in a narcissistic phase of his life. After spending several romantic hours with Celine in Vienna, the two share their thoughts about relationships. Celine says she wants to be her own person, but that she also desperately wants to love and be loved. Jesse shares this monologue, “Sometimes I dream about being a good father and a good husband. And sometimes it feels really close. But then other times it seems silly, like it would ruin my whole life. And it’s not just a fear of commitment or that I’m incapable of caring or loving because. . . I can. It’s just that, if I’m totally honest with myself, I think I’d rather die knowing that I was really good at something. That I had excelled in some way than that I’d just been in a nice, caring relationship.”

The film ends without the audience knowing if Jesse and Celine ever see each other again. That initial shock is unfortunately now not quite as impactful if you are aware of the sequels. But I think it is an astute look at two people who meet when they are still discovering who they are. Still growing. Jesse, at least, is definitely not ready for any kind of commitment. Then of course, we find out in Before Sunset that he’s fumbled his way into marriage and fatherhood, and while he’s excelling at the latter, he’s failing at the former.

As in Reality Bites, Hawke explores the dynamics of band life again in Before Sunset, when Jesse recalls to Celine how he was in a band, but they were too obsessed with getting a deal to truly enjoy the process of making music. He says to her, “You know, it's all we talked about, it was all we thought about, getting bigger shows, and everything was just...focused on the future, all the time. And now, the band doesn't even exist anymore, right? And looking back at the... at the shows we did play, even rehearsing... You know, it was just so much fun! Now I'd be able to enjoy every minute of it.”

The filming of Before Sunset happened to coincide with the dissolution of Hawke’s first marriage. And while these films are not autobiographical, everyone involved have stated that they’ve added personal elements to their characters. They even poke fun at it in the opening scene when a journalist asks how autobiographical Jesse’s novel is. True to form, he responds with a monologue, “Well, I mean, isn’t everything autobiographical? I mean, we all see the world through our own tiny keyhole, right? I mean, I always think of Thomas Wolfe, you know. Have you ever seen that little one page note to reader in the front of Look Homeward, Angel, right? You know what I'm talking about? Anyway, he says that we are the sum of all the moments of our lives, and that, anybody who sits down to write is gonna use the clay of their own life, that you can’t avoid that.”

While Before Sunset was shot in 2003, released in 2004 and this monologue refers to the fictional book within the trilogy entitled This Time, Hawke would take this same approach more than a decade later with his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness.

In the novel, Hawke crafts a quasi-autobiographical story, using his experience in theater to work through the perspective he now has on his failed marriage to Uma Thurman. Much like Jesse in Before Sunset, Hawke is reluctant to call the book autobiographical, but the parallels to his own divorce are evident. And as Jesse paraphrased Wolfe, isn’t everything we do autobiographical? In the book, movie star William Harding has blown up his seemingly picture-perfect marriage with a pop star by having an affair while filming on location in South Africa. The book, structured in scenes and acts like a play, follows the aftermath as he navigates his impending divorce, his relationship with his small children, and his performance as Hotspur in a production of Henry IV on Broadway.

Throughout much of the novel, William looks back at the mistakes he made that led to the breakup of his marriage. He’s now in his 30s and has the clarity to see how selfish he was in his 20s. Hawke, however, was in his forties while writing the book. Through the layers of hindsight, you can feel how Hawke has processed not just the painful emotional growth spurt of his 20s, but also the way he can now mine the wisdom that comes from true reflection. Still, as steeped as the novel is in self-reflection, it does not claim to have all the answers. In fact, it offers William, as well as the readers, more questions to contemplate than it does answers.

The wisdom to know that you will never quite understand everything is broached by Hawke early in the third film in the Before Trilogy, 2013’s Before Midnight. At this point in their love story, Jesse’s marriage has ended and he and Celine are parents to twin girls. Jesse has released two more books: That Time, which recounts the events of the previous film, and Temporary Cast Members of a Long-Running But Little Seen Production of a Play Called Fleeting. Before Midnight breaks the bewitching spell of the first two films by adding more cast members and showing the friction that comes with an attempt to grow old with someone. When discussing his three books, a young man says the title of his third is too long, Jesse says it wasn’t as well loved, and an older professor friend says it’s his best book because it’s more ambitious. It seems Linklater and company already knew how the departure of this third film might be regarded by fans. But it is this very departure that shows their commitment to honestly showing the passage of time and our relationship to it.

About halfway through the film Jesse and Celine depart the Greek villa where they have been spending the summer, and we finally get a one-on-one conversation like we’re used to with these films. In one exchange, I feel they summarize the point of the entire trilogy, and possibly Hawke’s entire ethos:

Jesse: Every year, I just seem to get a little bit more humbled and more overwhelmed about all the things I’m never going to know or understand.

Celine: That’s what I keep telling you. You know nothing!

Jesse: I know, I know! I'm coming around!

[Celine and Jesse laugh.]

Celine: But not knowing is not so bad. I mean, the point is to be looking, searching. To stay hungry, right?

Throughout the series, Linklater, Delpy, and Hawke explore what they call the “transient nature of everything.” Jesse says his books are less about time and more about perception. It’s the rare person who can assess themselves or the world around them acutely in the present. For most of us, it takes time and self-reflection to come to any sort of understanding about our own nature. Before Midnight asks us to look back at the first two films with honesty, to remove the romantic lens with which they first appeared to us. It asks us to reevaluate what romance even truly is.

Hawke explores this same concept again in the 2018 romantic comedy Juliet, Naked. In this adaptation of the 2009 Nick Hornby novel, Hawke plays a washed-up singer-songwriter named Tucker Crowe. He had a big hit album, Juliet, in the early ‘90s and then disappeared into obscurity. Rose Bryne plays a woman named Annie whose longtime boyfriend Duncan is obsessed with the singer and the album, stuck on the way the bummer songs about a bad breakup make him feel. As the film begins, Annie reveals that she thinks she’s wasted 15 years of her life with this schmuck. This being a rom-com, we know that Hawke and Byrne’s characters will eventually meet-cute. What’s so revelatory about the film is its raw depiction of how hard it is for many to reassess who they really are later in life.

Duncan is stuck as the self-obsessed, self-pitying person he likely was when Annie first met him, but she reveals he was so unlike anyone else in her remote town that she looked the other way for far too long. Now it’s almost too late. By chance, she connects with Crowe and finds a different kind of man.

See, when Crowe wrote Juliet, he also was a navel-gazing twentysomething whose emotional development had not yet reached the point of being able to see both sides in a romantic entanglement. He worked through his heartbreak through art, and though it spoke to other people, he didn’t think about the woman or her feelings on the subject. In a way, Crowe’s music sounds a bit like what Reality Bites’s Troy Dyer may have written, if he ever had the drive to actually work at his music. Eventually, it’s revealed that Crowe walked away from it all when Julie, the woman who broke his heart, confronted him with their child—something he was well aware of, but from which he had been running away. Faced with the harsh reality of his actions and the ramifications they had on the world beyond his own feelings, he ran even farther away from responsibility. In telling the story to Annie, he says, “I couldn’t play any of those songs anymore, you know? After that, I just... I couldn’t play these insipid, self-pitying songs about Julie breaking my heart. You know, they were a joke. And before I know it, a couple of decades have gone by and some doctor hands me... hands me Jackson. I hold him, you know, and I look at him. And I know that this boy. . . is my last chance.”

When we first meet Crowe, he’s now dedicated his life to raising his youngest son, having at this point messed up with four previous children. The many facets of parenthood is something that shows up in Hawke’s later body of work many times, in projects as wholly different as Brooklyn’s Finest, Before Midnight, Boyhood, Maggie’s Plan, First Reformed, and even his novel A Bright Ray of Darkness. In each of these projects, decisions made by Hawke’s characters have a big impact on their children’s lives. These films explore the financial pressures of parenthood, the quirks of blended families, the impact of absent fathers, and even the tragedy of a father’s wishes acquiesced without question. Hawke’s take on parenthood is that of flawed men always striving to overcome the worst of themselves for the betterment of the next generation, often with mixed results.

Where Juliet, Naked showed a potential arc of redemption for a father gone astray, First Reformed paints a bleaker portrait. Hawke plays Pastor Toller, a man of the cloth struggling with his own faith who attempts to counsel an environmental activist whose impending fatherhood has driven him to suicidal despair. Toller himself is struggling under the weight of fatherhood, believing he sent his own son to die a needless death in a morally bankrupt war. Sharing the story, he says “My father taught at VMI. I encouraged my son to enlist. It was the family tradition. Like his father, his grandfather. Patriotic tradition. My wife was very opposed. But he enlisted against her wishes. . . . Six months later he was killed in Iraq. There was no moral justification for this conflict. My wife could not live with me after that. Who could blame her? I left the military. Reverend Jeffers at Abundant Life Church heard about my situation. They offered me a position at First Reformed. And here I am.” How do we carry the weight of actions that affect lives that are not even our own?

If Peter Weir set the father figure template in Dead Poets Society, and Paul Schrader explored the consequences of direct parental influence on their children’s lives, director Richard Linklater subverts the idea of a mentor-guide in Boyhood, showing both parents are as lost as the kid himself. When young Mason (Ellar Coltrane) asks his dad (Hawke) what’s the point of everything, his reply is “I sure as shit don’t know. Nobody does. We’re all just winging it.” As the film ends, Mason sits atop a mountain with a new friend he’s made in the dorms discussing time. She says that everyone is always talking about seize the moment—carpe diem!—but she thinks it’s the other way around. That the moments seize us. In Reality Bites, Troy gets annoyed at Lelaina’s constant need to “memorex” everything with her camcorder, yet Boyhood is a film about capturing a life over a 12-year period. The Before Trilogy checks in on Jesse and Celine every nine years. Hawke’s entire career. in fact, has captured his growth from an awkward teen to a prolific artist and devoted father, a master of his craft and philosopher at heart.

#ethan hawke #boyhood #before trilogy #before midnight #before sunset #before sunrise #reality bites #first reformed #dead poets society #a bright ray of darkness #film writing #film essay #musings #oscilloscope laboratories

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rae-gar-targaryen · 4 years

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alight with the lights out | diego hargreeves x reader [tua]

A/N: Thank you for all of your interest after I posted the teaser! It was VERY surprising and humbling; I’ve NEVER had so many people ask for a tag before. I only ask that if you asked for a tag, you interact with this fic SOMEHOW. And go find another story you love and REBLOG IT! LET THAT WRITER KNOW YOU LOVE THEM!

I’ll be honest, I’m very nervous about this one. I’m not sure if it turned out as good on paper as it did in my head. Please let me know what you liked and what you didn’t!

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x vigilante, powered!Reader; this one may read a bit more like an OC because I’ve given the reader backstory, powers. She’s (you’re) a vigilante who regularly runs into Diego. I keep the physical description vague, so I hope you can still imagine yourself!

Warnings: Language; who doesn’t love getting a little sweary? Violence, fighting, references to a shitty childhood, and separately, implied sexual assault (nothing graphic, I promise); angst and angsty dialogue; SMUT-- 18+ ONLY PLEASE; lots of cocktease dialogue, fingering, pierced nipples (the reader’s not Diego’s-- sorry), biting, rough sex, choking. Romance is its own warning. Fluff.

Word Count: 12.1k of sexy, self-righteous vigilantism, half-baked metaphor and of course, at least one literary reference.

Summary: Diego Hargreeves, aka The Kraken, is secure about few things in life; one of those things being his vigilantism. He’s a hero. Until he meets a fighter who shares the same hobby, albeit with different methodologies. Diego isn’t quite as certain about her, but her mysterious abilities make him think he and his siblings aren’t the only ones in this world with power. If only she and Diego could just stay out of each others’ hair. It’s a good, old-fashioned ENEMIES TO LOVERS, lads!

Link to my playlist of songs that inspired this fic: here

NOT MY GIF

----

You wouldn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. That was rule number one. Hell, if you could get away with it at all, you wouldn’t hurt anyone.

But Mr. Adler hated children. And he had made it his mission to not understand you. To regard you with the utmost disdain. And unfortunately for you, Mr. Adler had married your mother when you were six years old.

You had never known another father. Your mother refused to talk about the circumstances of your birth, or of the man who had supposedly been responsible. The lack of identity loomed like a large question mark over certain portions of your life.

And Mr. Adler, that loud, controlling lout, was not about to fill that void.

When you were in elementary school, you began to feel like you were different from the other children. Watching them carry about their days with their steel-pressed pop culture lunch boxes and not a care in the world. While you sensed your music teacher’s sadness when her cat had died. You could feel every anxiety that passed through your classmates on the day of a spelling test. You didn’t know why you could feel these things. You just could.

Prominently above them all, you could feel Mr. Adler’s hatred for you, like a thick, toxic wall every time you passed through your front door and into what was supposed to be your sanctuary.

He shouted at you for inane things, like the pantry door being left open, or the fact that your mother was tired after cooking dinner, insisting you never did enough to help. As a child of eight, what did he expect you to do? You kept your room clean, cleared and set the table, helped your mom water the plants in her garden. What more could Adler want from you?

Still, Mr. Adler’s hate for you colored your every interaction with him, the world you saw him through tinged with an orange-red lens of rage.

You had never tried expanding upon your grasp of others’ feelings until you had witnessed a boy in your class push your pigtailed classmate, Annabelle, down on the playground. Anna’s shock, fear and sadness had bitten into you from the other side of the sandbox like an unwelcome spider bite, sudden and itchy.

It didn’t sit right with you. To you, how was this boy any different from Adler? Reigning terror over someone else just because he thought he could. You’d recognize that red-orange tinge in another person anywhere.

You stood, marching over to the boy, gripping his wrist firmly in your stubby, grubby fingers. Quick as a flash, you were met with every emotion this boy had ever felt -- annoyance at Anna (she wouldn’t share her toys. How selfish, the boy had thought); anger (how dare you grab him!); and finally, prominently, fear.

Fear looked different for everyone, you had noticed. For some, like this boy, it was an ugly green, so like jealousy. For others, like Adler when he’d been drinking, it was an inky black you could drown in. Fear was clearly the strongest. You knew that now.

You gripped the boy’s fear in your own mind, pushing it to the forefront until he began to cry, his eyes welling with the sudden fear he couldn’t understand.

“You won’t do that again,” you said. Turning to Anna, you offered a hand to help her up, but she just shook her head, pigtails flying, and scampered away from you.

Your teachers were clearly afraid of you after that. Could sense that something wasn’t right. Anna? You thought she’d be grateful ... but the chilly pale yellow of her fear, and everyone else’s, followed you wherever you went.

Fine, you thought. If they wouldn’t be grateful for what you could do, you may as well help yourself.

From then on, you exploited your teachers’ happiness -- pop quizzes became less frequent. Everytime they wanted to scold you for incomplete homework, they were left grasping at straws and with the daze of an emotion they couldn’t name.

Adler hated you for it.

“I knew there was something wrong with you,” he sneered over your mother’s weeping objections. “I don’t know what it is, but I know there’s something.”

Once you reached 18, you left for the neighboring bustling metropolis and didn’t look back. The world was full of people like Adler, like the boy in the sandbox, like your teachers, who tried to use their own fear to feed their hate, to exploit others. To exercise false power over them.

Well, you wouldn’t have it. If it meant a few of those assholes got hurt, well, so be it.

You lived like that for years. Until --

---

"I hope you choke on it," you hissed, watching the smoky black tendrils slither their way around the man, constricting -- bringing him to his knees, hacking and gasping. "I see your fear, I feel it all. You deserve this, you know you do," you lectured, advancing toward the man, your hands raised.

He was seconds away, you knew it-- and then one more scumbag would be off the streets for good ...

Things were going your way, you were in your favorite position in an altercation-- you know, the one where you had the upper hand? Everything was coming up you, until--

Your ears were met with a whizzing noise mere seconds before a sharp, shiny something nicked your cheek and lodged into the wooden beam just past you.

Your gaze left the piteous man before you long enough to see what looked like a small, but dangerously sharp, knife embedded in the beam. You reached up and plucked it from its resting place, spinning it in your palm before catching the hilt in a clutching grip. You turned to see where it had come from, your eyes catching a dark blur flipping from the fire escape of the opposite building, before said blur landed at your feet.

Standing at his full height, the blur-- no, the Kraken himself-- towered above you.

You had to admit, the stories didn't do him justice. Standing before you in head-to-toe black and a harness replete with shimmering, twinkling edges and danger, you could've sworn he was your knight in shining leather. His cropped hair and facial scars gave him the air that he was every bit as sharp and deadly as the many blades that adorned his body. His oilslick eyes so like mirthless pits of danger, daring to suck you beneath their surface. He was, in a word, imposing.

Regarding you from behind his Venetian domino mask, he spoke, "Miss I'm gonna need you to drop the knife and let this man go."

You snorted.

"You're joking, right?" Not giving him a chance to respond, you chuckled as you swung at him with the hand still holding what you now knew to be his blade.

You'd give credit where it was due, Diego Hargreeves, aka Number Two, aka the Kraken, was every bit as fast as they'd said. In this regard, the stories and Umbrella Academy-related media hadn't been wrong.

Diego dodged your swing, bending his body back before twirling around to strike at your torso, like a snake, with his heavy, hammered fist.

The hit knocked the wind out of you, effectively breaking your concentration, and, devastatingly, your connection with the previously fear-choked man cowering in the alley behind you. As you recovered from Diego's hit and swung around to check your quarry, you could only watch as he shook himself from your fear-induced trance.

He scraped and scrabbled to get up off his knees as Diego shouted at him to "Go, just get out of here!"

You snarled and swung a well-aimed high kick at Diego's head, connecting with just enough of his jaw to drop him. As soon as your proverbial window opened, you turned from Diego to run after the man. But even grounded from a blow, Diego was formidable. He shot his arm out and snagged your ankle, yanking you to the ground.

The gritty pavement scraped your palms as you attempted to catch yourself on your way down, growling as you glanced up to see that loathsome cockroach of a man slip out of the alley, huffing as his bloated legs carried himself far away from you.

You tossed a glance over your shoulder to see Diego righting himself as he stood up, looking down at you before shrugging, offering you his hand.

"Not a chance," you scoffed, knocking his hand away. You rolled slightly back, arched up, and used your hands to help you spring as you lept to your feet in one smooth movement. You landed with a thud of your boots, your feet spread apart, and arms raised in a boxer's stance.

Diego had the decency to look slightly surprised at your obviously-dangerous athleticism. He shook himself slightly as he regarded you.

Besides, he thought, taking in your stature, it's not as though you were any match for him. No way.

"Why would you get in my way, Umbrella douche?" You bit out harshly, glaring daggers at the knife-wielding Kraken.

"Come on, hot stuff," Diego shrugged. "If you know who I am, you gotta know it's not like I can just let you mug that man with … well, whatever you were doing to him." What he had seen you do in the alley seemed to be catching up with him as he cocked his head and queried, "What exactly were you doing to him, by the way? I mean, other than hurting a civilian?"

"A civilian?" You spat. "You don't know what you're talking about, do-gooder. If you knew what he was, you wouldn't be defending him so staunchly."

“And what was he?” Diego pressed.

“That dickless fuckhead would-be-rapist isn’t worth the shit on your shoe,” you snarled. “And you let him get away. Nice job, hero,” you sing-songed the last word mockingly, taking advantage of Diego’s lowered guard to level a swinging hit to his nose.

Your punch landed with a satisfying crack, Diego stumbling back, shaking his head.

“What in the ever-loving FUCK is wrong with you, lady?” Diego shouted.

“Take your hits like a big boy. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘Big Deal?’ ” you asked, advancing toward Diego, fists raised.

“Honey, my reputation precedes me for a reason,” Diego quipped back, blocking your next swing and making one of his own toward your gut.

The two of you sparred in the alleyway, whirling and spinning in a very violent dance between two unwilling partners -- Diego, clearly pulling his punches, while you were obviously preoccupied with your rage at your escaped quarry.

Diego flipped and spun and swung his fists with a speed that bordered on unnatural. His jabs and kicks annoyingly landed, as you were really only able to block just about every other hit. Fuck him for being so fast.

So it was true, you thought, the superpower hype was real. Well, two could play that game.

At Diego’s next hit, you caught his fist, allowing the contact to create the connection you needed, feeling for Diego and any underlying emotion that would be his undoing, before latching onto your favorite-- past the overstuffed confidence, you tasted simmering rage. Beyond that? A tiny prickle of … was that??…Ah, yes, the stinging, burns-so-good zip of lust... File that one away for later … and beneath it all lay Diego’s stammering, stuttering, suffocating fear.

You dug your proverbial claws into it once you found it, bringing it to the surface, manifesting it into your signature smoky tendrils.

Drag them down with their own fear.

Diego’s eyes widened as he looked down to see his legs wrapped in what looked like snakes. Suddenly, his worst memories of fearful days under his father’s tyrannical reign were the only things in his brain. The shouting proclamation his own inadequacies in his father’s too-posh voice pounded within his skull. It was all he could think about -- Your presence before him seemed to dwindle, he couldn’t focus on you, try as he might-- when he was overcome with the feelings of every bad memory he had ever suffered through bearing down on him like the crushing weight of the ocean, pulling him under with the riptide of his own panic and inadequacies.

What the fuck was this shit?

He pushed through his sudden indifference toward you to regard you, the woman stood before him. Diego’s fist clenched as he took in your own grip clutching around his wrist. Your eyes were closed as your face was screwed up in concentration.

Repulsive. You were repulsive, he suddenly thought. How could he have cared so much about hurting you when his own terror and agitation sat heavy on his tongue, like ugly curdled cream?

But he hadn’t always felt this way-- not his usual modus operandi, was it? So what was this? Was this-- you?? Was this what you had done to that man?

Diego began to dredge himself through his own agitation, past his father’s lilting abuse… through the mire of never-quite-being-enough against Luther... dragging his proverbial feet through a bog of his own self-hatred. Just long enough to wrench his wrist from your grip, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning around, slamming you probably a little too hard into the wall behind him. Your eyes snapped open as your head made a minor thwack off the alleyway-- you had just enough time to tilt your head to the left as Diego brought one of his knives down, driving it into the wall a sliver from the space your face had previously occupied.

Diego bore his weight on his toes, leaning his imposing height into and over you, panting and snorting heavily through his nose. You looked at his eyes behind his mask-- hardened flints of pissed-off-superhero glared back at you.

“W-wh-What the F-f-UCK was that?” Diego spit, lip curling over his teeth in a gruesome snarl.

A fleeting flicker of shame passed through you. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that, had he? Before you shook yourself out of it-- No! He let that rat-faced motherfucker get away!

You fixed your face into an impassive mask of your own before you chirped, annoyingly, “What was what?”

Diego chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. How did you do that?” Diego pressed, leaning even closer to you, if that were possible.

“Do what?” you chimed innocently, tilting your chin up, eyes meeting Diego’s from beneath your lashes. Maintaining your feigned ignorance.

“Don’t do that,” Diego snarled. “Don’t play dumb. I think we both know at this point-- you’re alot of things, and dumb isn’t one of them.”

“You’d know all about playing dumb, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Or for you, is it not really playing?” You reached up and ran a finger along his sharp jaw before tweaking his chin and dropping your hand back to your side. You sighed at Diego’s stone face. Honestly, it was so boring when they didn’t bite back.

“I don’t know what to tell you, cutie pie. I can’t help it. People are just drawn to me,” you quirked an eyebrow. “Or repulsed by me. I really haven’t decided.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him, ever the pretty picture.

Diego leaned further into you, pressing your back further and further into the wall. All the while, his leather-gloved grip creaked around the handle of the knife he’d plunged into the wall next to your head as he gripped it tighter.

“Huh,” he mused, scoffing at you lightly. “Ya know something, doll? I just don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

“Babe, if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask,” you smirked as the stone face slid from his features and gave way to "surprised face."

“Honestly, honey,” you slinked up Diego’s body, propping yourself onto your toes and brushing his lips ever-so-lightly with your own as you spoke into his mouth, “Did you really think you and your reject siblings were the only ones in this whole wide world with a little … taste … of power?” you purred.

Ah, you thought, and there it was.

The warming, zinging hum that your ability recognized as Diego’s lust crept through your fingertips that were currently resting on his chin. You were sure if you took the time to analyze exactly who was feeling what, that this feeling of craving wouldn’t be as one-sided as you’d otherwise have hoped. Diego was, you had to admit, very pretty -- for a man.

The swirling galaxies in his midnight eyes regarded you with confusionangerwant. Had you really just -- kinda kissed him?

You took advantage of Diego’s surprised state to knock his grip from your shoulder and shove -- hard. Diego toppled back, and you took off as fast as your enhanced body would carry you, cutting down the alley and away from your fascinatingly frustrating new rival.

Diego took in your retreating form from his final resting place in the disgusting alley’s concrete. Slamming his fist into the rough-gravel ground, groaning out his frustration and anger.

You were gone.

What were you?

Were you really like him? Like the others?

---

Diego shuffled into Hargreeves Manor, determined to see who else was around. Surely they, or Pogo, would know if there were others like them out there. Had he been the only one to run into one? Was it all a hoax?

As he wandered into the cavernous, but simultaneously stuffy, living room, sure enough-- there was Klaus, sprawled across the couch, arm slung over his face in a restless nap.

“Klaus!” Diego barked, startling the spindly man from his perch on the couch and onto the floor.

Klaus looked balefully up at his brother from his spot on the carpet. “Jeeeesus, Diego, really? What do you want that made that necessary,” Klaus grumbled.

“Have you seen Pogo?”

“I haven’t seen anything but the back of my eyelids for the last several hours, thank you very much,” Klaus replied, “Although, I did have a very good dream about running into an old friend of mine in the grocery store. He was always so convinced he was straight. But I think the rest of my dream calls bullshit.” Klaus chuckled to himself.

“Yeah, whatever, man. I need to talk to Pogo,” Diego stressed, turning to leave the living room.

“Well, wait, wait, wait. What is so important?” Klaus queried, clambering up and lumbering across the room to catch Diego’s arm.

Diego sighed, facing his brother.

“Do you think … Do you think we’re the only ones like us?” He asked.

“Well, there’s no one like you, brother,” Klaus chuckled, taking on a rumbling, Diego-esque mocking tone, “I’m Number Two!” He cackled to himself for a moment before coming back to himself with a sigh. “And honestly, we all know I’m an original. So I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

“I mean… it couldn’t just be the seven of us, right? There’s a lot of other people in the world… it just makes sense others could do things like what we can?” Diego pressed.

Klaus started. He had never seen this look in his brother’s eye before. The unhinged mania of a fight? Sure. Crushing doubt? Obviously. But not this … fierce certainty buried beneath a question. This was new for Diego. He must be serious.

Klaus blinked, regarding his brother, before slowly nodding. “I mean… sure… theoretically, there could be others. But I don’t know any. Why? Did you find someone?”

Diego drew in a breath, unsure of how much he wanted to reveal to Klaus. After all, you were his nemesis. His pain in the ass. His whatever you were.

Diego crossed the room again, back to the couch Klaus had previously occupied, before sitting down in a creak of leather and clink of blades still strapped to his harness. Propping his elbows on his thighs, he placed his head in his hands.

“I don’t know. I think so? I found her while I was out patrolling, and I … I don’t really know how to describe what I saw.”

Klaus placed himself next to his erstwhile sibling, tucking his feet beneath himself as he sat, reaching up to pat Diego on the shoulder.

“There, there, big guy. Just… tell me what happened,” Klaus crooned.

Diego launched into the story of finding you in the alley, choking the man with your smoke without even laying a hand on him. He described to Klaus how the two of you had fought, and how you had called the man a “would-be-rapist” before knocking Diego to the ground and making your getaway.

“Well, she sounds hot.”

“Helpful, Klaus,” Diego deadpanned.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious, sweet Dee?” Klaus chimed at the end of Diego’s story. At his brother’s nonplussed look, Klaus continued. “She’s just like you! She likes to put on her Batman underoos and fight crime,” he chuckled. “Even if she is like… us… she clearly can do something different. But I think the most telling thing is how obviously into her you are.”

Diego sputtered, “Wh-what?? I am not into that … psycho. Whatever she can do, that’s all I want to figure out.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” Klaus sing-songed. “Whatever you say, brother. But I think the only way you’ll really figure it out is if you run into her again. I mean, we know dad had his secrets. If he knew about other powered children, don’t you think the Umbrella Academy would’ve been a lot bigger? The world is a big place. I’m sure there’s more out there, but, um… we just didn’t know about it until now?”

Diego sighed deeply. “Oh, joy,” he muttered. Ignoring the tinge of excitement that passed through him at Klaus’s suggestion he seek you out.

Klaus clapped his hands joyously, cuffing Diego’s shoulder, shaking him.

“A nemesis, Diego! How sexy! How exciting!”

---

Your encounter with one of the Umbrella Academy had left you slightly shaken, to say the least. You were so careful when you went out. No one missed those assholes you took care of. Honestly, you were doing the city a favor.

Patrolling on any given night would yield one or two men who were plotting something less than savory. And all it took was a brush of skin to determine their true intentions.

You sighed angrily, ripping off your bodysuit and stomping across your apartment to your shower, yanking back the curtain and twisting the knob forcefully.

Hot water began to pour from the showerhead, steam filling your bathroom. You regarded your reflection in your bathroom mirror, a distinctly palmlike-bruise adorned your shoulder from where Diego had clutched it, not to mention the scrapes that lined your body from your repeated meetings with the concrete during your sparring.

You met your own eyes in your reflection, regarding yourself as balefulness gave way to venom.

Honestly, that toadlike little nobody had deserved what you were about to do to him. You had watched him from the back of the bar as he had annoyingly pressed his presence onto a poor girl who was just trying to enjoy her drink. Her drink that the toad had slipped something in when he thought she wasn’t looking. He even went so far as to grab her wrist with his stubby little hands. That was the final straw.

You steeled yourself, letting the lustful, rowdy feeling of the other bar patrons that permeated the air like thick smoke take you over. Putting on your best, beguiling smile, you crossed the room and brushed your hand over the man’s bare arm, letting him feel the tingling want that you had absorbed. Simultaneously, you felt everything of his disgusting intent-- the hateful, possessive desire for the girl, the hurt he intended to inflict to trample his own inadequacies and sadness.

Oh, yeah, you were right about this asshole.

He looked up at you, disgusting gaze lingering on you, before forgetting all about his intended prey, pushing back from his barstool and venturing behind you out into the alley.

The rest, as they say, is history. And an annoying vigilante type who had an ass that just wouldn’t quit once encased in black leather just had to rain on your proverbial pain parade.

Diego Hargreeves… Of course you knew who he was. Everyone knew about the Umbrella kids. And you knew the man once-dubbed The Kraken was still doing his best Caped Crusader (sans cape) and kicking ass by night. Annoyingly self-righteous, really, you thought. Choosing ever-so-delicately to ignore the hypocrisy laden in your thought. Is that not, in effect, what you were doing? Albeit with a little more emotional manipulation and bloodshed.

As you thought of Diego, your fingers traced the slim, sharp cut his knife had made in your cheek as it surged past you.

You let the remnants of Diego’s rage that you had felt overtake you, amplified by your own, as you slammed your fist into the small mirror over your sink, letting the shards clatter to the ground around your feet.

Payback was a bitch, and so were you. You didn’t know if Diego Hargreeves was a praying man, but he had better hope to whatever deity would listen that he didn’t run into you again.

You wouldn’t be so kind twice, you told yourself, climbing into your shower and letting the blood and grit from your body swirl down the drain.

---

As luck wouldn’t have it, your gods were decidedly not on your side. And clearly whatever deity you had mentally implored Diego to pray to was on vacation.

Because you ran into that maddeningly beautiful dipshit, several times over the following weeks. He would do his best to bust up your party, stopping you from exacting your special brand of vengeance. You’d exchange a few quips and blows before running off before he could ask you the question you knew was burning in his mind.

You managed to evade prolonged encounters with Diego until about another two weeks later. Too soon, honestly.

Or not soon enough? God, your inner voice was desperate and annoying.

You encountered Diego again while you were propped against the wall of a seedy dive on the other edge of town, assessing each person as they passed. While your power worked best if you could touch, some feelings were perfectly easy to pick up from a distance.

So far, nothing. Just a few gross, horny bikers and depressive barflies. It was a maddeningly slow night. And you doubted you were needed here.

Just as you were about to call it and head to another hotspot, a familiar prickle passed through you. You glanced up, across the street.

Sure enough, on the neighboring rooftop, perched Diego Hargreeves in the flesh, surveying you like some kind of Great Value Nightwing.

You sighed, pushing off the wall and crossing the street. Diego watched as you clambered up the fire escape to meet him on the rooftop.

“Of course you would be here,” you chastised. “Are you fucking following me? I’ve been a good girl. Haven’t killed anyone in a week. I promise!” You held up your hands in mock surrender, coming to stand in front of Diego’s gloriously firm, leather-clad figure.

“If you say so, Princess. Maybe I’m just here for a drink?” Diego cocked his head toward the shitty bar whose entrance you were haunting mere moments ago.

“Doubtful, Underoos. I think…” you trailed off, circling Diego, tapping your finger to your chin in a pondering gesture. “I think you’re babysitting me. Making sure I don’t do your job for you and clean up the streets too well.”

You ceased your vulture-like circling, coming to stand before Diego. His eyes bore into your own, once again partially obscured behind that stupid mask. As if you didn’t know what he looked like without it. Your eyes weren’t deceiving you when you saw Diego’s eyes flash a quick up-down of your body before resuming his stern visage.

Oh good, you thought. You recognized the latent feelings buried beneath Diego’s anger. A new one brushed over you-- confusion… He still hadn’t figured you, or, more than likely, your power, out…

You weren’t left in suspense too long.

“Tell me about what you can do,” Diego pressed, advancing toward you. You took a step back to maintain some distance… best if you can perpetuate some veil of advantage.

“Ah, ah, ah, baby. It doesn’t work like that,” you chided. “You think I’m just going to spill all of my secrets because why? You’re cute? Try again. Ask nicely,” you smirked, pushing your lips into a tantalizing pout.

Diego rolled his eyes. You weren’t going to play fair? Fine, neither was he. Honestly, his fuse was too-fuckin-short for your shit. He wanted answers, even if he had to beat them out of you. Quick as a flash, he strode toward you, jumping into a flip and kicking you down to the ground upon his landing.

You looked up at him, standing over your body as it lay on the gravelled rooftop, bringing your hand up to touch your jaw, where his boot had collided with your face not moments ago.

You grinned widely, savagely, around bloodied teeth and split lips. "So that’s how we’re going to play? Do your worst, Big Deal. I like when it hurts."

With that, you swung your leg at Diego’s, causing him to topple beside you, where you promptly rolled over, coming to straddle his hips, bringing your hands to his wrists, the direct contact allowing you to bring his fear to the forefront.

Just as you were about to choke him with the smoke of his own fear, Diego surged upright, his arms breaking free from the grip of your wrists, his own hands coming to close around your throat. He squeezed insistently, enough to break your concentration-- the smoke dissipating as soon as it had come. With that, he had managed to roll the two of you over, you flat on your back as one of his thighs came to rest between yours.

You gasped, looking up at Diego with fiery shock looming in your eyes.

“Wow,” you rasped, “I told you before-- if you wanted to play bad cop, all you had to do was ask.”

Diego removed one hand from your throat, bringing it to his own head and ripping off his flimsy excuse for a mask. He regarded you with nacreous, tarpit eyes that glowed and glittered with the streetlights, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs through his sinfully full lips. His cropped hair was glistening with sweat borne equally from the heat of the night and your encounter.

“Baby, I think you owe me an explanation first,” He pressed, squeezing your throat lightly, free hand pulling a knife from his harness that he spun in his fingers while gazing down at you.

You whined, rolling your hips against where his thigh rested between your legs.

“This would be so much more fun if you’d just do things my way,” you pouted at Diego.

“Maybe I would, if you would bother to tell me what your way is,” Diego retorted.

“I could tell you, or I could show you,” you purred, rolling your hips again. “I’m all about more fun.”

Diego sighed. The familiar buzz of lust radiating from your skin-- or was it his own-- that always seemed to hang over your encounters was pressingly prevalent and it was all he could do to not just give in. He gritted his teeth, and shook his head.

“No. Come on. I know what you’re doing… whatever it is. Just … tell me what it is you can do. Tell me why you’re hurting those people,” he implored.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, using your free hands to knock his grip from your throat and coming to a sitting position, as Diego remained crouched over you.

“All you hero-types. You’re no fun. You want to know what I can do? That pleasant little hum you feel? That’s you. Well, it’s me. But it’s you. I don’t make anyone feel what they don’t already… but I can use it against them. That first night at the bar? That,” you shuddered, “That rat was going to force himself on some poor girl. I could feel his every feeling as he was preying on her. I had to stop it. It’s simple, honeybunch. I do what you do, but better. I’ll make them choke in it, their own fear, their self-hatred, their inadequacy, their lust, I’ll drown them in it, and they’ll thank me for it. Because I’m nothing if not merciful,” you gritted out.

Diego’s mind reeled, jaw slack from your confession. He knew it! You were an empath, an enhanced emotional manipulator. Except you seemed to be able to manifest emotions into something tangible, something harmful.

Suddenly, the weight of your confession seemed to crush Diego, you had exploited every feeling of his during your encounters to gain an upper hand. And he hadn’t truly known about it until now.

You felt the surge of his rage, his disgust, his fear with you before he could say it--

“You c-can’t-- you can’t do that,” Diego said. “Kililng people who haven’t even done anything yet? It’s w-wrong. Y-you’re w-wro-wrong,” He stuttered out, clearly distressed, but advancing even further into your space.

“As opposed to you?” You bit out. “You wait until someone’s already hurting or hurt someone else to do something. How are you any better? Who are you to judge me,” you spit through gritted teeth.

“You’re a killer,” Diego pressed, pushing back from you and coming to stand.

“Sticks and stones. So are you. But I don’t hate you for it,” you snarled, jumping into a standing position, squaring your shoulders before Diego’s imposing form.

“You could always work with me,” Diego offered, “ We could take what you can do and just… re-tool it a bit.”

You ground out a harsh laugh.

“Unlikely, you absolutely patronizing dick. You don’t want anything to do with me other than to change me, control me. You’re just like them.”

With that, you unleashed a slew and flurry of attacks on Diego, swinging your hips around to level a kick at his gut, knocking him to his knees, where your arm was ready to strike a heavy blow against his cheek, your rage fueling the unnatural strength behind the hit.

Diego sprawled against the concrete of the rooftop, half conscious after blows you’d dealt him.

You stood over Diego now, looking down at his prone form.

“I would never want anyone who only means to stifle me. To take me apart until there’s nothing left. Never.” You spit a glob of bloodied saliva at Diego’s feet, leaving him in his semi-conscious, battered state-- the guilt only slightly prickling you.

His fear-- choking on half-gasped words from behind the tremulous task of tripping over his own tongue-- followed you like a stuttering stormcloud. It stung. Knowing that he was afraid of you.

---

Okay. The guilt was more than slight.

All he had wanted to do was help, right?

Years alone with your power, the sting of Adler’s rejection as a child, it all weighed down on you like the crushing magnitude of Atlas. You didn’t really want to hurt him.

You sighed, resolute. You just needed to make sure.

With that, you headed out in the storm. Headed toward Diego.

---

The rain pounded on the walls of the Fighting Lion, plunking heavily like half-hewn nails tossed onto the small window in Diego’s back bedroom. He could hear as it landed on the brick, the wet stone and stormy atmosphere making the air thick with the scent of sagebrush and rain.

A kind of whoosh passed through the room, prompting him to turn from where he was folding his laundry on the bed to see you propped against the door, legs crossed at the ankles, looking every bit as if you belonged.

“Wow, Big Deal. Nice digs,” you said as you sauntered in the room, staring at the case at the foot of the bed that was full of Diego’s knives. “Not what I’d expect coming from a dude who hails from the city’s biggest mansion. But still -- homey.”

Diego ignored the jab about his upbringing in favor of the real question.

“How did you get in here?” He asked, seemingly --and to you, maddeningly-- disinterested in your presence as he continued stacking his paired socks into their rightful place in his bureau.

“Uh, have you seen this place? It’s not exactly rigged with ‘Entrapment’ levels of security,” you snarked, folding your arms across your chest.

“Does that make you a cat burglar? Are you Catherine Zeta-Jones in this scenario?” Diego glanced at you from his socks, cocking a strong eyebrow.

“If you want me to be, sweetie,” you shrugged. “But, uh -- and don’t take this the wrong way, Diego, but you don’t exactly have anything I’d want to steal.”

“Then I’ll amend the question. What are you doing here?” Diego asked, finally turning to fully face you, taking in your form as you stood by his bed. The sight causing a pleasantly-unpleasant little something to prickle across his skin.

No, no, it’s not like that, he chided himself. Besides. You were an absolutely monumental pain in his ass. And his head. And basically every other body part of his you came in contact with. Nope, nope... Don’t think about her body parts “coming into contact” with anything of yours, he scolded.

“Aw, well now, Big Deal. Maybe I just missed you?” You mused.

“Doubtful. Did you come back to kick my ass with your freaky little homicidal chokehold some more?” Diego snapped.

Ouch. Maybe you had gone too far in your last little encounter. After all, wasn't that why you were there? To check on your favorite knife-wielding antagonist? To make sure you hadn't actually hurt him?

But what came out instead was--

"Is there any other kind of chokehold?" You hummed, arching your brow.

Before he could stop himself, Diego retorted, “Based on our last meeting, I think you know there is."

Momentarily stunned into silence, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks at the memory of his hands on your throat, you dropped your arms from where they were crossed at your chest down to your sides, hands flexing nervously. You chuckled.

"Heh. As tempting as that offer is, pretty boy, I only came to make sure I didn't ring your bell too bad."

Diego leaned against his dresser, tilting his head back and looking down his perfect, strong nose at you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I must be going fuckin' deaf. Did you just say you slunk in here with your little kitten tail between your legs to say you were sorry?" Diego snorted, obviously pleased with himself as he saw the obvious fluster cross your face.

Okay, now he was pissing you off. You came here with good will and he sasses you? Two can play at that, as you two so often do...

"You must be fuckin' deaf, dipshit. I didn't say I was here to say I was sorry. I did say I wanted to make sure I didn't kick your sorry ass into oblivion. Which, you're obviously fine, so I'll just be going." You crossed Diego's room, breezing for the door.

Honestly, why did you think this was a good idea? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Diego caught your arm as you passed him in your hurried attempt at an exit. You gave a half-hearted tug to pull your arm from Diego's grip, surprised to find how firm it was. You turned your head to meet Diego's gaze, throat closing around your sudden nerves. Diego's eyes were molten, boring into you with quizzical questions and low-burning heat. His grip on your arm afforded you an insight into the unique blend that was his confusion and simmering passion.

"What are you doing?" You asked.

"Come on," Diego drawled. "You clearly know what I'm feeling. But I have no idea what you're feeling. You have me at a disadvantage. I don't like it."

"Every time we meet, I have you at a disadvantage," you snarked. At the brief hurt that flashed across Diego's face, you sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I meant what I said when I told you I was coming to check on you … I just--"

You looked down at your feet, the laces in your boots suddenly incredibly interesting to you. Diego's other hand gently gripped your chin, his thumb pressing into its apex, fingers curled beneath your jaw.

"D-don't do that-- keep going. Tell me what you're feeling for once," Diego implored, eyes meeting yours once more, lips ever-so-close to yours. “Please,” he added, softly.

Had your heart been thudding like this the whole time?? Was your jacket always this hot? All you could hear was the pounding sheet of rain, pressing itself into your brain, growing fuzzier. Diego's proximity to your person was decidedly distracting. Wholeheartedly overwhelming.

Could he really not tell what you were thinking? You were certain at this point it must be written all over your face. Were you not being obvious?? Your burning ardor for him creeping through every inch of your person, drowning your intentions and better sensibilities in anything and everything Diego Hargreeves. You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking.

"I'm feeling-- was feeling … guilty. The last time I saw you.. I h-hit you... pretty hard. So, you win. I guess I am here to tell you I'm sorry." You brushed your fingers softly over the bruise that adorned his prominent, proud cheekbone. "I… I just wanted you to be okay. Because I think you were just trying to help. And that's stupid. It's stupid. I'm sorry," you hurriedly stammered.

Diego relinquished his grip on your arm, allowing his hand to travel down your side until it met your waist. He cocked his head and studied your eyes with his own mercurial ones-- searching for any hint of mistruth in your confession, but seemingly finding none.

After all, he too knew the honesty behind words that struggled to come out.

"You were… worried about me? You?"

"Let's not make a big thing of this, big boy. You're obviously fine. I shouldn't have come… An honest mistake. Won’t happen again," you started to turn your head, breaking his gaze.

But Diego's grip on your chin firmed, forcing you to look at him again before surging forward and crushing his lips to yours.

And, oh, this was bliss-- you were just sure of it. Your yearning manifested itself in the hand you had placed on Diego's cheek, cupping your hands to the sides of his face before dragging them back to thread through the closely-cropped hair at the nape of his neck, then passing your hands up through his longer hair toward the top of his head and tugging. You took advantage of the gasp Diego elicited at that sensation, sweeping your tongue into his mouth.

Your shared lust bled through your connected skin, hands on faces and elsewhere… washing over you both like warm static, a pleasant buzz akin to drinking just a little too much champagne.

Diego’s hands tugged at the hem of your rain-dampened hoodie, tugging it over your head. Your newly-exposed skin prickled with goosebumps at the sudden chill. You had run over here in the rain, after all. Diego’s darkened, honeyed gaze reverently took in your form.

Never one to waste an opportunity, you took the break in action as your chance to respond in kind-- peeling his skin-tight black crewneck shirt from his own gloriously-sculpted body.

The two of you stood, staring at each other’s exposed torsos, ragged breaths dragging through the air of passion so-stifling the room like incense you’ve left burning for too long.

Diego stared at your chest, breasts heaving from behind the scrap of lace that constituted your bralette-- were those piercings that made your nipples poke so prominently through the lace? WIth this realization, Diego felt himself harden. He lunged for you with a growl, scooping you by the waist and dropping you with a bounce onto his bed.

His mouth latched onto your throat, sucking insistently while his powerful hands rested at the edges of the delicate lace trim of your bra, passing almost reverently across your ribcage.

You gasped as he brushed a thumb over your nipple, feeling yourself growing wet beneath your leggings. You hmm’d a whine as Diego’s mouth found that spot on your throat, his thumb still rolling circles over your nipple.

“D-Diego,” you gasped, sucking in air like you’d never properly breathed before.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take it off,” you glanced down at the scrap of lace that adorned your chest. “Please,” you intoned, sweetly.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Diego said,” creeping his fingers beneath the lace to lift it off your skin. Suddenly, with that preternatural speed he’d come to recognize as a gift of those who were enhanced, like himself, you seized his wrist and squeezed.

“It wasn’t meant to be nice,” you ground out. “Take. It. Off. Now.”

With that, you released his wrist, and Diego gripped the lace where it rested beneath your breasts with this two hands and tugged, ripping your bralette cleanly in two, exposing your tits to his roving gaze.

“There you go, Big Deal,” you preened in satisfaction, taking your own hands from where they had previously been resting along his strong abdomen, trailing them down to the top of his jeans. You popped the button on his fly and began tugging his zipper down, before Diego caught your hand as quickly as you had just done to him.

“I’ve got this, baby,” Diego assured.

With that, he brought his mouth down to your left breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple, taking the hand still clutching your wrist and planting it above your head. He released your wrist, trailing his hand, down your side until it met the waistband of your leggings. He pressed his fingers beneath the waistband, raking his fingers under your panties, to where you wanted him most.

As he dragged a finger through your wetness, you gasped out a keening sigh. Diego’s long fingers working magic against your center, rubbing up and down your slit before pressing one, long finger inside. He lifted his mouth from your breast, pressing it to yours to swallow your moan with a searing kiss.

After a few more moments, Diego slid his finger from your center, retracting his hand from your pants, his other hand coming to meet it, peeling your leggings and panties from you in one fluid motion. You lifted and wiggled your hips to assist him. As soon as the leggings were free from your legs, you wasted no time in wrapping your bare legs around Diego’s waist, locking your ankles behind him and pulling him to you, dragging your hands up his neck and into his hair, hissing in pained pleasure as you rolled your hips against Diego’s still denim-clad hardness.

Diego groaned as he felt your hardened nipples press against his chest, the microscopic bite of cold from your piercings as they touched his warm skin made him sigh.

The room felt like it was bordering on a hundred degrees, the previously champagne-drunk feeling of your shared lust now replaced with a frantic urge to taste and mark every inch of the other as their own.

As you continued to grind your hips into Diego, he kissed you deeply, tongue sliding into your mouth, running along your own tongue and teeth, tasting every bit of your want for him as he succumbed to the heated buzz of the room.

Your power had its benefits, he reasoned, if it meant this would feel so… resplendent.

The mutuality of your shared passion was enough to do you in. You couldn’t be imagining that Diego wanted you as much as you wanted him. If that wasn’t the case, you both wouldn’t be burning like this, writhing atop his bed with pent-up passion and aggression.

Diego broke his hands from where they had previously been digging bruises into your hips, coming up onto his knees to start shucking his own jeans and underwear off.

And oh, he thought, you were a vision. As he looked at you while he stripped himself, he was overcome. Your half-lidded gaze swimming with hazy, unfulfilled promises, swirling lazily like the drizzle of sinfully sweet syrup over something forbidden. Your lips were flushed, swollen and lightly bruised from the punishing pace of your shared kisses. Your wickedly luscious curves and the glimmering slick between your thighs on display for only him. In this moment, he felt he could die under whatever your power would dish out, if it meant he died feeling like this.

Now bared to you in his entirety, Diego positioned himself once more between your legs, his impressive length sliding to where he had guided it along your opening.

You tossed your head back, eyes closed at the glorious feeling of his skin finally meeting yours where you wanted it most… but, still, it wasn’t enough.

“Di- eh - go,” you panted, your glimmering gaze meeting his lustrously darkened one. “P-please, I need it. I need you,” you cried piteously, clutching his shoulders and grinding your hips once more against him.

Diego chuckled, only to happy to oblige. With a guiding hand and a smooth flex-and-thrust of his hips, Diego entered you with a powerful, needed thrust. You cried out, sound going straight to his cock, twitching from its rightful place inside of you.

“There, now, baby,” Diego crooned, bringing his mouth back to yours and humming into your open lips. “Doesn’t that feel ... So. Much. Better?” He punctuated each of his last few words with hard, firm thrusts of his hips.

You nodded, eagerly fusing your mouths together, rolling your hips in kind to meet Diego’s sweet, but punishing thrusts.

“After all that shit you pulled with me,” DIego ground out, “It’s nice to know-- this is what you really wanted. Fuck--” he broke off as you clenched around him just right. “This is what you needed.”

You whined your assent, keening and high-pitched.

“Mmmm, I want y-you, as much as you want me,” you gasped out, Diego’s brutal thrusting brushing your clit with his pubic bone, bringing you ever closer, closer, closer to that teetering edge. You lifted yourself up to balance on one hand and meet Diego’s face where he was hovering above you, your sweat-slicked bodies pressing into one another with a delicious, filthy heat. You looked into his eyes, your jaw slack with the stupidly good feeling of everything he was doing to you.

You turned your head to face his sculpted shoulder, and grazed your teeth there, biting into the apex of his arm. Diego hissed, obviously pleased with the feeling, bringing his hand to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat and tearing your teeth away from his shoulder, guiding your mouth back to his with the pads of his fingers lightly pressing into your airway.

You gasped, the combined feeling of his kiss, his pressing, insistent touch, and his cock inside you brushing repeatedly against that spot of your inner walls causing you to clench, crying out your sudden, gushing release.

Diego guided your head back to his pillow, clenching his fist, the same battered-knuckled boxer’s fist that had previously clutched your throat, now clutched around his bedframe as he hammered his final thrusts, pounding into you until he met his release, groaning as he came down from his sudden, bursting high.

He sighed into your neck, the lovingly sticky heat of your sweaty bodies pressed together as he eased himself from you, pulling you into his side.

You sighed in contentment.

Was everything Diego Hargreeves did punctuated with such beautiful, forthright power?

---

You both lie in the after, bodies pressed firmly together. It would have been romantically intimate had the primary motivator not been the lack of space on Diego's too-small mattress squeezed along the wall in his room.

Nevertheless, you lie there in complete contentment, basking in the afterglow and Diego's delightfully even, rhythmic breathing.

Said lothario had his head turned into your cheek, nose brushing against your hair. His arm around you, curling you to him and trailing his fingers up and down your side at a slow, steady pace.

Why couldn't it always be like this?

After all, fire doused with water still burns brightly at one time, but loses its penchant for destruction, tampered in cool, calming depths and leaving behind cooling steam. So, too, had you and Diego drawn a peaceable, but joyfully sweaty truce.

In that moment, you could see yourself loving him. You know he'd let you, if you gave him enough time and enough of yourself. The man had not had enough love given to him in his life-- he fought for it, tooth and nail. And had come up woefully empty, like clutching at soft sand that slips through your fingers. He'd had the love of his siblings, sure. But this was -- understandably-- different. You recognized a chasm in him that you often thought you'd never mend within yourself.

But he was so deserving of love. Whereas you? Well, the jury was still out.

When you think of Diego, you couldn't help but think of strength. Assuredness. Agility. His aura burned red in your deeper sentiments. Power. You do associate his memory with annoyance, sure, but also a biting wit that he so-oft concealed. And an endearing sentimentality. And an iron will suffused with stubbornness.

You had gleaned some of this from your foray into exploring his emotions, sure. But you don't use your power at every turn. The rest of it was every impression Diego had devastatingly left you with. You had learned so much of him, you yearned to share a piece of yourself, similarly eager for acceptance. Which then prompted you to share--

“You know,” you piped up in the dark, “You remind me a bit of the main character of my favorite books series-- Ever hear of ‘The Dark Tower?’ You know, the legendary Gunslinger?”

Diego scoffed at that.

“Guns are for pussies, real men throw knives,” he stated primly, but still unable to conceal the smile in his voice.

“That sounds a little rehearsed, Big Deal. But I’ll let it slide. Besides, you don’t know what you’re missing,” you acquiesced, turning your head to face him, your noses brushing.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not into all that bookworm stuff. Cuz, ya know, I’m not a fuckin’ virgin,” he chuckled. Obviously pleased with his middle school-grade burn.

You met his eyes, yours widening in mock surprise. “Oh no?” you gasped. “Well, then why do you dress like one?”

Honestly, it had to be some kind of world record, how fast Diego’s face fell.

"I'm kidding, big boy. You know I dig the black leather," you crooned. Ever eager to smooth the waters of this moment, of his now furrowed brow, back to the placid lake it had been.

"You're goddamn right, you do," Diego chuffed, his grin now prominent in his voice.

You looked at him, your eyes travelling between his shining, ochre eyes and his full lips.

"I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye.

“I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind.

"I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart," you recited.

Diego regarded you for a moment before brushing his lips across yours, kissing you warmly.

"What was that?" He asked.

"'The Dark Tower,'" you replied. "What? I like to read. You really do remind me of him. Surly, but just. Lost, but ever-searching. Pinpoint accuracy. Deadly. But hasn't lost hope."

Diego kissed you again, running his hand down your body beneath the covers to grip your bum and roll your body over his, urging you to tarry with him on another burning exploration of one another's bodies.

Yes, you think, sighing as Diego's teeth graze that spot on your neck, his warm palm on your breast. You could easily fall in love with him… if you let yourself. You were probably more than halfway in love with him already.

Oh, no.

---

You awoke to the early-morning sun peeking weakly behind the remnants of fat, overstuffed rainclouds from the night before, purpling the sky as sunlight met grey.

You took in Diego’s, sweet sleeping form-- his long lashes fringing his sweetly-closed eyes, his cropped hair mussed from a night of tugging, rolling, writhing. He breathed deeply, evenly, peaceably, as evidenced by the repetitive motion of his muscled torso, his long-fingered hands resting along his stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t taint someone so noble and beautiful with your special brand of poisonous manipulation.

You couldn’t stop yourself as you spoke softly to the sleeping man beside you, coming to sit on the edge of his bed and brushing one hand through his soft hair.

“You wanted to know about my power? It’s a curse. You think I want this? This? It’s isolation, Diego-- it’s eternal damnation. I shouldn’t be able to do what I can do … No one should. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse. And it dooms me to a life alone,” your voice cracks as your breath catches in your throat, hitching over tears that were now, suddenly pooling in your eyes. “There’s no trust. It’s what I … It’s what I deserve.”

With that, you left Diego’s room. Leaving him to wake alone to a cold one-half of his bed, fingers clutching over air and the warm memories of the night before. He blinked in confusion, the sting of your rejection settling beneath his skin.

---

When you saw Diego again, it was nearly a month after your last… encounter. The sharp knife of anxiety and longing you so regularly felt in yourself since that day, you recognized immediately as emanating from Diego as you watched him limp away from what you assumed was a particularly nasty fight.

“Big Deal!” You shouted across the street and through the darkness.

Diego’s head whipped up, head turning to the direction of your voice, before meeting your gaze. He shook his head, looked away, and kept walking. Away from you.

Ouch.

Honestly, you could understand why he would. You had done the same to him a month ago. Walked away. But the pinging sting of his rejection dug at you, like glass into the thin skin between your knuckles.

All you had ever wanted was for other people to understand. But mostly, now, you realized… You really only cared that Diego understood.

You took off after him, enhanced speed helping you catch up to his limping form outside of a boarded-up, long-closed bar.

“Diego!” You called, stopping in front of him, causing him to halt.

“What could you possibly want with me, after all this time?” Diego spit.

“I.. I deserve that, Big Deal. I do,” you glanced at your boots, scuffing the toe into the pavement. “Please, just… hear me out?”

You looked up at Diego. Really looked at him. His beautiful, tawny skin damp with sweat from a fight, his usually bright and mischievous eyes sunken under the weight of tired bags that sat beneath them. He looked drawn, more exhausted than you remember. You caught sight of a particularly nasty, jagged cut on the side of his neck that had clearly only recently stopped bleeding, the splotching clot like a raised, splintering cut from a large cat’s claws. A particularly nasty bruise was already forming around his left eye and onto his beautifully-sculpted, prominent cheek.

You rushed to meet him, your fingers coming to brush along his cheeks, mindful of the bruise. He closed his eyes at your touch, lashes fanning downward in defeat.

“Who hurt you? What did they do, Big Deal? Who the fuck did this? If anyone hurt you, I would make them hurt. I’ll make them pay”

Diego dropped the knife you now noticed was previously-clutched in his right hand, bringing his hand to meet your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered.

“Don’t do what? Kill the fucker who hurt you? Fine, I’ll just break their knees--” you started, before Diego shushed you.

“No,” he said, “Shut the fuck up. D- Don’t act like you give a shit. Someone who gives a shit wouldn’t bounce for a fuckin’ month. Not after a night like that.”

Your hand left Diego’s face.

“I… I deserve that,” you said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” And with that, you plopped yourself onto the pavement, sitting on the sidewalk at Diego’s feet. Annoying? Sure. Dramatic? Sure. But if something is stupid and it works, then it isn’t stupid.

Diego sighed at you, rolling his eyes before coming to sit beside you, gasping out in pain and clutching an obviously bruised rib or two on his way down.

“Fine. Tell me what the fuck happened. Why’d you go?”

“Diego--” you started… “I-- I can’t be with someone when I’m like this. It never works,” you confessed.

“Like what?” He pressed, bringing his hand to your knee.

“I’m-- I’m a monster,” you cried. “Adler knew it. Everyone I meet knows it. It’s only a matter of time before you know it too. I just… I don’t know how to stop.” The tears you thought you could hold at bay were now creeping up and causing your throat to close around your words of contrition.

“You’re not--” Diego began, but you silenced him with a harsh wave of your hand.

“You don't understand. You wanted to know how it works? I’ll tell you. The power works based on the other's emotion, sure. I amplify what they feel. Cripple them with it, even. But that's not all… it only works, really works, if it's something I can draw on. They feel what I want them to feel-- because I feel it too …" you admitted. “Everything I ever do to someone else I can only do because I know how it feels. If I want someone to hurt, they’ll hurt… I -- I don’t want to do that to you, too.”

“You won’t. Not with me,” Diego pressed.

“And how can you be sure? Even now, I feel how pissed you are at me for leaving. It’s humming beneath your skin. I can feel it.”

Diego nodded, picking up the knife he had previously dropped and beginning to spin it around in his hand.

“I know it because I felt it. When we were together,” he sighed. “We both, we both can do these things. Anyone else would piss themselves if it was turned against them. But you look the danger of what I am in the face, and you laugh. When we’re together, we’re matched. The way that room felt? I know what that was.”

You sat, stunned at Diego’s read of the situation.

“I take back what I said the first night we met,” you said. At the question in his eyes, you continued, “You’re not dumb. That was… that was… something. But I know how to flex my power. I know what fells all men. Fear is a powerful emotion."

Diego smiled at you.

“I hate to break it to you, princess, but I’m not scared of you. I know you think I am, but I’m not. And you know what's even stronger than fear? Love."

You looked at Diego, blinked. He blinked back. You then turned your head with a mocking, retching, gag.

"Jesus, Big Deal. They teach you ‘Hokey Catchphrases 101’ at Dysfunctional Superhero Camp?"

“Hey,” he jostled your shoulder with his. “You know I’m right.”

You stood, offering Diego your hand.

“Come on, big boy. Walk me home?”

Diego acquiesced, coming to stand with a stifled grunt.

“You’re lucky I heal quickly.”

With that, the two of you walked down the street. You matched Diego’s stride, mindful of his injuries. As you walked side-by-side, your fingers brushed. Before you could stop yourself or think better of it, you took Diego’s hand.

When you reached your door, you turned to Diego, fiddling with your keys.

“Everyone’s distinct, you know? Everyone feels differently. Wears their hearts on their sleeve, so to speak. But with everyone, it’s a different emotion. Some flaunt pride. Some are more passive. Do you want to know what I feel when I see you?”

Diego glanced down to where your hands were still joined. He brought them up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“I want whatever you’ll tell me. You’re such an open book,” he admitted sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, I’m being serious here. You feel... you feel...”

At Diego’s urging look, you continued.

"You feel like warmth. Like I could wrap myself in you and never feel the biting cold of my heart again. And when you're not around? The absence of you is worse than any feeling I could ever exploit. I hate it when you aren't here."

Diego stared at you in silence for a moment, before he spoke, “I really think you should open the door now and let me take you inside.”

You smiled, pleased that your honest confession had gone over well, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“As you wish, Big Deal.”

And in the morning? Well, In the morning, you and Diego were still wrapped up in one another.

You looked into Diego’s swimming, honey-and-tar eyes, tracing your palms down the sides of his jaw and cupping his cheeks as you told him, “You have my whole heart. It’s yours -- crush it, hold it, bury it in whatever you feel ... Do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. Just say you want it-- that you want me.”

“I want you.” With that, he kissed you deeply.

---

You were a master of emotional manipulation. To do that, you had to have a decent handle on your own emotions. For years, you’d rested on your own laurels of your mastery of self, indulging only in the most passing of forays into others’ feelings for the sake of your own.

So why on Earth were you so fucking nervous? Why couldn’t you get it under control?

Yet, here you were, hand in Diego’s, fingers laced, on your way to Hargreeves Manor to meet his siblings, months after your mutual confessions of want. The two of you had been inseparable.

Diego clearly sensed your unease, because he turned to you, squeezing your fingers in his own, planting a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“They’ll like you,” he promised.

“How can you be so sure?” You worried, trying to keep all of them straight in your mind based on Diego’s stories, anecdotes and descriptions.

“Because I like you, and they love to annoy me. So they’ll definitely want to buddy up,” he chuckled with a shrug. “Baby, you’ll be fine.”

With that, you found yourself standing in the ornate living room with five nonplussed persons who introduced themselves to you one by one.

As the largest of the group approached you, you beat him to the punch.

“You must be Luther,” you said, pumping your arm in a handshake where his hand comically dwarfed yours.

Luther blinked. “How did you know?”

"Easy,” you said, “You look like a 'Number One.’ "

Luther straightened, obviously pleased. "Important?" he asked.

"Self-important."

This caused the lithe one with the smudged eyeliner who had introduced himself with a wink as, “Klaus, darling,” to howl with laughter.

“She’s fuckin’ got your number, Luther,” he gasped out between his chuckles. He turned to the seemingly-empty air beside himself and said, “I know! She is fun!”

The group found itself sitting around the living room on the various, overstuffed furnishings, in a fun little Q-and-A circle, which was only getting easier all the time, as you found the Hargreeves siblings’ obvious bond to be so endearing. The glamorous one you knew to be Allison had queried about your power, curious as to how you and Diego had met.

Diego had recounted your first meeting to the group, and proffered an explanation of your powers with, "She takes the idea of 'wrapped up in your emotions' and makes it literal."

“And how did this come about?” Klaus queried, gesturing his long fingers between you and Diego. “It’s not like that first meeting was full of warm-and fuzzies.”

“I don’t know … We’ve … run into each other a few times,” you offer with a shrug and a shy grin.

Klaus clapped his hands, a large grin adorning his face.

“Oh-ho! I like this. Diego’s girlfriend beats the shit out of him on the regular!” Klaus happily sang to the massive living room. “Or is that how you two, you know, keep it exciting?” he intoned to Diego in what must have been the world’s loudest and worst attempt at a whisper.

“She does not beat the shit out of me,” Diego protested, rolling his eyes at his brother’s swaggering antics.

“Right, right, you beat the shit out of each other. Honestly, I get it. Kinda hot. No judgment from me, you crazy kids,” Klaus smiled and held up his hands in surrender, flashing you the “Hello” and “Goodbye” on his palms. “Diego told me about you the day after you first met. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it myself when I’m ever-so-alone at night,” he added with a wink.

All you could do was chuckle. Who couldn’t love Klaus Hargreeves?

After that, the questioning from the gathered siblings dissipated into a casual little party, with people pairing off to speak in groups of just them, and with drinks from the open bar being passed around amongst the siblings. Even Five. If you were honest, it was strange to see a thirteen-year-old boy drink frozen margaritas. But you’d had to remind yourself that he was actually older than all of you. Honestly, you’d tried not to think about it too hard.

In between drinks, you found yourself engaged in silly banter with Klaus and Vanya, laughing at Klaus’s stories of eating bagels from dumpsters and his bantering memories with their brother Ben. You responded in kind with stories of your own-- making your elementary school teachers believe they’d had crushes on one another by exploiting their repressed desires, making your classmates piss themselves every Halloween with some prank or another ...

While Vanya was a bit more reserved with her amusement, you’d caught a smile playing at her lips. Klaus outright howled.

“Oh, you truly belong here, don’t you? Reggie would’ve haaaated you,” he gestured at the stern portrait of their father. “Which means you’re absolutely perfect for our dear Diego,” Klaus proclaimed, lacing his fingers through your own.

With that, Klaus turned to you with a conspiratorial giggle and hmm'd into your ear, "You know what they say, peaches. 'A scrub is a guy who thinks he's fly.' And if we're being honest, Diego deeeeeeefinitely thinks he's fly."

You laughed, choking on your sip of margarita. You’d never felt a kind of discordant unity like this one.

With Diego’s family… with Diego, you felt like you truly did belong.

As you and Diego lay together in bed after the day with his family, he’d asked if you felt comfortable.

“Of course, love.” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of Diego’s nose, nuzzling your own against his. “They were wonderful. You’re wonderful. Thank you for sharing all of this with me.”

Diego gazed lovingly at you, eyes, a deep, endless pit of an eclipse, brimming with golden honey streaks of mischief.

“I can’t wait to share everything with you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your shoulder and settling beside you comfortably.

Ah. So that’s what that warm, soft, cotton-y, cloud-like feeling you had begun to experience since you’d began your relationship with Diego was ... Comfort. Funny how it blended so seamlessly into the burning, cinnamon-tinged, blooming one you’d come to recognize as his love.

---

Tagging: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @winters-buck @qveenbvtch @forever-rogue @ali-cide @fleetwoodmactshirt @stellarkyun @zeldasayer @ayeayecaptaingally @nappingtopknot @holographic-carmen @mandaloriane @pascalplease @phoenixhalliwell @white-wolf-buckaroo @melon-eyes @pancakepike @noturjacky @johnc0nstantine @amarachoren @outrebanx @yespolkadotkitty @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul @netflixandzayn @deadpoolcouldshootme @manchuria @flhorah @halerune @spideymanreads @athousandbuckys @imagining-constantly @dovesgrangers @ravenoussss @pyrosag @rzrcrst

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 14

WC: 958

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, age difference, mentions of professor/student relationships, language

A/N: and I oop

🧠

"Wait-wait, Kreizler kissed you?" Bitsy is sitting next to you on your bed. She tried to refrain from interrupting while you explained what had happened that evening in his office. You must not have been totally clear in your words; hell, you weren't even making sense inside your own head right now.

"No, Bits. He didn't. And then he told me to leave."

She studies you for a second. "And did you… want him to kiss you?" she asks with hesitation.

"I-" you begin. You were supposed to dislike him, to be friendly for the sake of work at best. He was still the self-centered and arrogant man you first met underneath everything, even if your relationship had improved the last three or so weeks. But when you consider Bitsy’s question only one word comes to mind: yes. God, you did want him to kiss you there on the floor of his office.

You aren't sure when things changed. It was like seeing a photograph that you have no memory of being taken, but was undeniably you in the picture. It was a puzzle piece finally being put into place. A light illuminating a dark room. A freight train at full speed. Maybe Freud was right when he said our dreams can tell us the things we don’t even know that we want yet; can tell us what we need.

"I did want him to," you admit softly, both to Bitsy and to yourself.

Bitsy wraps her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her chest. "You know - I'm really not surprised. I mean I won't lie, I still predicted hate-sex over this but… you’ve been acting different since Chicago. You’ve seemed a lot happier.” In a lighter tone she adds “and we both know he’s your type. Older, intellectual, has a steady job, dark hair and a nice beard, and he’s got your standard ‘dad-bod’.” You laugh into her neck. You know she’s right, he checks off all your boxes. If he hadn’t been so off putting the first time you met you would have definitely developed your crush on him sooner.

A crush?

No.

It was so much more than that. Never in your life had you felt this sort of unrestrained passion and connection to another person. He drove you fucking nuts in every sense of the word. Everytime he spoke you hung onto his words like they were oxygen. You wanted to both rip him to shreds and rip his clothes to shreds. But more than anything, you wanted him to do the same. To absolutely destroy you in every sense of the word. In all honesty you had thought he was thinking the same thing based on the way he had looked at you. The way he had been increasingly kind to you, considerate to you, open to you. The way his touches and gazes lingered.

But he didn’t.

Anger wells in your chest. You pull back from Bitsy. "And that's the fucking problem." You let out an exaggerated growl in frustration. "He could've done it, we were right there and the moment was perfect and I just. Ugh!"

You stand up and pace on the worn carpet. “He does these little things now. He asks me for my thoughts but like he actually wants to hear them, not because he’s trying to pick a fight. And he brings me tea in the mornings sometimes when he gets it himself. He’s invited me to hang with his friends and they’re so welcoming and funny. He- he told me about his childhood. And I told him about…” you trail off. She knows what you refer to regardless. “We have these moments where I look up and he’s already looking at me, but it’s so soft. He even paid for the trip with his own money because he wanted me to go.”

Bitsy just listens to your rant. You pause before slumping on the edge of the mattress. “Maybe… maybe I was wrong? Oh my god what if he thinks I’m some freak now trying to come on to their professor? Fuck - it’s no wonder he wanted me to leave! Shit.” You drop your head into your hands.

Your roommate rubs your back. “Look, I’m sure everything will blow over in the next couple days. He might’ve just been afraid to take that step, or maybe you did just misread the situation. He can either grow a pair or he can get over himself. And if he doesn’t have feelings then so what, fuck him, you can do better than a guy that made you miserable for months.”

A couple of deep breaths calms you down. She’s right. Everything was so sudden today that maybe it just caught him off guard. You know you were beyond unprepared for that to happen. And logically, if he doesn’t feel the same pull then you would be fine. You are his aide and technically a student at the university anyway, it’s likely an off-limits territory for him. Both of you are adults and can be professionals. You didn’t need to plague yourself with it.

“Thank you, Bits. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” With another hug she left you to your devices for the night.

The following morning you woke up as usual to get ready to head to his office. Checking your phone you saw that you had a text from the man in question:

Laszlo: I will not be in need of an assistant for the remaining duration of the term. Thank you for your help, it has been invaluable. Best wishes with your studies.

x Dr. Kreizler

You could almost feel your heart fall into your stomach. “Shit, I fucked up….”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #laszlo kreizler fanfic #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #daniel bruhl fanfiction #scuttle-buttle

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notnctu · 3 years

Text

when the snow falls | j.jh

jung jaehyun x reader genre - angst first, fluff later details - childhood best friends!au, ghost!au, platonic relationship, genderneutral!reader, ft. boyfriend johnny warnings - grieving/mourning, mentions of death, lots of crying, explicit language (swearing) word count - 8.3k inspiration - A Christmas Carol synopsis - Jaehyun visits you every holiday season since his death to bring you out of your self isolation and hatred for the one season you both once loved.

a/n - this is for my first collab ever: a taste of winter collab hosted by @dearyongs & @pastelsicheng ! again, thank you for letting me participate and i hope this fic brings more warmth for everyone during the winter!! happy holidays everyone & i hope you can check out the rest of the fics in the collab as i will be, they’re written by such amazing writers! :)))

An iridescent frost covers the tall windows of the apartment and a bright white sky greets you this morning. The fallen sheets expose your bare shoulders to the bitter crisp cold air and goosebumps rise to remind you to wear a fucking sweater for once. However, the cold isn’t what bothers you this horrid day as you’re leaping out of bed to glance out at the world. It’s the first thing that you lay eyes on: it covers the streets, it’s falling from the blanket of grey sky, it’s others’ joy when it’s your trauma. What Mother Nature has brought upon this winter season, as she always does this time of the year, is snow.

The first sign of snowfall marks the first day of your self isolation period until the holidays pass. It marks the anniversary of your best friend’s death and an agonizingly long winter, but in spite of that, it also means the appearance of a rather special guest. A guest that is only visible to you and though resembles much of your passed friend, does not share the same memories as you do.

“The snow is just so comforting, isn’t it?” Though you live alone, a sudden voice erupts from behind you and has you turning rather quickly to face the truth of this season. Your greatest treasure, yet haunting demise. “Hello, y/n. How has your year been?” Jaehyun stands with a lean at your door frame, his arms crossed at his chest and hair full of fluff.

“Hello, Jaehyun’s spirit. I happen to hate the snow, if you have forgotten.” Your hip presses against the cold glass and you’re no longer afraid of being half naked in front of what this form of imagination possesses itself to be.

“Remind me why again.” Jaehyun casually sits on your unmade bed, looking as about your age now. There is a brief silence as you examine how he’s grown with you, you’d imagine this is how he’d look if he was still alive and well.

It would be his third year in college, same as you, possibly studying engineering due to his past fascination with the mechanics of roller coasters. With such a strong jawline and a definite lean built, girls would be running all over him. Not to mention, his dimples remain one of his charms.

Kicking off the icy window, you walk carefully and slowly up to Jaehyun. A hand reaches to caress his cheek, but it goes right through him and leaves your hand to hang in mid-air. This happens every time you see him again, wondering if you can get one last touch of his dewy complexion, and you simply can’t. Despite his ability to touch you, there is no possibility for your senses to travel through to the other side of the supernatural dimension.

Jaehyun gently rests your hand back to your side and repeats his request, “remind me again why you hate the snow.”

“It’s how you died.” A small croak gets caught in the back of your throat and tears well up to blur your vision. “So when the snow falls, it brings me back to the dreadful memory of me losing you, of you leaving me.”

“I died from snow? That is so lame.” Jaehyun grumbles and rolls his eyes.

You chuckle, but the tears roll down your cheeks as if they know no happiness. “You died from a car accident in the snow. Your tires slid, you couldn’t brake … and so, you crashed. Full trauma to the head, an instant death.”

“Where was I going?” He wasn’t this curious last winter, and so you’re unaware if it’s your mind playing sick tricks on you or if his unrest spirit is this forgetful. You wish it was the latter.

Choking on your tears, the droplets hit the hardwood floors below you. An overwhelming feeling of melancholy overtakes your chest and you’re suffocating underneath an unknown pressure. Your throat is drier than your mother’s gingerbread cookies, but you swallow the frigid air around you.

You’re so choked up by your sobbing that it’s too difficult to speak. Any words you say feel like thin ice, ready to crack at the lightest touch. “O-On the way to … my house. You were coming over to tell me a secret.”

“And I never got to tell you.”

“No, Jaehyun. I’ll never know what you wanted to tell me that day.”

when the snow falls.

There has never been a time before Jaehyun and all that you knew, all the memories that fill your brain, every growing pain you could possibly share, was with him and all until it wasn’t. Had there been a time after Jaehyun, you would not have expected it to come as soon as it did.

For the months following his death, you were in denial of his missing presence because every. single. thing. reminded you of him. Jaehyun remained in his assigned seat in school, although it was clearly empty. He lived through others’ mourning stories, where they spoke of fond memories that they shared and things he liked. The worst of them all, you still texted him every day in hopes to see the tiny three dots pop up that he was typing. And the warped reality in your head, the first stage of grief flooding every possible corner, was that he has always just been slow at replying back.

Then, his funeral rolled around and his parents asked you to share one happy memory of him. There were so many, how could you possibly have chosen just one? And so you didn’t. The moment the frame of the church entered your view, your legs stuck to the ground and refused to enter. There was going to be a point when you entered the building filled with crying people and a gripping, horrid smell of death and you wouldn’t be able to forget it. That scary thought, not only frightened you, but angered you.

The large attendance of people walked past you as teary eyes blinked up at the dark wooden frame of the door, but every one of them had never visited him for more than once when he was alive. His older cousins that had forgotten about him when they flew away for college, his acquaintances from piano lessons who never bothered to remember his full name, his old friends from primary school that he had lost connection with after graduation, they were all here.

And you can’t help, but fester a fueling frustration in the pit of your stomach and as it grew into your chest in the matter of seconds, you wondered the single thought that picked up your feet to run home: where were they when he was alive?

After a year and the appearance of Jaehyun’s ghost became less of a shock during winter, you were stuck in an odd and uneasy place of what if’s. Talking to him once a year was never enough, texting his old number was never enough. It was just never enough.

Missing him grew into a dark sense of yearning, longing, bargaining. Long nights of twisting and tossing in your bed, many thoughts and endless possibilities ran through your unhealthy thoughts. The description and police report of his accident played like a reel in darkest contemplations.

The first year of college had to be the hardest to go through without him and thus, aiding in your regrets of not cherishing him enough when he was around. A rabbit hole of universe paths drove you wild, wishing and hoping that you could turn back time and stop him from coming over in the middle of a blizzard. And the one lasting thought still haunts you to your present: if only you hadn’t encouraged him that night, he wouldn’t have died.

The saddest part has barely been acknowledged, even by yourself. That this one tragedy tainted the one holiday you two loved the most --- Christmas. Every year since his passing, you locked yourself in your room for two weeks before the holiday and waited through it all. Truthfully, there was nothing in the universe that was going to allow you to enjoy the holiday when it wasn’t with him. Even his ghost, who very randomly popped up on a December day and cluelessly never brings much comfort as the live him did during this season.

Jolly holiday music lost their joyous sound and became awfully low tempo. The bright red and green signature colors of Christmas became dull and rather grey; the long strings of colorful lights that hang from houses and around large trees were absolutely drained of their color. The warmth of the fireplace went cold. The cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies no longer entertained and lost their spark.

The Christmas themed decorations that covered the windows of shops, the city, your own house, became an overwhelming sore sight to look at. The love from your loved ones… you couldn’t feel anything remotely close to love anymore, just meaningless affection. The one gift that the Earth blessed your region with, snow, became the one petrifying thing that it had to offer. And your favoritism for the holiday, the so-called ‘Christmas Spirit’, slowly died out, along with Jaehyun.

Now that it’s been three years since his passing, you’re here spending your third lonely holiday season inside your apartment discussing your yearly recap with your ghostly best friend.

“That ridiculous final exam lowered my grade and I walked out of that class retaining none of the information. When will I ever need to know about pirates in the 1800’s?” The chocolate wrapper crinkles in your fist as you finish your overly passionate recollection of the most useless class you could have taken this whole year.

Jaehyun sits by your side, facing you as he hugs his knees close to his chest. A small grin dots the dimple on his left cheek when you peer over at the huddled boy and the sad reminiscent glisten in your eye does not go unnoticed. “You used to love pirates. Dressed up like one for Halloween and went up to every house yelling,” Jaehyun clears his throat and perks up, ready to perform.

A balled fist in the air, paired with a look of utter gusto and passion, Jaehyun speaks in an attempt to horribly reenact your once embarrassing pirate impression. “Argh! You scoundrel, give me all the treasures in your possession… preferably chocolate sweets.” He holds his stomach as he bursts into a fit of his baritone laughter. His wide mouth grows into such a big, open smile that his eyelashes dance on his glowing cheeks.

“For a ghost, you sure look like someone who’s very much alive.” Naturally, you’d swat lightly at his knee or arm whenever he would joke around. However, the pain of your hand passing right through him breaks this habit and you’re left scoffing at the way Jaehyun is consumed with laughter.

“You know, for someone who is alive… you sure look a bit … lifeless. When was the last time you were happy, y/n?” Jaehyun finally settles down and gently nudges at your elbow.

His question hits you like a wall of bricks. Unexpected and completely straightforward, but that’s just always been the way he is. “This past weekend when I turned in my last assignment for the semester.”

“No. The last time you were genuinely happy, not relieved. You mentioned a boyfriend, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you grow a bit silent and annoyed at his comment. “Listen, hopeless romantic. Not every relationship is perfect sunrays and gushy unconditional love.” Perhaps, your gaze drops down to your hands and the wrinkled wrapper between your fingers has worn out from your fidgeting.

Johnny Suh. If you could move mountains for this man, you would. It all started due to an accidental happenstance of you abruptly walking into your campus’ coffee shop to seek shelter from the rain and him, the attractive barista behind the counter, chasing after you in a stained apron and an immensely strong aroma of coffee beans. Jaehyun practically swooned over hearing how you two met, hearts in his pupils and a dreamy grin resting fondly as he attentively listened.

Jaehyun has always wanted a relationship, though he did have many admirers in high school, he never had the opportunity to experience one true love and to play out every sappy romantic thing rom-coms taught him. Hearing about your love life is the closest thing he can get to it, unfortunate for him, but fortunate that his best friend still has some romance in them.

Nevertheless, it’s only been a few months together. Though Johnny has seen intimate parts of you, he’s never experienced a winter with you and frankly, he won’t ever experience one with you if you keep this up.

“Johnny doesn’t make you happy, then why are you with him?” Jaehyun knows Johnny makes you feel something that is hard for you to put into words. He also knows the type of person you are, pushing your buttons to get you to defend something you love. Boldly. Loudly. Strongly. He knows how to get you to spit out words of truth, even when they’re difficult.

“My partner is the literal definition of happiness, okay?” The defensiveness drives your assertiveness further. “The last time I was happy was when…” your eyes are frantically examining the floor for any source of focus as a highlight reel of this whole year flashes through your mind.

“... On my birthday, he planned me a picnic. Bought me roses, the whole grand scheme of romance. I started to cry, out of happiness… it was the first time in a while that the reason behind my tears was something good.” There’s somewhat of an epiphany when you finish your sentence. Your voice gets lost in your train of thought as the blissful scene plays out.

“Why were you crying?” Jaehyun snatches the distracting wrapper from your fingers, it being unrecognizable from the wear and tear. It causes you to meet Jaehyun’s round eyes: empty, but not sad. They’re lost, yet filled with purpose.

Jaehyun has always been able to open up the darkest parts of your heart. “Because it reminded me of the time when you and I walked up that steep hill over on Fifth Street… and we forgot the picnic blanket. But it didn’t matter because after the strenuous journey, all we wanted was to sit down and enjoy some fucking sandwiches, along with some hot chocolate your mom packed us.”

“y/n, you cried over the memory of sandwiches and exercise? That’s so---”

“Before you insult me by calling me lame,” you bring your finger to stop him mid-way and narrow your eyes, “I was so happy to be able to share our same experience with someone else. Even though you’re gone, I can still have these happy moments with other people.”

Then, Jaehyun gathers both of your hands to hold and brings them to his soft lips. Everything about him feels cold, like a harsh chill that bites at your skin. In spite of it all, his delicate kiss on your knuckles somehow feel warm and slightly comforting. Jaehyun peers up with kind eyes, “you’re almost there. I will do everything I can to get you there.”

Blinking at him with confusion, your expression asks the questions for you. When he sets your hands in his lap, a soft pat on the back of your hand reassures you. “Can we bake Christmas cookies?”

Rolling your eyes, you tear your hands away from him. He leaves you with unspoken words and an oddly comforting feeling, but it’s not enough to dissipate your deeply rooted dislike for this particular holiday. “You ask this every year.” Getting up, you walk towards your bedroom to get away from feeling too vulnerable.

Jaehyun watches your back intently as you’re stumbling over your feet. He whispers to himself, “and I think this year is going to be the last year I’ll ask for it.” And a hopeful smile appears joyously as he anticipates the storm before reaching still waters.

The sound of the doorbell awakens you and Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. He comes and goes as he wishes, however, he’d usually accompany you during the mornings. You’re particularly sluggish, finding it difficult to adjust to the blinding white sky outside as snow continues to drift upon the city.

“Good morning, gumdrop.” Your boyfriend is rather chirpy today. Johnny engulfs your fragile body in his long arms and you’re lost in his scent of peppermint bark.

“This was unexpected.” His shirt muffles your tiny voice and Johnny is setting down bags of groceries on your kitchen countertop.

“I texted you last night that I was coming over to do some grocery shopping for you. Did you sleep early?” Your very helpful boyfriend starts unloading all the parcels of fresh produce and your favorite snacks. However, there is a slight tinge of annoyance and possibly it’s due to the fact you weren’t expecting to see anyone during your isolation. Johnny couldn’t have known though.

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you walk over to stop his movements. A hand holds his arm and the other intertwines with his own, but you stand under him with the sweetest smile you could wear during the holiday season. “How is it that your mom invited me to your family holiday party, but tells me that you’re not going to be there?”

Your smile automatically falls from your lips and a hand retracts from his warmth. It’s the sudden truth that you must face, the confession of your sadness that you’ll eventually need to tell your partner. Wondering how he’s going to take the news, your mom probably gave him a brief breakdown about how you’ve been this way for the past few years now.

Nonetheless, Johnny has always been bold with his statements and though you’ve adjusted to his abruptness, this one is hard to give a quick answer back to. So as you’re racking how to present your dark narrative, Johnny sets you down on the couch with the utmost gentleness. You don’t even feel the cushion underneath you when the million different answers streamline their way into your brain.

Johnny notices your frantic eyes and unfocused gaze, growing a bit concerned at how cold your skin feels at his touch. Taking off his sweatshirt, he carefully slips it over your shaking figure. When the softness of the polyester cotton blend brushes upon your bare arms, you’re snapped back facing a worried expression.

And you say the one thing on your mind, the only thing you can think of in your scattered brain. “Jaehyun died during this time of year, so it just makes me very emotionally unstable to… participate in any festive events. I’d rather be alone, the whole holiday season.”

Johnny nods, but his face remains with his eyebrows together and lips pressed into a tight line. He’s well aware of who Jaehyun was and means to you. Though you don’t talk much about him, your eyes light up with a bright twinkle whenever you do. It’s like the world spins ‘round and everything feels restored. Johnny knows enough about your good friend to deduct how hard it must be for you during the winters.

“Can I help you in any way?” Johnny peers over at you with a small smile, and you wish there is something in your decaying heart to keep it up forever.

“I hate to say it, but please just leave me alone for the winter.” Flopping on his lap, you’re burying your face in your hands to cower away from seeing your sunshine hurt. There are no more sugar coated kind words for you to pick and choose from.

While Johnny can understand how difficult it must be for you, he still holds onto a sliver of hope that you’ll come around. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. No one should be alone for Christmas.”

Groaning, you sit up and roll your eyes at the familiar references. “Listen, Cindy Lou Who. Don’t call me that.”

“It’s still a cute nickname, you don’t think?” Johnny snickers lightly, but your expression turns rather grim and serious. A faint overcast of melancholy washes over your expression as you’re staring off into your memories again.

In a faint voice, your voice is barely above a whisper, “that used to be one of Jaehyun’s favorite movies.” Your arms drop from your puffed up chest, but Johnny catches your hand and kisses your fingertips.

“What was yours?” Johnny keeps the atmosphere as light and playful while he still can.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Ironically fitting and that’s one of the sole reasons you don’t watch holiday movies anymore. There have been too many parallels with your life and the wrenched holiday. As twisted as the joke may seem, you’ve lived your own nightmare before Christmas, except you never got the happy ending to it all. It’s like a nightmare that continues and you can’t escape it.

Having said, Johnny pulls you up to stand and draws you into the biggest hug. “I can’t leave you alone, even if I tried my very best. I still get butterflies every time you smile at me, so you think I wouldn’t be addicted to that feeling?”

“Johnny…” This man is in love with you until the ends of this Earth, until the horizon stretches so far that it’s unimaginable to see where it stops.

“I’ll respect your wishes as much as I can, but know that it’s not the best form of healing.” The final word causes a chill to run down your spine. It implies that you’re still hurting, although he’s not wrong, it’s rather disheartening to hear someone else speak it aloud. “I’ll come around less.”

“If I’m grumpy, then you’ll know why. And don’t try to shove the whole Christmas spirit act on me, I don’t want to hear a single thing about it! I can’t spend a Christmas without Jaehyun.” Johnny squeezes your shoulders at your bold declaration.

“You can’t or you won’t?” A painful tick at your heart leaves you speechless at his question.

For as long as you could remember, every Christmas was spent with Jaehyun. Picking out a tree for both of your families and getting lost together between the evergreens brought laughter and excitement. Baking cookies and drawing the ugliest faces in tacky colorful frosting always happened a few days before the holiday. Drinking hot chocolate by his family’s fireplace and watching Christmas movies were one of your favorite activities. Christmas Eve was always so special, where you and Jaehyun made it tradition to open your gifts from each other right when the clock struck midnight.

Then everything simply stopped. And when you tried to participate in those same activities, selfishness and guilt preoccupied your heart. What do any of those things mean without Jaehyun? Jaehyun was the reason you loved Christmas as much as you did. Then, his death became the reason you hated it as much as you do.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Johnny knows he’s hit a nerve, he can see it in your glossy eyes and subtle drop in the corners of your mouth. There is no protest from the taller man when he accepts his sweatshirt without a complaint. The bitter cold air bites at your bare shoulders again and you’re practically existing in its lack of warmth. Gathering the rest of his belongings, you two bid a kiss goodbye and shut the door.

It’s almost a relief that he’s gone and the tear runs down your cheek when your back hits the door. Suddenly, Jaehyun appears across the living room leaning on the door frame to your bedroom. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is.” There is a hang at the end of your sentence and Jaehyun walks toward you. A few sniffs fill the empty apartment, but you’re rubbing away any sign of sadness from your face.

“But?”

“But, he’s so optimistic about… everything. He lives by the sun and every waking day, he just lives it to the fullest. There’s nothing in the world for this man to possibly understand how sad I feel.” It’s the heaviness in your voice that has your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach.

Jaehyun’s freezing hands graze your chin and as he lets go, his stare doesn’t leave yours. “Learn from him.” Your best friend’s ghastly voice reminds you that he’s not real. He’s a ghost. He’s very much gone and not for a split second, should you be wanting to cave into his embrace or else, you’ll hit the floor hard. Nevertheless, you’re entirely vulnerable and the next few words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth causes your throat to close up.

“Keep him close. y/n, he is the sun.” It’s a moment you thought you’d never witness, your best friend complimenting your significant partner. Moreover, it hurts to think about how great of friends Jaehyun and Johnny could have been. “To be very honest, you need some heat this winter.”

“Then, what were you?” It’s the curiosity that nips at your tongue as it leaves no space for a pause. The thumping of your heart being so loud in the dead silence, but you know Jaehyun doesn’t have a heart to beat recklessly as yours.

Jaehyun smirks and chuckles fondly, despite how desperate and serious you may have sounded. “I was a pain in the ass.”

Scoffing, you break the immensely intense eye contact. “You still are. This whole haunting thing is very creepy.” Gesturing his entire being in front of you, he just looks so alive and breathing. Before Jaehyun, you always thought ghosts were floating entities with a white transparency. But your best friend stands before you, well aged and all together.

It still tosses you into shambles as to why Jaehyun exists, but you’ve given up on figuring out his purpose. He could be a form of your own imagination for all you care, perhaps you’ve grown so sad that you started to seek things.

Companionship from the one person you wish was still alive?

Like before, you’ve always spent Christmas with Jaehyun… alive or in ghost form.

It’s another one of those long days that seem to never end. The bright white sky seems unchanging, stark with a dusty and imminent endless overcast of snow. It’s blinding and you’re regretting the moment you overlooked the curtain blinds at the department store.

Your phone has already been lost somewhere underneath your bed and there isn’t a single desire to reach for it. Missed calls pile up, voicemails clutter your inbox, texts flood your messages, and your social media notifications fill your screen. Despite everyone’s effort to contact you, there is no sense of joyous cordial nature to even glance at them.

Jaehyun has been appearing more frequently and staying for longer periods of time. The conversations bring an empty comfort, most of the times you feel the need to remind yourself that you’re not actually talking to someone, are you?

“What’s that sad look in your eyes?” He startles you when you’re off looking vacantly out the window. Your mind has been completely distracted lately by meaningless thoughts and the sweetest reels of Jaehyun that have turned blue.

The more you wrap yourself in your white sheets, the less you can feel any source of warmth. And perhaps you haven’t realized that you no longer felt any heat the past few days, that you’re at a freezing point and it’s made you numb.

“Not sure what you mean.” Your voice remains dull and monotone, lifeless almost. Jaehyun takes a seat against the window and for the first time, you can see right through him.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.” Is he a mind reader too? The thought that always circles your mind when Christmas draws near is not only that Jaehyun is gone forever, but how you could have prevented it all. The guilt eats you up and no matter how hard you’re searching for acceptance, it slips away from you before you have a chance.

When you don’t answer, Jaehyun heads over to your bed and he’s alarmed at how cold your hands are. “It was never your fault.” Your best friend pulls you into a hug, but it can barely be felt. What kind of hug can’t be felt?

“I never said it was.”

“No, but you thought about it.” The chilly draft causes you to shiver and it’s hard for you to concentrate on anything else besides the night of his death.

“I should have stopped you from coming over.” Although you’ve confessed this many times to him before, it never gets easier to say. Jaehyun sighs and ultimately frowns at your tears slipping from your eyes again. Like the snow that drifts from the heavens, your tears know no end to their downfall. It’s become too natural for them to appear. The closer it gets to Christmas, the harder it is to stop from crying.

“It’s hard for me to speak about it since we don’t remember much of the same moments---”

“Jaehyun! I remember that night as clear as it was just yesterday that it happened.” There’s no reason to yell, but a strong sense of pain erupts from your chest.

He’s so calm at your sudden outburst, turning his head to face you with a deadpan expression. “You weren’t there, y/n. You were home, safe and sound as you should have been. I’m more than grateful that you’re the one alive.”

“I’m not!” But when the confession leaves your lips, you’re shaking and fearful. The entire room is stiff and silent. You couldn’t even believe what you had just said, wondering if that is anything close to truth. You look up at Jaehyun, who blinks at you with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes. “I mean,” you clear your throat in the midst of the tense atmosphere. “I could have saved you.”

“You’re not a hero and I didn’t need saving when I was already gone.” He taps his temples lightly, “full trauma to the head. It was just my time to go.”

“The secret. I wanted to know so bad that I didn’t stop you from coming in a snowstorm!” Jaehyun pats your head in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

“And I wanted to tell you just as bad that I didn’t care about the snowstorm. y/n, stop blaming yourself for something that happened to me. The universe is much more complex than that, give it some credit.”

“You’re even philosophical as a ghost? Give me a fucking break.” Groaning, you pull the sheets over your head to somehow run away from the conversation.

Jaehyun lies down next to you, smiling cheekily to himself and glancing over at the lump that you had become underneath the blankets. “Do you remember the time I taught you how to ride a bike?”

“I thought it was your dad who taught me.” You grumble, tossing away the sheets to glance over at him. It always puzzled you how Jaehyun never remembered the same memories as you do, and even if you did, one of you remembered it differently.

“He was probably there as supervision. I was the one who helped you take off your training wheels and strap on your impressively thick knee pads.” You’re lying on your elbows now, fists pressing into your cheeks and a fond attentive gaze upon Jaehyun’s resting figure. He’s staring up at the ceiling that protects you two above, yet can cave in at any moment.

Dimples dip into his round supple cheeks as his toothy smile comes into view, reliving the happy memory. “You rang your little bell so many times that day.”

“Because I was scared!” You protest, muttering something incoherent. “Didn’t we go downhill when I said I wasn’t ready?”

“We went downhill because you said you were ready.” His hair ruffles in your sheets when he turns to face you, and he just takes your breath away. It’s the stars in his dark eyes that sweep you off your feet, like the gleaming star on top of a tree. The color that oozes from his smile, like Christmas lights that line a rooftop, make it hard not to stare. Jaehyun looks just like Christmas, the most wonderful thing of the year. In someway, he resembled an angel or the soft sheet of snow ready to fall right through.

You’re encompassed by overwhelming effervescent emotions from listening and watching Jaehyun glow and gleam. “Then, what?”

Jaehyun’s low chuckle illuminates the room, dazzling the boring grey interior. “Little ol’ you, hurt yourself real bad that day, scrapes and wounds you thought you’d never heal from. You didn’t talk to me for a week, but you ended up learning how to ride a bike.”

“Is that right?”

Jaehyun rests on his side now, only an elbow supporting his body and he’s leaning in close to your face, you’re almost too sure you could feel a breath on your lips. “No matter how painful it gets, I’m always here to push you through it all.”

When your heart beats sporadically at his proximity, you didn’t realize that you are holding in a breath, being quite afraid that if you let it out, it would simply blow him away for the night. And you’re not ready for him to leave you again.

Christmas Eve;

It had to be a miracle that anyone got a hold of you this week when Johnny comes practically banging at your door. Though you are so close to ignoring his loud thumping, the sound of your boyfriend’s soft sniffles alarms you greatly.

“y/n, holy shit!” It’s deja vu when you’re in his arms again, a horribly warped version of it when the smell of peppermint bark tickles your nostrils disgustingly. “I thought something happened to you. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“My one wish for Christmas was to be left alone and I meant it.” The attitude in your voice becomes jarringly evident and Johnny blinks back at you with a new found annoyance as well.

“Can you at least think of the other people around you?” He holds your shoulders lightly, but staring into his eyes seems to be harder to do lately. Jaehyun appears on the couch, lying flat on his stomach and a hand resting underneath his chin. This is no longer a private conversation, but you learned long ago that no one else can see him.

“Who are you talking about? My family? Because they’ve all given up on me.” This is the first time Johnny has seen you act so cold and distant, yet entirely vulnerable. You’re stripped of everything that you usually hide in --- oversized clothes, happy smiles, and a beaming warmth.

All Johnny ever wants is for you to be loved, not only by him, but by the world. And interestingly enough, he loved you for your vulnerability and your rawness. This is until he realizes, in this moment, that it stems from your trauma of losing Jaehyun.

“What about me, y/n? I’m still here.” Johnny is frantic, and by all means, hurt by your aloofness. Brushing off his hands from your body, you’re taking several steps away from him.

“And why are you still here when I kept telling you to leave me alone? Whenever I was upset, Jaehyun always gave me space! Haven’t ever thought about how that is something I need?” You’re saying nonsensical statements that are fueled by anger and annoyance.

He’s pushing your limits and for once, you’re pushing him away. But this isn’t new to you, in fact, you’ve pushed so many people away just like this and that’s why they’ve decided to just let you be.

Johnny is taken aback, “you know, I feel like I’m competing with Jaehyun and I’ve never even met him.”

You scoff and throw your arms in the air, visibly in disbelief at what your boyfriend is saying to you. May you lose your temper, you’re unsure about the future of this relationship. Yet, something in your cruel and painful heart no longer cared, snapping your wits and patience at your beloved.

“What are you saying?” You’re pacing back and forth, fuming with an inexplicable infuriation. Jaehyun catches your eye, and for a brief moment, you’re holding eye contact with him instead. “Jaehyun is dead,” facing Johnny now, you say words that jumble in your chest, regardless of their true meanings, “and even if he was alive, there would be no competition.”

“Because you were always going to choose him over everyone else in your life, is that right? Exactly like how you do now.” Johnny’s words sting like daggers at your skin, worse than the layer of frost that bites at you for the past two weeks.

“Please, don’t attack me for hurting.” With that, your voice breaks and cracks all over. Your tears hit the ground without you feeling them run down your cheeks.

Johnny is quick to wipe them away, not minding that his hands will now be wet from your salty droplets. He instantly regrets it all, the unwarranted questions, the fighting, the barging in unexpectedly. It pains him more to see you like this.

“I apologize. I’m sorry that I’m not saying the kindest words to you when you need to hear them the most.” Your partner is frowning, a true rare sight to see. “But, you’re still grieving and there is going to have to be a time that you move on.”

It’s one of those tip of the iceberg moments or when the ball finally hits the ground and a rush of cathartic enthusiasm washes over you. However, you’re not happy. You’re not even remotely close to happiness. You’re fucking sad, you’re aching with a pain so deeply rooted that it isolates you, that it rips apart anything that used to bring you joy.

And this causes you to scream your lungs out, sobs that choke you up. “I can’t! You don’t understand, no one understands! I just fucking can’t. He was my best friend and that night… he was going to tell me something.” Jaehyun can’t bear to hear your piercing wails, as he’s disappeared completely from the setting. When you’re panicked and searching for him, you only see Johnny staring back at you with a very concerned expression.

“And I will never know what he wanted to tell me.” Your tone grows soft and rather delicate, like a sad realization at the possibility that the secret died with Jaehyun that night.

“Some things are better left unknown. Do you really think you’ll feel better knowing?”

“Listen to him, y/n.” Jaehyun randomly appears next to Johnny’s stature. He stands a few inches shorter than him, but the sight of them together has you blinking in awe.

You’re darting between the two of them, “I don’t know what will make me feel better.”

“Come, tonight. Your whole family wants to see you for the one holiday that brings people together.” But when Johnny steps forward, you’re taking a step back.

“Please, just go.” With an assertive point to the door, your head does not lift up to watch your boyfriend leave. Despite every person you’ve done this to, Johnny’s hurts the most. His flame dies out tonight, providing no sense of security or heat. And with a toss of his arms of exasperation, he shuts your front door and leaves without a goodbye, without wishing you a merry Christmas.

Jaehyun calls your name, but you’re rushing to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. “Don’t you dare travel through the wall.”

Your apartment has grown so dark due to the shorten winter days. It’s pitch black all around you and the sky is no longer a deafening white. It’s the first time you notice the dark blue scattered clouds and the intricate snowflakes that drift carefully down to the streets. And, you’re all alone in the quietness. You truly are isolated every Christmas.

“y/n, let’s talk.” Jaehyun is beyond fed up with your behavior, that has to be the last straw. This is the first year since his death that he’s seen the evident spark in your eye, the hope that is hiding behind your depression. He sees it in the way Johnny looks at you, like you’re the greatest present he could receive in life. In your proclamation, as hard as it was to witness, is a spirit that wishes to be freed. There was a chance this year. There still is one.

“Jaehyun, you left me! You left all alone, and no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about you, it never works. In the end, no one is here for me like how you were.” Hands in your hair, you’re losing yourself at a rapid rate. It hurts to keep your eyes open, tears sting as they well up around the rims.

“Find a part of me in the people around you.” The door to your bedroom swings open and Jaehyun takes note of you by the window again. You want to leave, you want to be out there and he knows, before you can actually realize it yourself. You’re turning to face him and in the dark, he looks solid. He looks so real and whole.

“How do I do that?” It’s a genuine question that you’ve pondered before, but never feeling like you had the strength to do so. You’re always dwelling on your past with Jaehyun, indulging in the sacred memories only you two shared.

“What are things that you associate me with?” He is found leaning against your door frame again, hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans.

You say the first thing on your mind, “snow.” When the words hit the air, your ceiling light flickers briefly. Jaehyun doesn’t flinch, however, still focused on your crying figure. Snow, the first sign of snowfall is when he appears for the winter.

“What else?” He encourages.

“Familiarity.” The light flashes again, for a mere second longer this time before it resumes darkness. Familiarity, for he grew up by your side for as long as you could remember.

There is an odd feeling that enters the room and you’re fearful of the unknown. But, Jaehyun’s cadence doesn’t falter, he’s not distracted by the random spurts of light. And if anything, it all could be his doing. “Keep going.”

“Comfort.” Flicker. “Warmth. Love. Excitement.” With each word, the light builds stronger and stronger. You’re speaking memories into existence now, “making snow angels until it got dark, laughing until our stomachs hurt, watching movies until the clock struck midnight, dancing until our legs gave out!”

Streams run down your face and you’re yelling until your throat feels raw, but you don’t wish to stop as the light glows brighter and brighter with each spoken word.

As you listen to every listed attribute and memory, you recognize a central theme in all of them and one thing that Jaehyun embodies, the one thing he’s always been associated with.

“Christmas.” A shaky breath exhales and a loud spark pierces your ears. The light illuminates intensely all around you, lighting up the darkest corners of your room and blinding you more than the sky has been lately.

“Jaehyun?” Closing your eyes, you can see the brightness through your eyelids and you’re beyond confused as to what is happening. When you mindlessly reach for his hand, you actually feel it and your heart is soaring due to strange unquestionable physics.

Jaehyun intertwines your hand in his own and caresses your face gently. For once, he doesn’t feel cold. He’s blazing hot, melting away the long days of isolation. “Open your eyes, y/n.”

What lies before you is an incredible, marvelous sight. Snow dusts the roof of your family’s house as green, red, yellow bulbs light the frame of it. Your parents really went all out; round snowmen sit perfectly together on your lawn. A decorative wreath hangs at the front door and a distinct chuckle catches your attention.

From the window that looks into your kitchen, your mother rolls a sheet of dough on the counter as clouds of flour erupt around her. Your father is preoccupied at the stove, with the silliest gimmicks for decorating the feast they’re about to hold. Silver tinsel line the dinner table with a festive table cloth draped upon it. The remarkable tree shines in the center of the living room, a glimmering star on top.

“I know we probably won’t see y/n again this Christmas…” The sound of your mother’s voice rings a bell in your yearning heart and Jaehyun is gazing at you with a wondrous look in his eyes. The grip on his hand is tight, your breath enters the night in puffs of smoke, and regardless of this all being real or imaginary, you’re so immersed in this reality that he knows you’re anticipating what your family has to say.

“... but something about this year really makes me miss them.” Your mother puts the rolling pin off to the side and rests her hand on the kitchen counter, trying to hold back any form of her own tears from falling.

“May Jaehyun watch over them tonight, our little angel doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

Your dad walks over to embrace your mother in a long hug, kissing the top of her head gently. “Merry Christmas, y/n.” Your father speaks into the air, without the knowledge of you outside, he’s thinking of you.

Something in your heart shatters, but it’s entirely different from the pain you’ve felt over the years following Jaehyun’s death. It’s a warm, bubbly feeling that spreads across your chest and you’re covering your mouth out of pure shock at the sight of your parents.

Your parents, who you’ve neglected every holiday season, still think of you. You recognize the ingredients that scatter the table, they make your favorite dish every year in hopes you’ll come join them.

Jaehyun whispers, “y/n, know that I’m always going to be here. I may physically be gone, but I live in your heart and the joyous memories we’ve shared together. I live through the many people who love you now, through Christmas. This spirit is also very much alive in the other people around you.”

When you peel your eyes from the scene of your parents, the vision suddenly disappears and you’re facing Jaehyun right back in your cold, empty, dark apartment. But you wish the moment lasted a little longer. For the first time in a long time, you wish to be with your loved ones. You wish to celebrate Christmas with the people who still care about you, the ones that are still alive and well.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“This signifies my final push down the hill. You’re all strapped up in your knee pads, y/n. You’re never truly going to be ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.” Jaehyun pats your head lovingly and mimics the motions of securing a helmet on your head.

You’re letting go of his hand, running around quickly in search for the appropriate outerwear for the snow. It’s like a switch went off in your heart and a cathartic feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Every Christmas since his passing, you thought it was best to be alone. You thought it was selfish to live your favorite holiday season without your best friend, that you lost the spirit of Christmas.

However, this entire time… Jaehyun’s ghost has been a reminder that the Christmas spirit has always been alive. It’s not about the enthusiastic festive events or the cheerful themed activities or the distinct colorful decorations, it’s about the appreciation and love you have for the people who have made your year so special. You’ve associated the holiday so much with your best friend, that you’ve lost sight of it in your family, your current friends, your own boyfriend.

When you’re rushing out the door, you stop in your tracks and peer back at Jaehyun leaning against your door frame, just as he appeared a few weeks ago. He has the warmest, brightest smile on his face, “y/n, I think I finally remember the secret I wanted to tell you.” You’re afraid of the answer and the outside world, but your hand doesn’t slip from the door handle. Could it really be? The long anticipated secret that has been gnawing at your conscience since his death?

Nevertheless, he’s giggling and holding his stomach slightly from the immense amount of joyous laughter. “I wanted to tell you that I... finally learned how to shave.”

At first, you’re stunned at the simplicity of the beheld secret. All this time, you thought it had been something so meaningful, something so mind blowing, that needing to know practically destroyed your mental state. Then, a wholehearted and genuine laugh erupts from inside of you and you’re lighting up the darkest parts of yourself. Jaehyun looks at you fondly, like a beauty that he hasn’t seen in awhile.

“That’s fucking it? You came out in the middle of a blizzard to tell me you learned how to shave? How lame.”

Jaehyun chuckles, “when did I ever need an extremely valid reason to see you?” The laughter falls short at his confession and in the midst of all this enthusiasm, you bid him the softest smile. His purpose has been fulfilled, as the best version of you he’s always known and loved stands before him at last.

“I guess... you’re right. What’s going to happen to you now?”

“I’ll always be here for Christmas, even when you’re old and grey surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones in front of a large, extravagant Christmas tree. When the snow falls, I’ll be here.” Jaehyun’s dimple smile is the lasting image you see, the one you’ve always hoped to remember him by.

“Merry Christmas, Jung Jaehyun… I--”

“Love you too, y/n. Merry Christmas.” He ushers you out the door with a small kiss on your knuckles.

That is the last time you ever see him again. Now, when the snow falls, it marks the anniversary of your long awaited healing, the journey to acceptance, and the beloved memory of your best friend. May you never lose the spirit of Christmas and the warmth from your loved ones.

#nct scenarios #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neothestars #kpopscape #nct scenario #nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun scenario

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 3

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,320

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: I don’t know much about starship mechanics so probably nothing in this is accurate but it’s fanfiction people so cut me some slack please, reader gets a nickname 🥳, plot plot plot, discussion of loss of loved ones, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, this is a slow burn but it’s also ridiculously self-indulgent so I’m including as many cute getting-to-know-you scenes as I can, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: Thank you anyone and everyone who has read even a sentence of this story! Special thanks and love to @dindja for creating this stunning, fantastic, amazing piece of fanart for me 💖💖💖 I still can’t believe how perfect it is. I mean, I’m such a sucker for pinky promises it’s not even funny and this is just beautiful 😍😍😍

Part 2

Cross-posted on AO3

For as grand and wide-reaching as the Galactic Empire has become in its ten years of existence, it had relatively small beginnings. A group of radical Force-wielders banded together under the leadership of an old, beady-eyed man named Sheev Palpatine who believed it was his divine destiny to seize control of the entire galaxy, rewriting the ancient laws to match his own beliefs. His cult, the Sith Order, gained attention by attacking Jedi temples, capital cities, places with large populations until every corner of the galaxy had heard of them. Most regarded them with fear, but over time they began garnering a startling amount of followers who were discontent with the status quo and willingly drafted themselves as soldiers in Palpatine’s fight for control.

At first everyone in your village thought Palpatine and his cult of followers weren’t worth worrying about—after all, Shili was a peaceful planet that never drew much attention to itself. But within the first year of its inception, the Sith Order captured Ryloth and the similar peaceful characteristics between the Twi’lek planet and Shili were too glaring to overlook. A seed of anxiety took root in every Togruta’s mind after that, and continued to grow with every planet seized as the years progressed.

The Decimation of Alderaan didn’t start as a tragedy, believe it or not. The Mandalorians, Jedi, and Alderaanians combined their numbers in an all-out fight against the Sith Order. It was the largest battle ever fought in the history of the galaxy, thousands of souls willing to die to defeat Palpatine’s followers. For the first three days of warfare, the fight seemed to be in favor of the allies with many noteworthy Sith members reportedly killed in the fray, such as Palpatine’s second-in-command Dooku and lethal Zabrak assassin Maul. You remember there was a sense of hope felt within your village as everyone listened to the news reports blaring across the Holonet. A belief that things were finally, finally going to return to normal after so much chaos.

But on the fourth day, the Sith Order brought their own ally onto the battlefield.

At the time there wasn’t a name for the droids that slaughtered every opponent they faced. They were described as indestructible, unharmed by blasters and the intense heat of Mandalorian flamethrowers. Not even lightsabers could damage them. The allies didn’t stand a chance, brutally murdered one by one, their dying screams echoing across the Holonet, forever haunting listeners far and wide.

The Dark Troopers were unleashed upon Mandalore afterwards and out of the ashes rose the Galactic Empire, except, in a twist nobody—not even the Sith Order—saw coming: Palpatine died before taking on the title of emperor, passing away in his sleep. A mediocre ending for the monster who permanently altered the foundations of the universe. One of his loyal followers from the cult’s early beginnings took control in his place, a vile man with a penchant for spilling blood and a deceptively bland name: Gideon.

Only seven years-old then, you didn’t understand the unbalance in the Force your aunt kept referencing. You didn’t understand the meaning of the word genocide either. But you did understand the galaxy would never be the same ever again, and the lesson was only further established as truth when the Imperials seized your village.

There is no normalcy to return to anymore.

And as long as Emperor Gideon remains in control, there is no future to hope for either.

Silence reigns in the aftermath of Maar’s explanation as the long list of tragedies hangs heavy over the four occupants. There is tension in the air as you await the Mandalorian’s response to the extinction of his people, whether that be an outburst of anger or tears, and each passing minute only intensifies the nervous energy thrumming through your veins. Your leg starts to bounce restlessly, a bad habit you have had since childhood.

The Mandalorian stands eerily motionless. Your eyes keep flicking from your lap to his visor though you know it is rude to stare. His helmet hides his expression, but you don’t need to see it to know he is floundering right now, mind scrambling to piece together all the details thrown at him. From personal experience, you know the loss of a loved one hits like a tidal wave, hitting you over and over again until you must decide if you are going to stand up or surrender to drowning. Grieving the loss of your parents is the hardest experience of your lifetime to date.

But this...this is vastly different. The Mandalorian didn’t just lose his loved ones. He has lost his friends, neighbors, comrades, acquaintances, everyone all at once. This loss isn’t a tidal wave. It is a kriffing avalanche, burying him ten feet under in total darkness, and there is no one he can count on to save him.

Finally, after the longest five minutes of your life, he shifts, resting his hands upon his belt with an unexpected air of seriousness. “I need to go.”

You frown, head tilting. That is his reaction?

“Go?” Ahsoka echoes, sounding as incredulous as you feel. “Go where?”

“To look for survivors,” he answers, blunt and harsh, the words forced through clenched teeth.

Ahsoka is struck silent, and you feel your heart break on his behalf. Your mother’s stories about the Mandalorians had always included, one way or another, their lifelong bonds with each other. You had felt those ties when you had connected with the Mandalorian, believed for a moment as strongly as he did that his fellow warriors would come search for him, that his absence would be noticed and missed amongst them. And here he is now, still desperately clutching to them, unable—or, perhaps unwilling is more apt—to believe a stranger telling him those bonds have been cruelly severed.

“What you need is to rest,” Maar says, gentle yet firm, letting her authority as the eldest in the room seep into her tone.

He shakes his head, not backing down. “I’ve been asleep for ten years. I don’t need any more rest.”

“Your ship, it, uh,” your shoulders hike up defensively when his visor snaps in your direction, pinning you with its blank stare. Clearing your throat, you continue with a slight grimace, “It’s going to need some repairs before it can take off. I can help you fix it.”

Ahsoka looks over at you in surprise, and then in worry. You don’t blame her, especially since the offer had slipped out without you consciously meaning it to. Once again, the Force is calling the shots and you are just along for the ride, a passenger in your own body.

He considers you for a long moment, then asks, “What do you know about the mechanics of a gunship?”

If anyone else had asked you that same exact question, you would have bristled at their condescension and retracted your offer in the next breath. But with the Mandalorian, there isn’t even the slightest hint of patronizing courtesy. It is a serious question prompted from genuine curiosity.

You sit up straighter, smiling at him now. “Enough to confidently say I’m your best shot at getting off the ground.”

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Ahsoka asks you, braced against the wall with one eye on you and one on the Mandalorian across the garage, patiently waiting for you to finish assembling your tool kit.

“Huh?” You reply distractedly, trying to decide if you should bring your carbon chisel or not.

“You don’t have one, do you?”

Not. There are bigger concerns than a bit of carbon scoring. You move to grab your favorite screwdriver with a tapered socket, only for Ahsoka to snatch it away, holding the tool hostage.

“Hey!”

“Have you thought about what you’re doing?” Ahsoka asks slowly, staring you directly in the eyes. “Once you fix his ship, he’s gone. And he’s taking our best chance at escaping Shili with him.”

A quick glance over your shoulder shows the Mandalorian studying the scattered BB unit parts on your workbench. You are missing a few vital components needed in order to bring the little droid back to life after a stormtrooper shot a plasma bolt through it for accidentally bumping into his leg, and haven’t had any luck convincing the village traders to track them down for you when they went to the capital.

“We can’t keep him here against his will,” you manage at last, turning back to your sister. “Otherwise we’re no better than the Imps.”

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, you shrug a shoulder, adding, “Besides, I think I’m supposed to fix it for him. The Force seems pretty insistent about it.”

She makes a face at that. “I liked you better when you ignored your Force instincts. You didn’t make me worry as much.”

A laugh escapes you, embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet space, and your cheeks immediately start burning. Ahsoka’s lip twitches like she wants to smile, but instead she schools her features into a blank expression when the Mandalorian’s head turns at the sound. Only once he diverts his attention elsewhere again does her stare lose some of its intensity, looking less like she wants to dissect him beneath a microscope. You can practically see her protective-older-sister-instincts buzzing, reacting to the warrior’s presence.

As much as he is a chance at providing an escape, he is also first and foremost a complete and total stranger. Even worse, he is a complete and total stranger who knows how to handle weapons.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You squeeze her arm reassuringly. “Shouldn’t take longer than a couple of hours. You’ll be so busy smoothing the Elders’ ruffled feathers you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Ahsoka finally relinquishes the tool, exhaling a quiet sigh. “You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.”

Walking side by side with the Mandalorian in silence isn’t awkward, per se, but it definitely isn’t comfortable either. He is close enough your arm keeps accidentally grazing against his, the cold brush of metal against your skin startling you each time. You would have considered his nearness strange if you hadn’t heard Ahsoka threaten to castrate him if you wound up hurt before she sent him flying at the juni tree branch outside your window with an unnecessarily strong push of Force.

To his credit, the warrior handled her rough treatment with the same ease he has handled everything else thrown at him. You are beginning to think Mandalorians don’t just wear beskar—they are made of it too. Other than the few glimpses of frustration earlier in Maar’s office, he keeps his cards close to his chest, impossible to read.

He watches everything though, reacting to the slightest of movements and sounds. Constantly alert. You are certain he is watching you right now, despite the fact his helmet is facing forward, your nerves prickling in response to the sensation of eyes upon you.

To your surprise, he is the one to break the silence first. “You sneak out often.”

It is a statement, not a question.

You suppose the dots are easy enough to connect to reach that conclusion. Still, the certainty in his voice has your heart skipping a nervous beat. He hasn’t even known you a day and yet he is privy to secrets no one outside your community is aware of. “Yeah,” you nod your head after a brief lapse of silence, “Ahsoka can’t train in the village. Not with the stormtroopers around.”

“Has your village tried to run them out? Fight back?”

It is only because you know he is just trying to understand your village’s predicament with the little bits of information he has that you don’t snap at him for being so insensitive. He has no idea what these past five years have been like for you all. No idea the amount of losses and sacrifices the community has suffered.

Your grip on your tool kit tightens. “I was twelve when they came. The community is mostly traders and hunters, not trained fighters. The few weapons we had were nothing compared to their blaster rifles, but some of the adults tried to defend the village, including our parents. They...” You swallow, or try to, at least, your throat suddenly dry as sand. “Our aunt looked after us until last year we woke up one morning to find a note she’d left to join the rebellion. We haven’t had any contact with her since.”

The Mandalorian’s gloved hand brushes against your knuckles. This time you think it might have been on purpose.

“I lost my parents as a child, too. There was a riot and they died protecting me,” he offers his own private details with the same reluctance as one volunteering to have their teeth pulled out. “The Mandalorians took me in, raised me as one of their own.”

You say nothing about the way his breath slightly hitches when he says Mandalorians, appreciating his openness as it puts you both on somewhat equal footing with each other.

“I owe it to them to look for survivors,” he tells you, and your montrals detect the quietest hint of a plea in his voice.

“I understand,” you answer, keeping your tone light to preserve the fragility of this moment. This kind of situation doesn’t happen often—two strangers on the same wavelength, exposing their vulnerable underbellies, desperate to be heard and yet skittish at the same time—and it is oddly therapeutic.

A decision is made right then and there in the span of a heartbeat. And even more significantly, it is 100% your own choice without any intervention or manipulation from the Force.

You stop walking, causing the Mandalorian to halt as well. He scans the area for a threat, then visibly jerks when he turns back to find you have your hand held out towards him, pinky raised high, reacting as if you are pointing a weapon at him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, blunt and almost suspicious sounding. Are you just imagining it or can you actually hear him frowning? “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you ever made a pinky promise with someone before?”

“...A what?”

You snort, ducking your head to hide your smile, and then reach for his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest your touch.

“A pinky promise,” you repeat as you make his hand form a fist, curling his fingers towards his palm, and then adjust his pinky so you can wrap yours around it. He watches the whole process wordlessly. “It’s a sacred vow shared between two people. The Elders say once it’s sworn, the promise can never be broken.”

He cocks his head, skeptical. “Never?”

“Never,” you reaffirm with a nod. Licking your lips, you look at his visor, right where you instinctively know his eyes are staring back. “I promise I’m going to help you. No matter the odds.”

And something leaks into your voice then, something resolute and binding and otherworldly. A tremor shoots down your spine, too quick for you to make sense of it.

Your sister’s words echo in the back of your mind, ‘You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know for certain you can keep.’

You try to pull away, self-doubt gnawing a hole in your stomach, only for the Mandalorian to wrap his pinky tighter around yours, holding you still. A gasp escapes your lips, muffled by the bleeding sincerity in his voice as he swears:

“I promise I will be there when you need me. No matter the odds.”

And although your sister could undoubtedly provide you with a long list of reasons why you shouldn’t, you believe his promise to be true.

The Mandalorian heaves a heavy sigh at the sight of his crashed ship.

“I can’t do much about the landing gear,” you inform him, believing honesty to be the best policy for cases like this. “And I brought some foam-jet for the cockpit viewport, but it’s not a permanent fix. You’re going to have to find someone offworld to replace them.”

“Right,” he agrees absently without turning his eyes away. It occurs to you then that this ship is the closest thing to a home he has now. One of the few precious relics from his past he can still physically cling to.

“Does your ship have a name?” you ask.

He looks at you, as if coming back to self-awareness, and answers, “Razor Crest.”

A good name, you think. Strong. A bit mysterious. Just like its owner.

You nod decisively. “I like it.”

His modulator crackles faintly, a quiet noise produced from a sudden exhale of air. You blink at the unexpected sound, surprised to realize you recognize it. A laugh. The Mandalorian just laughed at something you said. What is next in store for you? Are akul going to sprout wings and start flying?

He steps around you, heading for the side entry door still open from yesterday with its ramp laying on the ground, pebbles shifting noisily beneath his boots with each step. You don’t realize you are staring, oddly entranced by the swish of his cape and his purposeful strides, until he calls out your name to ask if you are coming.

You nearly drop your tool kit in your haste to follow after him into the Crest’s interior, ignoring the flaring heat radiating from your cheeks.

For the next few hours, you and the Mandalorian work in companionable silence, engrossed in rerouting wires and welding damaged components with your trusty hand torch. The gunship is older than you initially assumed, perhaps even as old as yourself, and you idly wonder if the Mandalorian found it in a scrapyard somewhere or maybe inherited it from another Mandalorian. You notice the way he handles each piece with an experienced and respectful touch; the same kind of care someone reserves for their most cherished possessions. Anyone with eyes can see how much he loves the Crest just by watching him.

Once you have finished sealing the numerous cracks dissecting the cockpit’s viewport like a spiderweb with foam, you approach the Mandalorian to see his progress on returning power to the dashboard. He is on his back beneath the steering controls, rearranging a mess of wires, and barely acknowledges your presence when you squeeze yourself into the tight space next to him.

“The red wire goes before the white one,” you point out, noticing the mistake immediately. “Fire hazard.”

He pauses, looks at where you have gestured, and corrects his error without criticizing your intervention. You bite back a smile, pleased to be heard. Within your community, even though you have proven your skills time and time again, some of the villagers, usually men, don’t always adhere to your advice, thinking you are too young and too female to know about technology, until they inevitably make their problems worse for themselves and come back to you with their metaphorical tail between their legs.

You help him reattach the cover plating once he has finished, screwing the bolts back into their corners, and then watch, fingers crossed, as he attempts the ignition sequence, flipping a series of switches.

None of them light up with even the faintest flicker of life.

“Dank farrik,” he growls under his breath, slamming a fist upon the console.

You take a tiny step forward, hesitant to direct his frustration your way. “Can I try?”

He tilts his head, probably thinking he knows this ship better than anyone and if it doesn’t work for him then you aren’t going to have any luck either.

Eventually he steps back with a shrug, uttering a simple, “Sure.”

Although you can’t remember the last time you were on a ship, it doesn’t take long to refamiliarize yourself with the various controls and screens once you take a seat in the pilot chair. When your hobby for fixing broken machines changed into a passion you wanted to pursue as a future career, you started memorizing any reading material you could find on the Holonet, including the flight manuals for different classes of starships. You flip through the stored information in your mind about gunships as you press a few buttons on the panel overhead, trying out different sequences for a response.

When your third attempt fails, you bite your lip, racking your brain for a solution. You think about Huno’s kitchen droid and how you had been on the verge of ripping off one of your head-tails trying to repair it after one of its fuses blew, causing it to malfunction. Your tools and knowledge hadn’t been able to fix it in the end. It had required a special remedy to bring it back to life.

You lay your palms flat on the console, just as you had held onto the droid’s square torso. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian fidget, as if he wants to come closer but is hesitant to crowd you. You ignore him, pressing your fingertips harder against the metal, visualizing in your mind the unseen gears, cables, and components stiff and powerless. You imagine the parts working properly, a current of electricity running through each wire, life ultimately returning to the entire ship, and whisper under your breath a request to the Force.

“Please work, please work, please work…”

An invisible pulse of energy burns down the length of your arms and discharges through your fingertips, strong enough you jerk backwards against the seat. Every button and screen on the dashboard lights up all at once, beeping with alarm at being so rudely resurrected.

You sit there helplessly, stunned and breathless, hands twitching in your lap. The kitchen droid hadn’t required even half as much energy to restart, barely a pinch. Now your body feels like you have been thrown against the electric fence a dozen times. Wordlessly, the Mandalorian comes to your side to help, punching buttons and turning knobs until the alarms quit blaring. A distant part of your brain thinks the Razor Crest as a whole seems strangely soothed by his presence, not quite as cold and dark, but it is hard to follow that train of thought due to the distracting pain throbbing along your temples.

“That’s quite a spark you’ve got,” he says, not unkindly or accusingly, just a statement of the obvious. He looks down at you, not outright asking for an explanation, but giving you the opportunity to open up if you wanted to.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply, forcing a cheerful smile, praying it doesn’t resemble a grimace. “Sparks Tano at your service.”

He chuckles again, oblivious to how your heart stutters at its raspiness. “Thank you, Sparks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, we’re not done yet.” You rub at your temples under the guise of adjusting your headband. “I need to take a closer look at the engines before we attempt flying out of here. I—”

“I’ll do it,” he cuts in, already heading for the ladder. “You stay here, see if you can update the navicomputer settings.”

You know he knows that updating the navicomputer is child’s play for you. Clearly you aren’t as great at concealing your pain as you thought you were and this is his way of giving you a break. A small part of you is irritated at being treated like a porcelain doll, but you push those negative feelings aside as quickly as they develop. Your aunt always used to remind you and Ahsoka it was okay to accept help when it was offered, that needing support didn’t in any way make you weak.

“Hey, wait a second,” you call out as you spin around in your seat, freezing him right before he disappears from view into the hull. He holds onto the ladder, waiting patiently for you to continue.

“Back at Maar’s place you didn’t introduce yourself and it’s weird just calling you Mandalorian in my head,” you say, awkwardly drumming your fingers on top of the armrests. He doesn’t answer, eliciting a sigh from your mouth after a drawn-out beat of silence. “What’s your name? You do have one, right?”

“I do, but I can’t tell you it,” he admits at last. “By Mandalorian Creed, only other Mandalorians or my riduur—my spouse,” he corrects, seeing your confusion, “are allowed to know my name and see my face. This is the Way.”

He doesn’t linger to hear your response, dropping down into the hull with a resounding thud. You slowly turn back around, staring absently out the glass. Every culture is unique, including your own, but you think there is something especially interesting about the Mandalorians’. It sounds like a lonely existence, only able to show your face while in select company. What would have happened if he had been unconscious and you had slipped the helmet off his head? What consequence would he have faced?

And if there truly aren’t any Mandalorians left besides him, his spouse will be the only one to ever know him completely. It almost sounds like a love story, if not a little bit heart-wrenching.

Two high-pitched dings from the console jerk you out of your thoughts with a wince. You look for the source, finding the radar lit up and actively scanning the area, and bristle when you see a pair of red dots moving across the screen.

Not even a minute later you are sprinting out of the cave, ignoring the Mandalorian’s alarmed shout from the roof of the Razor Crest. They’re early, you think with panic, looking towards the sky where two starships with Imperial logos are heading straight for your village. Why have they come back so soon?

You push your legs to run faster, your surroundings a blur beyond the trail in front of you, but the effort is meaningless. You won’t make it back home before they land.

And when your absence is noted, bloodshed is not a possibility.

It is a guarantee.

Series taglist: @pedro4ever @cannedsoupsucks

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Permanent taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @over300books @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @absurdthirst @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @coaaster @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @disgruntledspacedad @melobee @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @artsymaddie @waywardmando @asta-lily @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @tacticalsparkles @mandocrasis @littlebopper96 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @kiss-evans @writeforfandoms @pbeatriz @anaaaispunk

#my fic #my writing #Mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #togruta reader #ahsoka tano #the last mandalorian #pedrostories #art

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

dandelions

request: if you vibe with it Spencer X Reader lowkey songfic for Dandelions by Ruth B. Spencer is recovering from Cat traumatizing him and the Reader is a baby tech analyst for the BAU. The Reader learns Spencer believes that he’ll never find true love, and so the Reader pretty much corners him in the techy bat cave and makes him dance with her (to the song). Ends with a semi established relationship and Reader let’s Spencer know she’ll love him when he’s ready. :) ❤️

so before we embark on this story, I just want to let you all know that i’m only up to season 4 of CM, but because of tik tok, i know most of the spoilers already, but i’ll try my absolute best

word count: 2,167 reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

It was a leisurely night at the BAU, the usual fleeting agents that roamed around the bullpen causing an uproar of commotion was replaced by a serene environment that was inhibited by a few individuals. It was around the time of the holidays meaning most of the agents had either went home to their loved ones or went to the bars to their loved ones, also known as 5-6 vodka shots with a beer on the side.

The lights began to dim at the office indicating it was close to midnight. My eyes had accustomed to the sudden change of brightness due to the simple fact that Penelope’s office was just a technically advanced bat cave littered with eclectic trinkets from thrift shops.

I could remember stepping into Penelope’s office expecting an immaculate high tech lair, only to discover a physical representation of Pen’s psyche splattered in all the crevices of the dark room. Apprenticing for Garcia had been the best decision I’ve made considering that my original disposition was to work in counter terrorism where there wasn’t an unorthodox and silly tech goddess. Not only that, but the BAU team had become more than family to me, taking into account that my biological family had abandoned me when I was young.

I grew up with a developed resentment against love knowing that people will always abandon you in the end. Despite my childhood, ever since I’ve joined the team, all that contempt dissipated transforming into nothing but genuine love for the people around me.

And sometimes I held a little bit of extra love for definitive individuals.

I was closing up a few files on Pen’s computer, rewriting the encryptions on her documents to secure her confidentiality when I peered out into the bullpen, a forlorn and solitary silhouette crouched into a seat came to view. The chair swaying side to side in combination with the lackluster lights made it particularly burdensome to identify the figure. The bullpen had emptied out, leaving the creature to it’s lonesome, adding to the ambiguity of the atmosphere.

It was only when JJ approached the cryptic individual that it had clicked in my head. Spencer’s hair popped into view as JJ adjusted his desk lamp to give off more light. She had her bag and jacket hanging on her left arm signaling her departure from the office. She conversed with Spencer offering him a cup of coffee which he politely declined with a tight lipped smile. With this response, she patted his shoulder motherly and made her way to bureau’s glass doors.

The sounds of the rubber stopper hitting the frame of the door indicated that JJ had completely left, leaving the bullpen with the inhabitants of me and Spencer. Although I don’t think he’s acknowledged my occupancy in Pen’s office as he let out a disgruntled sigh, dragging his hands over his perturbed visage.

In the attempt to leave him to his aloofness, I resorted back to my tasks at hand on Pen’s computer, yet an almost incoherent sniffle echoed throughout the office, catching my ears off-guard.

I reverted my attention to Spencer once again, watching him pull at his hair while briskly wiping away the dampness that had formed on his face.

I felt a hefty tug at my heartstrings, feeling as if my chest cavity began to collapse in on it’s self. My esophagus congealed to the sounds of anguish that emitted past Spencer’s lips, feeling destitute as the boy became his own source of self reproach.

My thoughts fought each other for the custody of my actions, contesting the ideas of soothing the boy or leaving him to his own. It was quite a delicate matter to approach considering the topics that had led him to spiral.

Spencer Reid had only cared about one thing in the world: his mother and with the recent allegations with Cat Adams resurfacing, he’s been nothing but a ball of disquietude. His intelligence was the only wall that he’d build around himself that protected his unconscious mind from blemishing the utopian reality he had constructed in his conscious mind. It had been the barrier between his internal chaos and serendipity.

Who knew one woman would be able to decimate the very thing he fabricated since his youth.

After a few revelations, I became determined to release Spencer of the abhorrent thoughts his mind must of been swarmed in. Messing with bureau’s network, I connected to speakers that were planted in the bullpen that were utilized for broadcasts.

I leaned over Penelope’s set up, grabbing the mic she hid behind her monitors and connected it wirelessly to the speaker. This ended up emitting a loud echo of feedback that resonated throughout the office, hence catching Spencer’s attention to the ceiling. He looked bewildered at the sudden blare, but settled down as the sound of my voice flooded the room.

“Dr. Spencer Reid, please report to your nearest tech analyst. Again, Dr. Spencer Reid please report to your tech analyst” I announced, earning a wholesome smile from Spencer as he directed his attention to the office. He waved at me through the open door, chuckling while he stood up to press the wrinkles that had formed on his blazer.

My heart swelled, growing exponentially vast as his demeanor changed to a more merry disposition. I could already feel the apprehensive twinges begin to appear at my wrists and the ever-growing grin plant itself on my lips.

Once he arrived at the door frame, he let out an inaudible welcome as I grabbed an extra office chair for him to sit on.

“Long day?” I inquired, reclaiming my spot in my own chair. He leaned back on the spine of the seat, letting out a reluctant chuckle that held more gravity than he wanted to reveal.

“You have no idea” He replied with a frigid smile. He fidgeted with the tips of his fingers while he gazed at the floor below him.

“I was 14″ I stated, earning an inquisitive reaction from Spencer. “I was 14 when I decided to reject any form of aid, affection, or remorse from anyone who even came close to knowing me” I admitted, watching his face contort into vulnerability as if my words hit a weak spot in his barricade. “I told myself of the cold reality of the world and that no amount of consolation or love would change that”. I pulled my seat closer to Spencer, making our interaction a bit more intimate and fervent. “That wasn’t until I met you-” I confessed, now acquiring his full undivided regard. “-an-and the team. You guys proved me wrong and convinced me otherwise of my radical theories” I continued.

I searched for empathy in his eyes, but was met with a distant and doleful gaze while he sucked in his lips as it began to quiver. He took in a sharp breath, maintaining a adamant composure.

“Spencer, I know it’s been difficult and I’m sorry I can never understand the hardships you must be going through. But, I need you to realize that there are so many people who consider you one of the best parts of their lives” I professed, laying a tender palm on his knee. “That’s including me, you’ve been nothing but the best little genius I’ve had the privilege to be around, even with your constant rambling”. We both laughed at this statement, meeting each other’s gazes as if we were studying each other. “You need to let us in once and while. I don’t like seeing you get down on yourself for things that are normal to feel”

Spencer laid a warm hand on top of my own, squeezing it in acknowledgment before laying his head low once again. “I-i don’t think” He began, pausing in between his phrases to find the right words to articulate. “I don’t think I can ever find true love” He confided, running his fingers through the tangled bits of hair. “After Maeve, Cat, and now my mom, it seems like everything I ever try to love gets ripped out of my hands” He explained.

With an idea in mind, I scooted away from him and to the computer that was still connected to the bureau’s sound system. I logged onto my Spotify account and began to play Dandelions by Ruth B. The mellow melody streamed throughout the entire room, engulfing the both of us in the beginning verse of the song.

Maybe it's the way you say my name Maybe it's the way you play your game But it's so good, I've never known anybody like you But it's so good, I've never dreamed of nobody like you

“How about I get your mind off of it for a little while?” I offered, laying my hand out for him to grab.

“No, no Y/N. I’m not much of a dancer” He dismissed, shaking his head.

“Come on now doctor” I giggled, pulling at his fingers to join me. “You may not have a PhD in dance, but I’m pretty sure you can calculate the terminal velocity of how you drop that ass” I joked, intertwining our hands as he finally conceded to my antics.

“Oh god Y/N, I’ll dance with you if you never say that again” He placed a supple hand on the indents of my waist while he centered his feet to match mine.

After configuring himself, he looked down at me, really emphasizing the height difference between us. “Now was that so bad?” I teased, a toothy grin making it’s appearance on my face. The warmth that was radiating from the both of us made the small gesture more visceral, sending an irrefutable sensation of yearning throughout my entire body.

Hopefully, it elicited the same feeling for him

He took the lead, swaying us side to side while the chorus of the song saturated our eardrums, repositioning his hand to the small of my back. He exhaled a cumbersome sigh, lulling himself into my embrace.

Cause I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine And I see forever in your eyes I feel okay when I see you smile, smile

I felt every tap, fidget, or movement Spencer made on the soft skin of my spine to match the rhythm of the melody. My head found asylum in the crevice of his shoulder, letting my hair fall into place as we slow danced. At this moment, I felt reality shift around me at a turtle’s pace, time seemed to have completely marooned, and all I could fixate on was the shallow breaths Spencer would take.

“Thank you...Y/N, it really does mean a lot” Spencer attested, making me raise my head to meet his hazel eyes. Looking into them was like swimming in a pool of milk and honey while the sunshine eradicated all the bad in the world. “I know I’m not one open up about things like this, but you’re right and you reminded me of that, so thank you” He placed a loving kiss on my forehead, lingering momentarily before retracting.

“Spencer?” I spoke up

“Yes?”

“I know that you think that love may not be possible for you, but you’re forgetting that Rossi looks at you as if you were his own son, JJ basically thinks of you as her own brother, and I love you too”. I pushed a stray curl that fell in front of him face, caressing his cheek in the process of placing the hair back to where it belongs. “Just like energy, love can’t be destroyed, just transformed” I quoted, settling my hands behind his neck.

“And you?”

I hummed in inquisitiveness.

“What do you consider me as?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, beckoning him to continue as I was unable to fully comprehend what he was getting at.

“You said Rossi thought of me as a son, JJ as a brother. So what do you consider me as?” He pressed, pulling me closer to his chest.

I could practically feel his breath fanning over my face while a tinted blush blossomed on the apple of my cheeks. “I think that’s another conversation for another dance. Don’t you think?” I suggested in attempt to stray away from his prying.

“So you’re going to pull me into another dance?” He grinned.

“Possibly, if you’re up for it of course”

He shook his head chuckling, gently pushing me out, twirling me as he did before letting me rest on his chest. Silence drowned out the room as the song finally came to an end, yet we still stood in each other’s embrace to prolong the occasion

“Spence, I know that you need time. But just know when you are ready, that I’ll be here for you” I confessed, looking directly in his eyes.

“I’ll be here ready to love you whenever you’re ready to love yourself first”

I'm in a field of dandelions Wishing on every one that you'll be mine, mine

#spencer reid imagines #spencerreid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid icons #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer x oc #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x cat adams #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagines #matthew gray gubler imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

Firestorm Part 6: By the Light of the Dawn

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021 Liu Kang x Reader

You wake up to the sweetest sight.

A/N: having a pretty rough week so not much for words other than that I hope you are all doing great and thank you for reading <3 love you!

Start From the Beginning << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

It was still raining.

You could feel the cold mist from the window and pulled the blankets up a little higher. It was colder than you remembered and that was because you were alone. Your space heater was gone. Liu Kang had left at some point. You had to remind yourself that he was a busy man but you were also disappointed not to wake up in his arms. They were spectacular arms, after all. And they had left you with the most wonderful of memories.

You rolled onto your side, tugging the blanket securely beneath your arms and pushed your wild hair away from your face. Much to your surprise, you spotted Liu Kang on the floor, meditating next to your bed. He hadn’t left after all. Your stomach was filled with butterflies that were doing acrobatics and you admired him. He sat shirtless, eyes closed, breathing deep and, rather shamelessly, you watched him. Why wouldn’t you? It wasn’t like how you felt about him was exactly a secret anymore. Things had happened in such a blur that you felt you had more than earned the chance to admire him. He was a fine specimen of a man.

Was it wrong of you to love how vascular he was? Why was it such a turn on? You couldn’t explain it. It just did all the right things for you. You adjusted on the bed and watched him. You’d wait patiently for him to finish up. There were thousands of things you had to think about that morning but right now the only thing you wanted to think about was Liu Kang.

The moment was peaceful. You nearly fell back to sleep.

When he finished his posture changed and he peeked one eye open to catch your gaze. You watched as those perfect lips curled into that subtle and familiar smile, how his eyes sparkled with admiration. You shook off the chills. He crawled over to you and, hand engulfing your cheek, pressed his lips to yours in a stolen kiss. You smiled against his lips but returned the sweet sentiment. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to kissing Liu Kang. It made those butterflies do flips again.

“Mmm…” You pointed at him and then gently poked his shoulder with the same finger. “Morning breath.” Your lips brushed against his as you spoke and you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. He laughed and it was a sweet and soft sound. He looked tired.

“Morning breath.” He repeated but did not pull away from you. His thumb brushed just against your cheek and then, despite your proclamation of morning breath, his lips captured yours again. Your heart was in your throat. Fuck morning breath, these kisses were well worth it. They were so sweet and tender, the perfect thing to wake up to. You shivered as he pulled back. Then he folded his arms on the edge of the bed and rested his chin on his forearm. You scooted back just enough to better catch his gaze.

Your past self never would have believed this. The woman who had woken up in the infirmary with Liu Kang taking care of her and had attacked him with a frail needle out of fear never would have believed it. You’d been attracted to him from that first moment and now here you were, lost in those dark and thoughtful eyes.

“I have to go but I didn’t want to leave without seeing you.” He offered a tired smile. Had he not slept? You figured that he had to go. Honestly, you’d expected him to be gone. He’d been so busy since you’d gotten back from Huangshan. The fact that he’d refused to leave that morning without seeing you was incredibly generous and thoughtful. You were grateful. If you hadn’t gotten to see him, you would have been wondering what it meant all damn day. You were going to be wondering that anyway but at least now you’d know that it hadn’t been a mistake. That sweet morning kiss had been the best reassurance.

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you okay?” His eyes were sparkling with mischief, as if he knew the answer, so you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You know damn well that I’m just fine.” You teased. He looked rather pleased with himself again and you couldn’t blame him, really. You were becoming quite the fan of confident Liu Kang. His cockiness was kind of adorable. It was less like a strutting bird the way Kung Lao could be and more like a puppy after being told they’d been good. “Are you okay? You look tired.” You leaned your chin on your hand, elbow rested on the bed. Liu Kang admired you, like you were just as worthy of admiration as he was. That was still something you struggled to wrap your mind around. You’d never put much effort into your looks. To think that maybe he had admired you the way you admired him when he wasn’t looking was astounding. It was wonderful.

“Yes. I’m working on a sleep deficit.” He pushed your hair away from your face and tucked it again behind your ear. You were an addict for that sweet motion. It gave you the chills again and your heart sped up. These were stolen moments in the morning with Liu Kang. What a way to start the day. You should have probably taken those moments to talk about this. To talk about what you’d done. About the clear and obvious connection you’d shared since the moment you met.

But now didn’t seem to be the time. He had to go. You would find time later. Not that he seemed to be rushing out of the room. No, instead of getting dressed he’d elected to brush his fingers through your hair. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

You had plenty to think about after he left. You hadn’t been careful and you hadn’t been on birth control for about a month now, at least. Time was kind of funny since you’d gotten to Raiden’s Temple. Those days lost in unconsciousness had altered your perception of it. The idea of asking Chen for help with fertility issues made you want to die of embarrassment. But it was either see if the infirmary could help you out or find your way to the nearest city so you could help yourself.

You were happy to do that but you had the distinct feeling that going to a city involved asking Kung Lao, Liu Kang, or Raiden for permission and asking anyone besides Liu Kang would be mortifying. You’d work on getting your story straight first. Since you were such a horrendous liar, you had to come up with a legitimate reason to need to leave the temple, one that you could talk about without stuttering or giving yourself away. That was something you struggled with.

But that was a problem for later. Right now, you were enjoying your stolen morning with Liu Kang because you were sure that wherever he needed to be? He was late. These moments were made that much more precious. He had worlds to say behind his dark eyes but he didn’t say any of them.

There was no time.

But there would be plenty of time later. With any luck, you’d be seeing Liu Kang more consistently than you had been since you’d returned from Huangshan. Even if it was only late at night or in a moment of free time, you would take it. You longed for those days where you sat huddled close together, pouring over passages from a book. Just a few minutes in his arms was all you needed.

“I have to go.” He pulled his hand back with a heavy sigh. Then, regrettably, he began the process of getting dressed. You continued to admire him with a smile, eyes lingering on the dragon mark on his side. He looked to you in surprise and you shrugged. Then he bowed to you politely after he’d been dressed. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

“Later, Liu.”

He left, closing the door gingerly behind him. Then you whined and pulled the blankets over your head, curling up. That was a reminder of how naked you were.

You’d slept with Liu Kang.

It hadn’t been a one-night thing where you’d submitted to your attraction to each other, either. Part of you had thought that once you’d gotten that tension and lust out of your system then the attraction would have faded. Maybe your relationship would have shifted. But that hadn’t been the case. Not at all.

If anything it had made the tension that much more intense. You hadn’t discussed it but he had stayed with you. He’d waited patiently for you to wake up just so he could have that moment with you in the morning. There was no more hesitation before kisses either. He’d become quite bold.

Your heart raced just thinking about those gentle kisses in the morning and then the more intimate moments the night before. You pulled the blankets from over your face and fanned yourself. Sitting up, you felt your shoulder ache. Had you overdone it last night? In the heat of the moment you’d felt no pain but now it was back to aching. You should probably check in with Chen about your shoulder. You would consider how to ask about birth control without giving yourself away, too.

There were dozens of reasons besides sex to ask about it. You could use any one of those as an excuse to go to a city when Chen, inevitably, didn’t have any. It was as good an excuse as any and you thought you might be able to pull it off with a straight face. You wanted to take care of your reproductive health, that was all. Also you didn’t want to get knocked-up with any tiny versions of you and Liu. Getting up, you got cleaned up, dressed, and made your way toward the infirmary.

After rounding the corner that led to the stairs, you nearly ran right into Kung Lao. He beamed at the sight of you and you stumbled back and were immediately defensive.

Shit.

Childhood crush and best friend standing right in front of you. You were not ready to deal with that yet.

“Hey!”

You guessed he was likely on Y/N-duty again but he seemed pretty happy about it.

“Hi.” You didn’t mean to sound defensive and jumpy but you were defensive, jumpy and a terrible liar.

“Wow. Is that any way to greet a friend? What’s going on with you?”

“You surprised me and my shoulder kills and…” You managed to take a deep breath and relax enough to sound less perturbed than you were. Kung Lao grasped your wrist and urged you to show him the mark on your shoulder. You did, but with a roll of your eyes.

“Aching today?”

“Sounds silly but I think the rain makes it worse.”

“Not silly. I have this knee thing that’s like that. Old injury. When it rains like this it still hurts.” He shrugged and let go of your wrist then grinned. “I saw Liu on the way here. Did he stop by this morning? He looked happier than usual. Usually has something to do with you.”

“Uh…” You stuttered nervously and knew you either had to lie or spill your guts right there and you were not ready to spill your guts. You hadn’t even talked to Liu about it yet, dammit! “Yeah, I saw him. I’m glad he’s happy.”

“You’re being weirder than usual.”

“Am I?” You were high-pitched again and Kung Lao laughed at you but dismissed your weirdness. Thank goodness you’d been so weird lately that Kung Lao didn’t notice the difference when you were extra uncomfortable.

“The rain is supposed to stop soon so I figured we could go someplace safe to try and get your crazy arcana under control. If you’re up for it, that is.”

“I mean…” You weren’t sure that you were up for it but you also knew that it was important to do just that. You hoped beyond hope that it was possible. It would be nice to sleep without worrying about imprisoning yourself in your room or hurting someone lying in bed next to you.

“What’s your excuse today?�� Kung Lao sighed rather dramatically.

“Excuse?”

“You’re full of reasons not to deal with it lately.”

“If the captain of avoidance is calling me out then it must be bad.”

“That’s right, Y/N.”

“I was going to the infirmary to get my shoulder checked out but I suppose it can wait.” You considered your options. It would be nice to feel capable for a few minutes. “It’s been worse than this before, so it’s not urgent.” You needed to get the whole ‘birth control’ thing settled too but waiting a few hours wasn’t going to change what you’d done. In the meantime, maybe you could come up with a reason for you and Kung Lao to go to the nearest city or something. He was easily distracted by shiny things. You could absolutely manage to get what you needed without him noticing.

“I can try to help with some stretches for it, if you want.”

“You’re not a doctor so I’m going to say no.” You headed again to the stairs. Even if you did go to work on your arcana with Kung Lao, you still needed food. You were ravenous.

“Y/N! I happen to be an excellent martial artist. You think I don’t know how to take care of my body?”

“Fine, fine. You can show me some stretches. You’re an excellent whatever. I need food. Are you coming or can I go?”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“I don’t care, Kung Lao. I need food.”

“Are you avoiding me? Because now it’s starting to sound like you’re avoiding me.” Kung Lao teased and grasped your wrist to keep you from going down the stairs.

“No, I’m not avoiding you. I’m trying to get breakfast.” You laughed though part of you thought avoiding him until you could talk to Liu was a good idea. You’d gotten so swept up in the night before that you hadn’t thought about the lifelong connection and romantic tension that was Kung Lao. It wasn’t like sleeping with Liu Kang made that disappear. Kung Lao had been your dream for so much of your life that now you weren’t sure how to feel. You felt guilty for the connection you had with Liu Kang even if you knew you shouldn’t.

You had to talk to Kung Lao but what exactly would you say? That you were mixed up after doing what you did with Liu Kang? That you weren’t sure what anything meant anymore? That seemed like a dumb way to start a conversation especially since Kung Lao ran from feelings like they were trying to kill him. You had to talk to Liu first but that also felt awkward. For a terrifying moment you considered that maybe Liu Kang wouldn’t want this to be more than a physical thing. It wasn’t like you’d actually discussed feelings even if you had come much closer to it than you and Kung Lao had.

Your tiny brain was suddenly so distracted by terrifying new obstacles that it went into panic mode.

“Are you okay? I was just teasing.” Kung Lao broke you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you as though you had seven heads. That was fair.

“I’m okay.” You calmed down.

“You’re being weird. Are you sure you don’t need to talk about something?”

“I’m sure.” You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously. There was something you did need to talk about that you hadn’t yet. You knew about the bet that he and Liu had made regarding you and your choice. Liu had come clean but Kung Lao hadn’t said a word even though you were certain that he was the guiltier party. Liu Kang had taken responsibility for it but you knew them both well enough to guess Kung Lao’s involvement. “Is there something that you need to talk to me about?” You batted your eyelashes. Good. Turn it around on him. Then maybe he’d stop prying so much.

“Uh…” There was that guilt radiating from him again. It was brief. His face had dropped and his expression had tightened. But it was only a flicker before he was back to his goofy self. “No. You’re right though. Food first. If your arcana is still draining you then you definitely need to eat. And I could go for some tea.”

“Kung Lao, are you lying to me?” Hands on your hips, you watched him expectantly.

“You’d never be able to tell if I was, Y/N.”

“Oh? Is that so? Then how much of what you’ve said since you found me has been a lie, exactly?” He deserved this, you decided. Besides, you’d promised Liu Kang that you might pretend to be a little mad at Kung Lao until he told you the truth.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Y/N. Don’t be like that.”

“But if you’re such a gifted liar then how could I possibly be sure that anything is the truth?” You were proud to have successfully navigated your way through that conversation. You were no longer the one on edge.

“Wow, okay. I’m going to shut your mouth with food here in a second so we can focus.” He laughed, lazily urging his arm around your shoulder. “You’re thinking too much, Y/N. It’s a problem.”

“Is that a lie? If I can never tell that you’re lying, then everything could be a lie, Kung Lao. I had no idea you were so gifted.”

“I regret saying that.”

“You should.”

“Just please come eat with me. I’m sorry that I said I was such a good liar. I exaggerated for comedic effect, okay?”

“But what if that’s a lie.” You teased and then patted him on the back. “I’m kidding. Let’s find food.” You decided to go to the infirmary when you were done training with Kung Lao. For now you would get food, train, and go from there. You’d try to convince him to go into the city with you too. Why not?

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beigehearts · 3 years

Text

The Price of Self Respect

Please refer to my master list for the other chapters!

PART V

CW: mentions of sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of stalking

1,526 words

____________________________________________

It’s quiet and warm. The only sound is that of the rain, pitter pattering against your window and the sweet hums of your mother’s lullaby. Your face is flushed after a long day of playing in the rain and sitting in front of the fire place. Your mother sits next to you, tucking your covers underneath you, and her body seeming to glow celestially. She was an angel. Drifting to sleep, the safety and security you feel are something you don’t recognize are fleeting yet. For now, everything is okay.

Almost as if it were a transition from your dream to reality, the sound of rain pull you out of your fond memories. You sit up, looking around the room. No longer in the comfort of your childhood home, but a cabin bedroom, in a cabin bed, next to a strange man. You allow your eyes to travel the man’s face and drink in all of his features. It’s too dark to distinguish his features from one another but you think you’re okay with that for the moment. You move to stand up off of the bed, surprised when there’s no pain in your leg. Though that revelation can wait for a moment while you decided whether or not to have a crisis.

It can’t be any later than 3 or 4 am, no sign of the sun. You look down at your naked body and back to Chrollo. He’s quite handsome, and looks so innocent sleeping, looking as if you’re missing from his arms. You know you’re not though. That’s not where you belong. A cold chill runs through your bare body, and you notice the fireplace has gone out. Figures. With no one tending to it for so long of course it went out.

You send one last glimpse to Chrollo, before walking to the bathroom. The water still works but you’d have to boil some on your own if you want a shower that doesn’t turn your toes blue. So that’s exactly what you do, well sort of. You get the fire started again and heat up some water over it, dumping it into the bath tub and once it’s half filled, you hop in- wasting no more time. Surprisingly Chrollo didn’t awake.

Once the water goes cold you wrap up in a towel, drying off and sitting in front of the fire naked. You heat up quickly, and trapping that heat in your skin, you put on the sweatpants and t shirt you had on before. It would be nice to have a fresh pair of clothes, but that will have to wait. You decide not to lay back down with Chrollo, if not because you know better- because the bed is still dirty and you don’t want to lay down in it.

The sun begins to rise, peeking through the foliage of the trees, as if teasing you. The large window in the living room illuminates chairs and tables, casting long shadows across the room. The rain has ceased, leaving droplets of water on the window, and droplets falling from the leaves of the forest. It may be an unfortunate situation but at least it’s a beautiful one.

You pay no mind when you hear the bedroom door open, Chrollo yawning as he makes his way to you. His hands grab your face from behind, tilting your head towards him and he kisses your forehead.

He sits down, shirtless and tired he states, “I was worried you may have left. Not that it would matter. I would have found you.” He seems to realize those weren’t the right words for the night after your first time with him, “I’m glad you didn’t leave. I enjoyed last night, I enjoyed you.”

He enjoys you? What a strange way to phrase it.

-------------------------------------

A few days have passed, the both of you hiked through the woods, only stopping to sleep, pee, and eat once a day. It’s not something you aren’t used to as a hunter but not something you willingly invite into your day to day life. The past few days have forced you to come to terms that you are infatuated with this man. Infatuated with the man who kidnapped you. Each night, holding each other and sharing a kiss before bed. His words of affirmation and affection throughout the days seem to only worsen your condition. After the grueling days of travel in the wilderness, you have reached the city that the rest of the phantom troupe had made it to already.

A small trading town on the coast, boats docked and ready to sail. Quite quaint. The people were easily natives, and this definitely isn’t a tourist attraction, a place for business interaction and working. That’s all. The hotel Chrollo and you reach a ryokan, an inn that houses springs. At least you could get a warm shower and get to relax in the springs.

The old man at the front desk who looks ancient, calls for his son to lead you to your room. With an abundance of hospitality, he welcomes you and let’s you know of all the accommodations available. After practically talking himself hoarse, he leaves you and Chrollo to your room.

“I think this is much nicer than the muddy ground, don’t you Chrollo?” He looks up from his phone after pressing send.

“It is. Though we won’t be here for long so don’t get too used to it.” What a buzz kill. “I have errands to run tonight, so I will be having the troupe look after you. I would leave Pakunoda and Shizuku to look after you but they’re both in bed.”

You’ve heard stories of all of the members from Chrollo so their names have become familiar. “And what about Machi? Even though I don’t need a babysitter.” You mumble the last part.

“She’s apparently had too much Sake.” He huffs, “I can’t trust you to Phinks and certainly not Feitan.” He begins talking to himself, for reasons on who and who can’t watch you. “Shalnark and Uvogin should be fine.” He hums to himself.

“They’re waiting in the common area, let’s go.” There’s no questioning his authority when he has somewhere to be, so you follow him from your shared room to another. It’s not too big, but it contains a pool table, a tv and couches, and a bar.

A blond, somewhat normal looking man sits on the arm rest of one of the couches, chatting away at who you can only assume is Uvogin. He’s large, too big to be human. It looks as if he’s sitting on a doll’s couch. The two of them are watching the news, Uvogin with a beer in hand and the other with only his wits about him.

“Shalnark, Uvogin.” The two of them turn their head at the sound of Chrollo’s voice. “Take care of her.”

They both nod, and Chrollo leaves without a goodbye, stranding you with two men you don’t know. Well actually, a few men and a woman. They’re all strewn about the room drunkenly, the only ones sober being Shalnark and Uvogin. You wonder if alcohol could ever affect a man as big as Uvogin.

The blond one, the one you’ve connected to the name Shalnark smiles and waves you over, “Hey y/n. Come over here!”

Begrudgingly you do as he says, offering nothing more than a small smile for a moment. These are the people who allowed you to be kidnapped. But can you be upset with them when you yourself aren’t all that upset about it?

A yelp escapes your throat when Uvogin grabs your shoulder with one hand, pulling you down next to him on the couch. He lays his super heavy arm over your shoulder and the smell of beer on him is quite obvious. “Nice to finally meet the pretty little lady. You still got your pencil?” He asks, wanting to know if Chrollo had taken your nen ability yet.

You shake your head, realizing for a moment that that’s what he originally wanted you for. Maybe what he still wants you for.

Shalnark’s eyes go wide, “Woooooah. Really? That’s surprising. You’d think after all those months of watching you he would get to the point.”

Uvogin laughs, his baritone voice shaking the couch, “Even after that whole book- he must be planning something.”

Before anyone else can get a word in you say, “How long was he watching me? And what book? His nen book?”

Shalnark shakes his head, “No not his nen book, he has a whole journal about you. He’s quite organized- he knew you wouldn’t be an easy target. Now look, you’re hanging out with the spiders.” Shalnark takes a sip of his water, “He was working on that book for maybe eleven months.”

Hearing Shalnark’s words, Uvogin snorts, “Eleven months? You’re skimping out there.”

They continue to discuss it, but now your mind is stuck on the fact, that Chrollo wasn’t just watching you for a while. He may have been watching you for years. He even kept physical notes on you. What have you gotten yourself into?

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #phantom troupe #hxh #hunterxhunter #yandere

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heart-strong · 3 years

Text

The Strongest Sense

Couple: Aaron Hotchner and enby Spencer Reid

Summary: (hurt/ comfort and fluff) After a long case and not enough sleep Aaron finds Spencer awake in the kitchen having intrusive thoughts.

WC: 2.6k

CW: talk about 5x01 (Aaron getting stabbed, Spencer getting shot), misgendering, nightmare, Haley's death mentioned, thoughts of self-harm (not actually self-harming tho), panic attacks, and mental illness mentioned. Tell me if I missed something, I’ll add it no question.

A/N: So about a month it was 2 in the morning and I was feeling really shitty about myself and my bestie just said "Evie you get really depressed when you're tired." and so I wrote the original draft of this and then went to bed. The wonderful @hermes-creature betaed for me go check them out!

read on AO3

- - -

Aaron shifts in the thick blankets, not opening his eyes just yet. Finally home after a week and the detailed case, he is happy to be in his bed. But as he turns his body into his pillow, Aaron registers the weight and sound of Spencer's weighted blanket on top of him. Times like this make him realize why Spencer likes the blanket; the weight makes it easier to sink into the bed. Except the blanket being on Aaron means Spencer is not in bed. He reaches out to his left just to double-check and feels the sheets cold. Aaron opens his eyes and turns to his nightstand, seeing it is only a quarter past two. He shucks off the blankets overpowering him and grasps for the pajama pants on the floor. The ones Spencer asked him to take off, "I want to feel your skin on mine, Aaron." Locating them, he shucks the cotton pants on and leaves the bedroom without another wasted second.

As he walks further down the hall and descends the stairs, the light brightens until he reaches the kitchen threshold. Spencer has curved his back over the kitchen island with lunch meats, a box of fruit snacks, and crackers with baggies, post-its, and markers are strewn around. Aaron has done this before; he walks to the other side of the kitchen island to the sink, pulling out two mugs and filling the tea kettle with water.

Spencer will have nightmares that don't wake Aaron. Then he will be up for a while before he can't sit still anymore. He leaves the bed to make or rearrange the lunches, reading a book, listening to music from his childhood to help him fall back asleep on the couch. This is a habit, but it doesn't make Aaron worry any less. Now he sets the stove alight and finally looks at Spencer.

Spencer's hair is sticking up in the back and right side, probably from watching Aaron sleep. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose, and one leg is tucked under an arm, contorting his body to be comfortable. He recognizes the oversized sweatshirt as his own as Spencer's one hand is swallowed up by the sleeve and atop his knee. Aaron also notes it's the knee he got shot no less than a year prior; the leg isn't covered in any fabric. He is currently scribbling a note on a blue post-it. When he secures it onto Jack's sandwich bag, he looks up at Aaron.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, careful not to wake Jack even though the boy could sleep through a hurricane.

"Hi," Aaron smiles, and as he hears the water start to boil, and turns it off before the whistle sounds. "What kind?"

"Peppermint, please."

"Of course." Aaron pulls out the box with the tea, taking out two bags and pouring the water, walking around to where Spencer is and sitting before he speaks again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, but then you got out of bed for nothing."

"What do you mean 'nothing,' Spence? You weren't in bed. You are half of my everything." Aaron reaches for Spencer's hand, but the younger man does not respond. Not even to flinch away as he sometimes did when the nightmares were most horrific.

"I wanted to cut," Spencer says as he weaves his fingers with Aarons.

"Baby, you could have woken me up." He feels 80 pounds heavier. What had he done to make Spencer not want to wake him when he thought of such dark things. Nothing Hotchner, he thinks to himself, Spencer's mental illness speaks louder when he's tired. At least that's what he thought; after long nights on a case, it always seemed harder for Spencer to find peace in his brain.

"Was it anything specific?" Aaron asked. Sometimes old cases where the team lost the unsub or victims hunted Spencer at night.

"Next week's going to be a year since I got shot and you were stabbed, Aaron."

"Oh." Aaron didn't realize it was that close; he still got pain all over because of that day. Or more like night. Time. That awful time.

"And it's hurting again," Spencer says. He got that far-off look that lets Aaron know to not interrupt, to just let him ramble. Making sure to tighten his grip on Spencer's hand but otherwise leave it be. "The dream was me getting shot, and it hurt just as bad. And then you were there. You were sitting above me, holding me. But then, where my hand was, on your shirt started to feel damp. The blood was soaking through your shirt. You fell unconscious, and I was sitting there helpless. The rest of the team took care of the press and Myers, and you're just bleeding out while I can't even hug you. Then I woke up, and my leg was hurting, and I just felt the dream both emotionally and physically, and I didn't want to tell you because it's the same day Foyet stabbed you. I didn't want to remind you. I just started thinking, if I need another surgery, how long will I need to stay back? How long will I hinder the team more than help? How long would I have to rely on your help so I can do basic things? Why would you want to help me again?"

"Hey, Spencer." Aaron can't let this go on further. "You just finished up a week-long case that ended with you needing to run to catch the unsub. Your knee probably hurts because you were on a plane not 12 hours ago, and you haven't been sleeping well since we were on a case. Your brain is overworked and now overthinking, Baby. Now, I am not trying to downplay your pain in any way, but this week has not been easy. Can we go back to bed? I can prop up your knee, and we can stay up talking. Give me all your thoughts, so you don't have to hold them to yourself. That sound okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," Spencer lifts the cooled tea to his mouth, finishing the rest. "But I can't walk," he added, suddenly laying on prime puppy eyes. "Can you carry me?" finishing it off with grabby hands blooming out of his sweatshirt sleeve and directed to Aaron as he stands reaching across the island for his tea.

He laughs, shaking his head down at Spencer. Aaron then pushes the hair that's fallen into his eyes away, tucking it behind his ear and moving into Spencer's arms. "I guess I can do that, but just this once. Can I finish my tea?"

"I guess." Spencer pouts as he wraps his arms around his boyfriend's middle.

Aaron drinks the room temperature drink while his fingers comb Spencer's hair flat. Spencer nuzzles into Aaron's abdomen, pressing his nose to his boyfriend and breathing in deep. A gesture that comforts them both, Spencer's weight on Aaron and loving his body no matter the damage. Because their job has damaged them physically. But Aaron prided himself that he could pick up Spencer and hold him the way he needs when the worst thoughts run rampant.

Aaron sets the cup back on the kitchen island and places his now empty hand into Spencer's hair. Spencer looks up at Aaron when his hands go to the nape of his neck, and Aaron can't help himself.

"Would a kiss help your pain?"

"It couldn't hurt more."

Moving one hand to Spencer's jaw and leaning down, they connect in a chaste kiss. It ends quickly with Aaron just melting into Spencer, kissing a trail from his mouth to jaw to neck, and hugging the younger man.

"Babe, I'm so sleepy." Spencer wines.

"Okay," Aaron laughs into Spencer's neck. "Shall we go back to bed?"

Aaron feels Spencer nod rather than sees it. He scoops up Spencer, taking his hand from Spencer's jaw and looping it under his knees. It earns a squeal from Spencer and makes Aaron smile.

Back in their room, Aaron sets Spencer on the big armchair in the corner of the bedroom surrounded by stacks of books. Spencer picks up a book off the top of one stack as Aaron flicks on the lamp on his nightstand. Usually, this chair is also adorned with Aaron's pressed suit he chose for that day. But tomorrow there is no work; tomorrow is a day in bed with his love and his son shuffling through the Netflix movie choices.

After setting Spencer down, Aaron grabs the glasses for water they both have on their nightstands and fills them with fresh water from their bathroom. Then back in the bedroom, Aaron sets up pillows halfway down the bed. He walks back to Spencer and picks him back up, kissing the top of his head. Then placing him on the bed and holding his knee gently as he adjusts the pillows perfectly for Spencer.

"Um, Ar, can you get another squishy one? There's more in the corner of the closet."

"Of course, my Love." Aaron lowers Spencer's knee to the pillow, squeezing his shin, and walks to the closet. After rummaging in the closet between Spencer's cane and brace, he finds one. "Is this one good?" He raises it above his head and squishes it for Spencer to see. It collapses immediately.

"Yes, and babe, my glasses are on the dresser, please?"

"Yes, anything else, my Prince?"

Spencer swallows before responding, "Gender-neutral pronouns?"

Aaron turns, glasses limp in his hand, looking at Spencer sitting in their bed. Not 20 minutes ago, Spencer told Aaron he wanted to cut when he woke. Now he didn't want to be a 'he.'

"Sweetheart, wait is that okay," Spencer nods to the fifth nickname that night. "How long have you been feeling these things? The self stuff and self-harm."

"I took some classes really early on in undergraduate, and I was intrigued. Then I went into the bureau, and Gideon told me how to look professional, and since he left, I kinda have been looking at things more."

"Spence," Aaron walks back to the bed and joins Spencer, handing them their glasses. "It's been about two years since Gideon left. Why haven't you told me."

"We weren't together. And then we were, and I didn't feel like myself because I didn't have Gideon to tell me what to do, how to look, and I had all these thoughts and you. God Aaron, you were so solid until, well."

"Yeah." They both knew they didn't have to say what the 'until' was. Aaron sits on the bed, placing the pillow below Spencer's knee. "I can't believe it hasn't been a year. And Jack, I am unbelievably glad I have you and Jessica, but sometimes he doesn't understand she's not coming back, and my little boy breaks my heart."

"Aaron, you don't have to," Spencer takes Aaron's hand and drags him closer to their body.

"No, Spence, I said we'll share our thoughts."

"But I don't want you to be sad."

"Do you want to change the subject?"

"Only if you want to," Spencer says. "But I want you to hold me, please. Like when I have panic attacks?"

"Of course. "Aaron takes the blankets where he folded them back before he placed Spencer in the bed and fit to their body. "Do you want your weighted blanket, or will it hurt more?"

"Can you take it off, please and be my weighted blanket tonight?" Spencer cards their hand through the short hairs by their boyfriend's ear before he leans away, picking up the 20-pound blanket and throwing it off the bed. "Thanks, Baby."

"Hey, that's your nickname." Aaron lies back down, slides his hand up their side, under their shirt, and swings his leg between Spencers, scooting as close to their side he can possibly get without hurting. "Unless you don't want that anymore. We can come up with others. I really,"

"Aaron, Babe. I just said it to throw you off. You can keep calling me 'Baby.'"

"Okay." He breathes out, thumping his head on Spencer's shoulder and moving his other hand up to Spencer's throat. Aaron feels the blood rushing beneath his fingers and threading them through the hair on Spencer's neck. "But," he looks up to meet Spencer's eyes. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Partner?" Spencer speaks as if they were answering Aaron when at work about the timeline for the geographical profile.

"Okay. I can do that." Aaron lays his head on Spencer's heart, still looking up at them. "What do you want Jack to call you? Do you want to tell Jack?"

"Jack can call me Spencer or Spencie like he does already." Spencer won't make eye contact as they sink their head into the fluffy pillow behind their head. "We just have to talk to him about it. I know of this book for kids. It's a chapter book, but super simple, and we can read it to him. It's a way to explain to kids transgender and pronouns."

"That sounds perfect. Do you want to tell the team?"

"Well, and don't be mad, but Penelope already knows and kinda Derek. I just told him that I was doing self-talk in gender-neutral pronouns recently, and he just told me to keep him up to date."

"Spencer, I am so sorry that I made you feel like I would get mad at you. We work with people and kids constantly going through similar things, and they are always afraid of telling their significant others. They think they'll leave them because of it. I understand. And with Penny."

"Right." and as Spencer realizes what Aaron said, they shoot up in bed. "Oww," They scream as their knee-jerked when they sat up.

"Hey, you okay, Baby?" Aaron sits up as he was relocated to Spencer's lap when they sat up. He then grabs Spencer's face on both sides and strokes his thumbs over their cheekbones.

Spencer nods with a whimper that sounded to be a close resemblance to a positive confirmation. "You didn't make me feel bad. It's exactly what you said. It's just harder to tell significant others rather than friends sometimes. Especially when friends are in the queer community."

"Well, I'm glad you told me, baby." Aaron kisses Spencer's cheek. "do you want to lay down again?"

"Yes, please. How you were before was really comfortable."

"Okay." Aaron lowered Spencer's head back onto the pillow. He slotted himself snugly to Spencer's body, one arm up to their shirt and the other brushing back the hair that had fallen into Spencer's eyes. "like this?"

"Yes. Um," Spencer wriggles their shoulders into the pillows then wraps their arms around Aaron. "I like being able to look at you like this. And your body is nice pressure."

"So much so you might fall asleep?" Aaron's dancing his fingers back against Spencer's artery.

"No." Spencer then yawns, covering their mouth with the sleeve of the sweatshirt sleeve tucked under their thumb, making 'sweater paws.'

"My pretty Spencer, you need to sleep," Aaron says. "You'll feel better after a long night's sleep, and if you don't, still thinking those bad things, I'll call the team phyc."

And there, in the warm glow of the bedside table lamps and the weight of their boyfriend, their accepting love-of-their-life boyfriend, Spencer shuts their eyes. Feeling safe as they feel their own blood rush and touch of Aaron's fingers.

"I love you, Spence," Aaron mouths into their throat.

And in response, Spencer tips their mouth to Aaron's hair. "I love you, Aaron." Making sure their nose is full of Aaron, as it's the strongest sense.

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taichoh · 3 years

Text

old friend

pairing: hitsukarin word count: 5298 (oopsies) warnings: none note: this is my self-indulgent fix-it fic because i can. technically post-canon, there's a hint of ichiruki but this is about my babies, who aren't babies anymore. :') ao3 link

Upon entering her adult years, Karin was coming to terms with her growing list of responsibilities, wishing she was just a kid again when the list was much smaller. Everyone can relate to missing things from their childhood, kicking a soccer ball around on a summer day, only having to stress about a simple book assignment instead of the plethora of things you’d worry about now, coming home to a full house even if it was chaos sometimes.. Most of the time. The house wasn’t quiet now, but it wasn’t as chaotic either. Karin missed it.

Ever since Ichigo decided to live the rest of his life in the Soul Society, things calmed down a bit. She was happy for him, he’d gotten a semblance of his life back after the Winter War, but it only took a couple years for him to crave a different life. She saw how morose her brother had gotten going day by day without a certain short black haired, newly appointed captain, and it only took him this long to realize some things everyone else could plainly see.

The Human World was boring anyway. She wouldn’t tell anyone yet, but she planned to follow in her brother’s footsteps. Karin wanted to wait much longer of course, for a multitude of reasons, one being she was stubborn and wanted to do what she set out to, fully prepared to hurdle any obstacles, and there were plenty.

But now she’s here, having finished school and now fully runs the family clinic with her sister. For a while their dad was with them, but after a very heartfelt conversation and a boatload of tissues, they all agreed that his time in this world was up as well. It was funny, how instead of his daughters, he was leaving the nest and going back home where he was welcomed, especially after the war. They missed him but Karin and Yuzu didn’t miss how much easier it was for their dad to smile whenever he visited. Still, with their brother and dad in a different world, reaching out wasn’t as easy as a phone call away, though Karin figured it wouldn’t be long before Urahara remedied that with yet another invention.

She still hangs out with old and new friends, but feigning disregard to Yuzu’s nagging about finding someone to settle down with was getting old. And so was she. Well not really, but she felt old. She was only in her 20s but she considered herself old when she found a gray hair in her hairbrush. It was most likely stress but regardless, the next thing would be wrinkles or joint pains and the stress from that is just gonna cause more grays to show up so really there’s no upside. She missed the days before puberty, and how much she didn’t care about her appearance. She doesn’t much these days either, but even Karin, with her confidence, had a list of insecurities that piled up over the years. It was part of being human she supposed. She missed when all she worried about was beating the stupid juniors at soccer, getting a scrape on her knee, grass stains, etc.. But she was skirting around the elephant in her room. She couldn’t ignore it any longer. She missed him. A lot. A huff escaped her as she stood at the sink in the bathroom connected to the clinic. She was watching the last of the suds from the soap disappear down the drain when she thought of him for what felt like the first time in ages. But it hadn’t been ages, she thought of him just a couple of days ago, when Yuzu mentioned yet again that she noticed how lonely Karin seemed. It was a bit harsh but Yuzu was right, and Karin knew she was just worried for her sister. “Have you talked to Hitsugaya recently?” The question caught her off guard and made her stop halfway from spooning more soup into her mouth. The answer was no. They hadn’t talked in quite a long time. She half expected to see him amidst the aftermath of the war, but she assumed he had a lot on his plate, so the idea was dismissed. “We barely talk to Ichigo or dad Yuzu, they’re all busy over there.” She knew it was bullshit the second it left her mouth. Acting nonchalant was getting harder and harder around Yuzu, because even though Karin is skilled at it, her sister was one of a handful of people that could break down those walls with a single push. The others are her brother and a boy with snow white hair and eyes you want to swim in, as much as she hates to admit it.

“But I remember you guys being pretty close, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you reaching out... I know you miss him.” It was so embarrassing being read so easily, and it was making her lose her appetite. “Yuzu he’s a captain, he’s got plenty on his plate as it is.” I’m sure I’m the last thing on his mind. “So is Rukia and she along with the rest of the gang visits us ! And from what we’ve heard from Ichigo and Dad, things have been going pretty smoothly.” Yuzu had a point. The last time they saw their family including Rukia was maybe a month ago. Karin was just getting in her head. She knew Toshiro probably wasn’t that busy but she also knew that he wasn’t the type to sit and do nothing. He was a busybody. When he wasn’t eating, sleeping, or visiting her, he was working. And when the time between his last visit continued to stretch, she figured he must have been as busy as can be. Or, maybe he forgot about me. “Toshiro would never forget you!” Yuzu shouted across from the table, making Karin jump and her cheeks flush. Did she say that last part out loud? “I can’t believe you would even entertain the idea! No one could forget you !” Even in an accusatory insulting tone, Karin knew Yuzu was being pragmatic. She always was. Karin groaned and hung her head over her dinner, not wanting to look at Yuzu’s disappointed glare. “I know,” she said dejectedly. “It’s just... A lot has changed. There was a war, we’ve graduated, Ichigo and Dad moved out. It’s been a while.” Karin couldn’t even remember the last time she saw him. It’s been years. Karin was a full fledged adult in her 20s. She wondered if he’d grown an inch or two by now. She missed whenever he’d roll his eyes at her height jokes. “Well I think it’s been long enough.” It seemed Yuzu was going to take matters into her own hands. Getting up from her seat, Yuzu started gathering their empty plates and explained her plan,“Ichigo, Rukia, and Dad are coming to dinner soon, so when they go back you are going with them.” This made Karin open her mouth to object but was immediately cut off, “And don’t use that excuse about leaving me alone. I can take care of myself, and I can call Jinta if I need to.” Karin sunk into her seat as she watched her sister clean up their dinner. Yuzu’s mind was made up, and Karin knew better than to argue with her. Every Kurosaki had the potential to be increasingly scary when they wanted to and that included Yuzu. Karin shivered at being at the mercy of her sister’s wrath hidden under that bubbly exterior.

So, it was happening. She was going to the Soul Society. To see Toshiro. After years of no contact. That’s fine. The more she thought about it the more her thoughts turned intrusive, and it was taking everything in her to not punch her reflection. That would end up with bloody knuckles and a broken mirror, so all Karin could do was take another breath, and leave the bathroom. Yuzu’s plan was panning out, as days from their conversation, their little family reconvened over dinner and it was time for them to go back home. Karin excused herself to go to the bathroom and grab her bag of necessities that Yuzu forced her to pack because apparently her trip was extended to a couple of days and not hours as Karin presumed. When it was announced, Yuzu simply explained she had some extra work to do so she would join next time, which everyone accepted much too easily. “You ready?” Ichigo asked as Karin rejoined them all on the main floor. Karin nodded and gave Yuzu a small smile which she mirrored and nodded as if to say ‘good luck’. The four of them filed onto the empty street and before she knew it they were walking through the Senkaimon. Isshin and Ichigo walked a couple steps behind Karin and Rukia as they walked the dark path that was the Dangai. Karin had only done this a handful of times, to visit her family but it still gave her chills everytime she made the trip. “So, you got anything planned?” Rukia’s voice broke her out of her reverie. She glanced over to see Rukia smirking, looking a little too proud for Karin’s liking. What she could be insinuating?

“Uh, not really.” Karin tried her best to seem nonchalant, but Rukia was getting better at reading Kurosaki’s much to Karin’s chagrin. Her only plan was to see Toshiro, but she’d probably visit some others. A simple little reunion. Part of her wanted to confide in Rukia, but she had a feeling Rukia would absolutely make sure this reunion happened. She gulped willing her anxieties to shut the hell up. “Ooh, I see, so Captain Hitsugaya has no idea you’re coming.” “How did you-” “Oh please, I’m not as dense as your brother,” Karin suddenly appreciated the distance between them and the two idiots behind them, who looked to be having their own conversation after she took a glance over her shoulder. “Plus Yuzu might have filled me in.” Her smug grin made Karin’s blush deepen but there was no hiding it.

“You can’t say anything!” Karin kept her voice low but still full of urgency, which Rukia took in earnest. “Of course Karin! I would never! Unless you wanted me to, and I won’t say anything if you feel the need to deck the Captain in the face, though I have a feeling you won’t want to-” “Why would I want to punch Toshiro?” Has he done something? What did he do? Does he have a girlfriend? What happened? Her mind was racing at Rukia’s admission and the urge to turn around and go back home popped into her head.

Rukia only sighed at Karin’s confusion, “Well according to Yuzu, it’s been a long time for you two. And he never reached out. When me and Ichigo parted ways when he lost his powers, I couldn’t reach out to him as much as I wanted to. And I wanted to. So badly,” Rukia’s voice turned solemn and Karin relaxed, suddenly thinking about how much she envied their relationship. They were so good together, and they’ve been through so much, yet they managed to traverse all those obstacles and found each other again.

Karin vaguely wondered if she’d ever have that kind of connection with someone. Suddenly Toshiro’s name was written all over her mind, but she was getting ahead of herself. Just because she’s had a crush on him for years and years doesn’t mean he feels the same. He could already be with someone for all she knew. Rukia was right, Karin might want to punch Toshiro after all.

“Anyway, he’s had all this time and he hasn’t visited! I’ll have you know things have been just fine in the Seireitei, so really there’s no excuse.” Rukia sounded like Yuzu, and they both had a point, but- “That could go both ways though.” Karin admitted, frowning and going to scratch the back of her neck. “Well I suppose, but I still think the Captain should’ve done something. He always visited you didn’t he?” “Yeah, but I’ve been to the Soul Society before, and I chose not to go see him or anything.” “Why not? That doesn’t seem like you.” Rukia was so right. It was not like Karin at all. If she was her younger self she’d kick down his door and demand him to abandon all paperwork for a game of soccer. But that was younger Karin, who barely considered her crush on the Captain of the Tenth. This was older Karin, now an adult who had to deal with her feelings. Ugh. “I know. I guess I didn’t want to bother him. He is a Captain and all. And now that I’m older I kind of understand that it’s a lot of responsibility.” Once again, she was spouting absolute bullshit and Rukia was prone to picking up on it after dealing with this family for so long. “I’m disappointed in you Karin,” She said with a hint of mockery, not meaning it wholeheartedly, but still being genuine, “It might not be my place to say, but I know I’m not the only one that noticed how much happier Captain Hitsugaya was in your company. Don’t forget I’m a Captain myself, does that mean you think my relationship with your brother hinders me in being one?” “Of course not! I never meant to-” Karin exclaimed, immediately sorry for her backwards thinking, but instead Rukia chuckled. “I know, I’m just saying. You’re right in that we have a lot of responsibilities as Captains, but you know Hitsugaya, he’ll take on more than he needs to, and you were always good at reminding him there was more to life than paperwork.” A couple moments passed as Rukia’s words sunk in. Karin considered herself an adult but she still had so much to learn. She was so grateful she had someone like Rukia to show a different perspective. Karin had to admit, she had definitely mastered the art of handling a Kurosaki. They’re family was so crazy and complicated and Rukia had no problem at all. In the back of her mind Karin reminded herself to kick her brother’s teeth in if he didn’t propose soon. There was a difference though. Ichigo and Rukia lived in the same world. Karin and Toshiro did not have that luxury. But that thought was for another time. Just focus on one thing at a time. Soon Karin was squinting when a bright light washed over the group as they entered the Soul Society. The sky above them was blue with only a couple of clouds hanging, a gentle breeze wrapped itself around Karin, and she felt oddly relaxed. She regrets not visiting more often, this could easily become her second home.

“Well it’s about time!” Karin noticed the voice immediately and watched the beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair walk up to them. “Lieutenant Matsumoto! What brings you here? We weren’t expecting a welcome party.” Rukia chimed in for Karin, who smiled at Rangiku. Just like it had been a while since she’d seen Toshiro, it had been a while for everyone else too. Rangiku and Karin managed to strike up a friendship when Karin was confronted by Toshiro’s second during one of their visits to the human world. Karin got that ‘don’t hurt him, or I

I’ll hurt you’ talk, which Karin quickly concurred and vowed to be a good friend to him. It shocked Karin to see her jaunty personality freeze over to solemnity, and immediately melt again after the serious words were said. She knew Rangiku wasn’t an idiot, she wasn’t a Lieutenant for nothing. Above all she was glad Toshiro had her. “I heard Karin was coming to visit so I wanted to come say hi!” And when she meant ‘hi’, that meant suffocating Karin in her bosom, and not for the first time. Though after learning first hand about Rangiku’s affectionate nature, she could understand how someone like Toshiro found it a tad aggravating. Karin smiled up at her as she pulled back from the hug, “It’s nice to see you again Rangiku.” “Likewise,” Rangiku smiled gently and stepped back, “So what does Karin Kurosaki have planned for this visit?” She seemed much too hopeful for some reason, and Karin had a feeling she knew what it entailed. Again, Rangiku wasn’t an idiot. But lying wasn’t Karin’s forte so she might as well be honest. “I was gonna visit Toshiro, if he isn’t busy.” She gulped. Rangiku’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, squealing and giving Karin another hug that once again suffocated her. Seems like that was exactly what she wanted to hear. “Oh wonderful! He’s not busy at all, and he’ll be overjoyed to see you! You really grew up didn’t you?” Rangiku’s narrowed gaze and lilted voice made Karin blush. Her tone was definitely suggestive but she wasn’t wrong. Karin had a small growth spurt amidst puberty, her hair got longer, still in a ponytail. “Who knew you’d grow up into such a beautiful woman?” She didn’t know how but her cheeks flushed even more. “Wait until the Captain sees you-” “Rangiku!” Karin exclaimed, throwing her hands up to cover her face, suddenly feeling self conscious. Not only at Rangiku’s boldness but the fact that Rangiku, who was one of the most beautiful women she’d met, just complimented her like that. Rangiku only laughed, brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “Come on let’s go!” Suddenly Karin was being dragged away to the 10th barracks no doubt, left to look over her shoulder to watch Rukia smirk and give a wave before turning to leave the gate as well. Rangiku let Karin catch her breath, and they walked in silence, until Karin had a thought, “I can’t help but wonder if Toshiro’s grown at all, like an inch maybe? He told me you guys aged differently here.” “Oh yes, we do! I haven’t done much aging in a looong time. Kind of a perk dontcha think? I’ve looked like this for ages,” Rangiku smiled brightly while flaunting and she had every right to, she knew she was beautiful. Karin would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t envious. As a human you have so little time compared to the time you have as a shinigami. Though the profession is dangerous, so there’s that to consider. Karin remembers when Toshiro explained the way of reincarnation and the way things worked for souls. A weight she didn’t realize she had was lifted from her shoulders that day. “And Toshiro?” Rangiku’s smile turned mischievous again but Karin was too busy looking ahead at the continuing street. “The Captain’s grown a tad, nothing too drastic.” “Oh.” Karin chuckled, that meant she’s probably still taller than him. “So I can still make height jokes.” She smiled smugly, looking forward to his disgruntled face, it was so cute when he got embarrassed. “Oh I’m sure,” was the last thing Rangiku said before they rounded the corner and they arrived at their destination. Karin’s stomach started doing somersaults, and while it had to do with the fact that she was incredibly nervous, she was also very excited. But the reality of their time apart is hitting her once again and she didn’t know how to feel about it. “Don’t be nervous.” Rangiku’s voice was suddenly softer, warmer, almost motherly. And once again, Karin was being read like a book by another shinigami. Damn, she needed to work on her poker face. All Karin could do was give her a small smile before she realized they were right outside of his office. All that stood between them was a sliding door, and suddenly her hands were clammy.

One last gulp, “Okay,” was all Karin could say.

And Rangiku being Rangiku, gave Karin no time to think before she promptly shouted, “Oh Captaaain!” and slid the door open with gusto causing Karin to jump and for the captain seated at the desk to snap his head up in alarm. But it was not Toshiro. No, Toshiro was cute and albeit attractive according to Karin, and this man was not cute. He was downright gorgeous. He was devastatingly handsome. Nope, not Toshiro. This was an imposter.

But, amidst her gaping, Karin noticed his hair was white, like Toshiro’s, and his eyes were that cerulean color that made her weak in the knees, like Toshiro’s. He was sitting in Toshiro’s seat, wearing a white haori like Toshiro did, and they were definitely in the Squad 10 offices. So, it has be- “Toshiro?” Karin croaked. Her eyes blown wide, her feet still planted at the doorway, while Rangiku buzzed next to her watching the whole exchange.

“Karin?” Oh god, even his voice was an octave lower. His eyes mirrored hers in that they were wide with shock. He couldn’t believe she was here, in the Seireitei, in his office. He also couldn’t believe that was Karin. But the more he looked at her the more he saw the familiar features he made sure to memorize, along with some noticeable new ones.. She was beautiful, and he thought he had the term defined already with a picture of her. It was still her, but he needed to update his memory it seemed. Her hair was still jet black and in a ponytail, only it was longer and a lock laid over her shoulder, her eyes were still as captivating as always, a grey abyss he’d gladly succumb to if asked. And her body, she was definitely an adult. She definitely grew up, but, so did he. What must she think of his new look? He was too starstruck to notice her eyes darken and her brows drop down in anger. “I can’t believe you!” Her fury replaced her nerves and she was suddenly marching across the threshold, fists tight at her sides, “You are such,” She grabbed the nearest object to her which was a pillow from the couch in the middle of the room and lobbed it at his head which Toshiro barely dodged, “an asshole!” Another pillow, only this time he caught it with both hands, using it as a shield for the third pillow. Toshiro wasn’t unfamiliar with Karin’s wrath, however, that didn’t mean he was happy with being at the end of it. Speaking of, her aim has dramatically improved. Anyway- “Karin-” “It’s been years Toshiro-” “I’m sorry-” “You could’ve visited-” “I know I-” “And you went and grew up! Looking like a fucking model all of a sudden and not even telling me!” A model? “Let me explain-” “No you are going to listen to me!” Karin was panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stood in the middle of the room staring him down. Toshiro fought against his instinct to shout back and promptly shut his mouth, his brows creased in regret. She was shaking with rage and she was on the precipice of breaking something, preferably his face, but- shit Rukia was right. Again. “You don’t get to sit there on your ass when you never bothered to visit after years Toshiro. Years! When Ichigo got back from the war I had to hear that you were okay from him because of course I worried. I thought we were friends, I thought we-” “We are friends!” Toshiro couldn’t take that disappointed look anymore, but she was wrong. They were friends. Friends. “I thought we were closer than that.” Karin finished her thought, her energy depleting, shoulders starting to sag. He didn’t know which was worse. Karin angry, or sad. He just didn’t like it when she was upset. And he was the cause of it. Seeing her hang her head made his heart ache, and not in the way it usually did when he looked at her.

Toshiro had all the words he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, but he was speechless. Part of him knew this day was bound to come around, he just wished he could’ve been prepared. But then again, expect the unexpected, especially with Karin. He couldn’t hate himself more than he did at this moment.

“I’m so sorry Karin,” His voice lifted her head and they locked eyes, his full of regret and hers, disappointment. “I-” This was harder than he thought, his chest hurt, his hands were stiff, and all he wanted was to see Karin happy, but he didn’t know how to make it happen, but she deserved an explanation. “I should’ve visited you. I wanted to. So badly. Even after things settled, I was so caught up in everything, I didn’t realize how long it’d been. I lost track of time. I’m sorry Karin. I was- I am an idiot. The last thing I wanted was to make you feel neglected and I went and did it anyway.”

Taking a hasty breath, he pushed himself to stand, rounding his desk and standing in front of her , only the usual roles were reversed and he was now looking down on her. No, it didn’t feel right. He towered over her and yet he felt as small as can be. Karin was still silent, ignoring his height for the moment, though she wasn’t entirely surprised given his changes. Changes she wished she could’ve witnessed sooner. Her eyes were glassy, tears on the brink of falling down her cheeks, but she willed them to stay. Until she watched Toshiro drop to his knees and bow before her, resting his head at her feet. She almost didn’t hear the tiny gasp that came from behind her, she’d completely forgot Rangiku was here, witnessing this all. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness Karin, but still, I’m so so sorry.” Karin was.. astonished to say the least. She expected an apology, but she didn’t expect this. Toshiro did many things, overwork himself, scowl, eat unhealthy amounts of amanatto, but he never did anything half-assed. Here was Toshiro Hitsugaya, a Captain of the 13 Court Guard Squads, bowing with his head at the feet of a simple human. Maybe not simple, but human nonetheless. Any bystander would argue that this was completely preposterous, but they wouldn’t know that Toshiro viewed Karin in the highest regard. He knew how much he royally fucked up, and he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it. “Look at me.” The closeness of her words startled Toshiro and he slowly lifted his head to see her knelt in front of him. Now it was his turn to be astonished. It wasn’t unlike Karin to be gentle when she wanted but Toshiro couldn’t understand why she would want to, he neglected their friendship for years and now she was smiling at him. Expect the unexpected. Toshiro held his breath. Karin huffed and her smile widened, “Don’t be so dramatic,” she didn’t stop herself from using her finger to brush his hair from his face. The gentlest touch, from hands that could do plenty of damage. She should’ve socked him, he knew he deserved it, he would’ve taken it. But instead, she was caressing his face. Not that he was complaining, it was just oddly uncharacteristic of her. She really had changed after all this time. They both did. Toshiro kicked himself for not witnessing it. “I forgive you, but don’t do it again.” She smacked his head, not enough to actually hurt, but enough to get the point across. He spoke too soon. This was definitely Karin though. Rubbing his head, he slowly sat up and back on his haunches, even while hunching, he was still looking down at her. It was so odd to him. But he’d have to get used to it it seems. At least there wouldn’t be any more height jokes. “Thank you, I don’t deserve it.” He said, watching Karin get to her feet and offer her hand to help him up. “Yes you do. You said sorry. That’s all I wanted. We’re adults now.” “You threw pillows at me.” “You deserved that. ” “...Yeah.” Toshiro sighed. A moment of silence passed until Karin spoke again. “I mean it, don’t do this again. I won’t be so forgiving.” “It won’t happen again. I promise.” Toshiro gave a gentle squeeze to her hand which he never let go. The simple action made her blush, looking down to their entwined hands and up his arm, which were much longer, and then to his broad shoulders, and finally back up to his face, much higher than she was used to. “And don’t grow anymore. You’re like a giant now. It’s gonna be annoying having to look up at you.” And as easy as that they were back to bickering, the tension filtered out of the room as easily as a simple breeze, and they were both thankful. “For what it’s worth, I’m not a fan either.” Toshiro noted, scowling at his new height and features which he still hasn’t gotten used to. All these years he complained about his height and now he realizes he should’ve been more careful with what he wished for. And on top of that, he was getting an increasing amount of attention which Rangiku pointed out was thanks to his sharpened features. Not his cup of tea. “I never said I wasn’t a fan.”

Karin’s words made blood rush to Toshiro’s face, did she just- Maybe it’s his cup of tea after all, if it’s Karin’s attention. That being said, he’d never wanted anyone’s attention more than hers, and now that he has it, he’s just a little alarmed. But in a good way, he thinks. And it made it easier to smile at her, even with a face redder than ever. But it was quickly replaced with a frown when he realized his Lieutenant just witnessed this entire scene with Karin, where she yelled, he bowed, she smiled, and he blushed. Her squeal made both Karin and him wince, looking over to see her jumping up and down with glee, then running over to pull them down into an uncomfortable hug. “I’m so happy for you too!” Rangiku was sniffling, squeezing the life out of them, and when she let them go they gave each other a confused glance before Toshiro spoke. “Why are you crying Matsumoto?” He asked, slightly worried and as well as confused. Karin looked softly at Rangiku, but still confused by her tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. You guys are just too cute together!”

Karin almost interjected to say that they weren’t together but what stopped her was another squeeze of her hand from Toshiro. A slow shake of his head told her to just let it go, and with further thought she realized convincing Matsumoto of anything was a difficult feat.

Later, after Toshiro escorted her to her family for dinner, dropping her off with the promise of seeing each other the next day, Karin thought about how even when walking through the Seireitei, they continued to hold hands. Toshiro paid it no mind it seemed, and while Karin wasn’t complaining, it still puzzled her.

Correcting his Lieutenant from time to time was normal for him, especially when it came to bold claims like this, but this time he refused. Did Toshiro reciprocate Karin’s feelings? Something about his behavior made her feel elated as well as nervous, they’d have to talk about it eventually. It would take some time for her to completely forgive him, but if what happened today was any consolation, everything would be okay.

They both can definitely sleep better tonight, and there was always tomorrow.

#hitsukarin #toshiro hitsugaya #karin kurosaki #toshiro x karin #hitsugaya x karin #bleach #hitsugaya #kurosaki #toshiro #karin #THIS IS SO LONG OOPS #i COULD make a second chapter if ppl were interested but this could be a standalone tbh

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raith-way · 3 years

Text

I clearly did something right in a past life to get spoiled like this, because the lovely @asirensrage made this beautiful GIF for me and it’s so perfect. I heard their conversation as soon as I saw the GIF, so it had to be written. (Thank you, Siren, for all of the amazing GIFs and the support. Thank you!!)

Fandom: Marvel

Fic: Traversing The Multiverse

Scene: Twenty Questions

“Darcy has taught me a new Midgardian tradition,” Thor announced as he walked into the common room. Kenzie, who had been contemplating the oddities of her new life, looked up from the doodling pad to watch Thor walk farther into the room. He chose to sit on the couch across from the chair that she was in, and she felt some slight apprehension as she placed her pad on the table next to her. The last Midgardian tradition that Darcy had decided to teach was the ol’ back-pat of celebration. Except, Darcy had clearly demonstrated that the pat should be quite low to show proper revelry in victory. Then again, seeing Thor in his full Asgardian gear slapping Hulk on the ass had been hilarious. It was too bad no one had caught it on camera.

“Which tradition would that be?” she asked. While she wouldn’t volunteer the information, Kenzie did enjoy Thor’s presence. He made training together fun, and his stories were always captivating.

“The tradition of twenty questions. You see, first, I will ask you a question that you must answer truthfully. Then you may ask me a question that I must answer truthfully.” That wasn’t how Twenty Questions worked at all, but Darcy was the one in charge of Thor’s Midgardian acclimation. Besides, there was no harm in talking to Thor. Be nice if someone else was around though, just in case she needed a quick out. What was she saying? She survived the destruction of her universe. She could survive a few questions from someone that she thought of as a friend.

“Twenty questions, so ten questions each?” she clarified. Thor’s head tipped to the side as he thought, he straightened as he came to a decision, and then he nodded in acceptance. “Alright. You go first, big guy.”

“What is your favorite comfort food?” he asked first. It wasn’t what she was expecting. Her confusion must have shown, damn her overly expressive face, because he explained for her. “Darcy said it is best to start with simple and easy questions.”

“Darcy was right. My comfort food is pizza,” she answered honestly. The pizza in her universe had been great, but the pizza in this universe was phenomenal. So greasy and cheesy.

“You eat a lot of pizza.” Clearly, Thor observed more than they realized because she knew what his pointed look was saying. She did eat a lot of pizza, because most days she needed a little bit of comfort. Still, they weren’t talking about that.

“It’s my turn to ask a question, and I want to know why you won’t let me cut your hair,” she said and smiled. Tonight, his hair was mostly pulled back into a low bun with some golden locks framing his face. Either he just naturally looked that good, or Darcy had helped him out. Both were a definite possibility.

“I have kept my hair long since boyhood. To change it now.” Thor stopped there and looked to the side, and she remembered the Thor from her universe when his hair had been forcibly cut. It’d been a comedic moment, but maybe there really was a deeper reason. Maybe he didn’t want to lose that last connection to his childhood, when things were simple. That was something she could understand. Clearly he’d been thinking while she had because he continued, “To change it now would be to change the last familiar thing of me.”

“Change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing,” she said like a total hypocrite. She’d spent so much time hating change, and that was before her universe went kaput.

“It is my turn to ask a question now,” Thor reminded her. She bowed her head, and the questions continued.

She talked about the bookstore she had owned, how her favorite part of owning the store had been being surrounded by the smell of books. He told her about growing up with Loki, small pranks that young boys would play on each other. Kenzie’s childhood pet dog, Romeo. Thor’s childhood pet, possibly miniature dragon, Gorm. The time she fell out of a tree and broke her arm. The time he slipped off a cliff and spent weeks waiting for the skin on his back to regrow. Her favorite time of day was sunrise, seeing the dawn of a new day. His favorite pastime was looking up at the stars, seeing galaxies that she couldn’t even imagine. She took gymnastics as a kid. He learned alien languages in school. When she was a little girl, she wanted to be a firefighter because she liked the color of the trucks. When he was a little boy, he wanted to be a Valkyrie because they were the best warriors. If she could have any other superpower, she’d be telekinetic so she could just float things to her instead of getting up. If he could have another superpower, it’d be the ability to talk to all animals. The thing she missed the most from her home universe was her routine, always knowing what needed to be done and where she belonged. The things he missed most from Asgard were his family and close friends, the people that he loved.

“Last question. Hit me,” she said and spread her arms wide.

“Are you truly disappointed that I am not who you expected?” Well, he definitely hit her with that one. He thankfully had the grace and tact to look away as she composed herself, because she had said something to that effect not long after meeting him and did regret the hasty words now. She’d been in shock! Her universe had died, she’d witnessed several universes dying, and she’d been expecting to see Alexander Skarsgard holding Mjolnir. The Chris Hemsworth look alike had been a shock.

“You’re definitely not Skarsgard,” she heard herself say. Her hand was even moving to emphasize her point, and Thor made a fair-enough expression as he took the words in stride. She thought, just maybe, that she could see a little bit of hurt in his eyes. “Don’t tell Mac I said this, because she’d never let me hear the end of it, but you are the best Thor.”

His sudden smile was too bright, too happy, that it made something in her chest flutter and then squeeze tight. Was that her heart? Possibly her lungs as she stopped breathing? Because backlit by the dark city, in his nice maroon jacket and casually messy hair, Thor looked like any other guy while still looking exactly like a god. Not some god on a throne either. An earthly god, that walked amongst mortals and could be touched. Like if she wanted, if he wanted, she could walk over to him and press her fingers against his lips to feel his smile against her skin. All that just because she said a few words? (A few honest words too. Sorry, Skarsgard, but Hemsworth really is Thor.) Kenzie pulled in a breath, laughed off her nerves, and leaned back in her chair to fight off the urge to get out of it.

“The last question is yours,” he said quietly. She suddenly had several questions that she wanted to ask him, but she didn’t think either of them were ready for them to be asked or answered.

“Kenz! I brought back pizza! Better hurry before Steve’s big mouth eats it all!” Mac’s loud voice cut through the common room, and Kenzie startled upwards in her chair. She looked over her shoulder, and she could hear Mac and Steve playfully arguing while Jamie and Bucky egged them on, and she turned back around to look at Thor.

“Would you like to go eat some pizza with me?” she decided to ask. Thor’s answering smile was just as bright as a minute ago, and her chest did that strange fluttery-squeezing thing again. That was probably something she should figure out soon.

“It would be my honor.” When Thor stood up and extended a hand towards her, Kenzie mentally shrugged and slipped her hand into his. She’d do some deep self-analyzing after eating pizza.

Forever Taglist: @jinxsflame @hughstheforcelou @uno-reverse-reversed @hiddenqveendom @asirensrage @ocfairygodmother @jewelswrites-ish @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

#asirensrage #oc: kenzie rowe #ch: thor #fic: traversing the multiverse #marvel #they’re such a cute pairing #and this gif is so perfect #i will be thanking you for the next hundred years or so

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idle-writer · 4 years

Text

His Place

HIS PLACE

fandom: Detroit: Become Human

pairing: Nines (RK900) x Reader

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none

A/N: This is for the lovely anon who asked for more DBH content (I wish I know who you are so I can tag you, hope you like this!) I hope you all enjoy reading :)

_______________

You hear someone calling your name, followed by knocks at your door. Peering through the peephole, you see a delivery guy holding a clipboard, a big human-sized box beside him. You slightly open your door, bolt still on, cautious since your part of the neighborhood isn’t exactly the safest. “How can I help?”

He says your name, and you nod. He points his thumb at the huge box. “Delivery for you.”

“I just need you to sign here and here,” he hands you the clipboard, which you refuse.

“I didn’t order anything.”

“I hauled this big heavy thing four flight of stairs. Just accept the thing so I can leave.” The man taps his foot impatiently at the floor.

Sighing, you take the clipboard from him and sign your name. He gestures for you to open the door so he can wheel the box in and you let him. He asks where he can put it down in which you pointed at a random space at your living room.

After the delivery guy has left, you inspect the box. Nothing seems out of ordinary except for its size. Grabbing a pair of scissors, you decide the box will not open on its own. You carefully drag the sharp edge of the scissors to free the box from it seal. Opening the flaps your eyes widen at what you inside. There inside the box is a man - dark chestnut hair, his chiseled face littered with few freckles, thin lips in pursed in a straight line, his eyes closed. Is he dead?! Panic surges through you, and you do something that people shouldn’t do when they see an assumedly dead body – you poke it. On the cheek. Which is incredibly soft, and cold? You shriek when you see steel grey eyes staring back at you.

“Apologies for startling you. My name is Nines,” his voice is rich and you are immediately drawn to it. “…and I’ll be your android companion.”

You open and close your mouth, gaping like a fish out of water, confused as hell as to what and why is this happening. “Android companion? I didn’t… oh god.”

Quickly pulling up your phonebook you search for his number. Only he can pull this kind of prank. The person on the other line hasn’t even said hello when you starts yelling at him, “I swear to god, Gavin Reed. Did you just send me an android boyfriend?!”

The boisterous laughter on the other line confirms your suspicions. Gavin is a childhood friend. When you were younger, he teased you mercilessly for not having a boyfriend, and you kept telling him it was because you hang around with a jerk like him too much. And when he went to the Academy, you just lost contact with each other. Until the other day, when he walks into the same café you usually get your coffee.

“You look so lonely reading your book with only a cup of latte or whatever,” you swear you can hear the snicker on his voice. “Just try and give it a few months, yeah?”

You sigh and shake your head, knowing there’s no saying no to Gavin Reed. Still as stubborn as ever.

“Fine fine fine,” you glance at the android standing at the middle of your living room, he seems to be inspecting his new environment. “But don’t they require. I don’t know. Maintenance?”

“Don’t worry about it. I have it covered. Plus that’s the latest model of its kind. It uh does it’s own self maintenance. So yeah gotta go. Bye.”

“Wait-“ you have a lot of more questions but before you can ask, he has already dropped the call.

“Is there a problem?”

You jump back, startled by the voice near your ear. It’s not everyday you have a male companion – human or android – in your living space. “No, I just haven’t done this before.”

He nods at your words, “I’d hate to make you uncomfortable in your own place. So let me know if I have to make adjustments to my configuration.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just be yourself,” you give him a friendly smile, “This is your place now, too.”

_______________

Nines is seating in an almost 90 degree angle on the couch, feet planted to the floor, his eyes are trained forward, his LED spinning yellow. For the one month, you’ve been together, you’ve learned a lot of things about him, and he about you. You begin to notice his small mannerisms like how he subtly tilts his head to the side when he thinks.

He begins to notice the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, or how you gently pats his arm when you laugh at something funny on the television. He also notices that there are days when you’re completely worn out from your job, but you still give him a smile and does your usual chores, ending up with you passing out on your bed.

You flop down beside him on the couch. “Thanks for cleaning up the place by the way.”

“It’s my –“

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your job. Whatever. Still thank you,” leaning your head on his shoulder, you close your eyes. You can’t help but feel how nice it is to go home from work and find someone waiting for you. You are almost on the edge of falling asleep when you feel yourself being shaken awake.

“You have a perfectly fine bed."

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine here,” you bury your face on his shoulder, “This is my place now.”

You wake up the next day, still in the couch, blanket sitting lightly on your shoulders. You don’t know how you got into that position with your knees bent on the couch, head resting on Nine’s lap. There’s a slight soreness in the back of your neck but you don’t mind. All you can feel is the gentle caress of his fingers through your hair.

_______________

You are walking up the stairs to your apartment, silently cursing your building for not fixing the goddamn elevator. Nines is trailing beside you, finding it adorable amusing how you’re stopping every five steps to take a breath, a sound similar to a chuckle coming from him.

You are almost on your floor when something flashes by and bumps in to you. The impact so hard you feel air get knocked out of you. With your balance lost, you stumble backwards. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for the fall that didn’t come.

Nines holds you firm to his chest, “Are you alright?”

When you don’t answer, he turns you around. His eyebrows are knitted as his steel eyes frantically scans your body – neck, shoulder, wrists - for any injuries.

“Nines. I’m okay.”

As if he doesn’t hear you, he drops on his knees and continues fussing over you, his LED spinning in quick red circles.

Using both your hands, you cup his head to make him look at you, “Nines. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

You watch as his LED slows down. Red. Yellow. Never letting go as it reaches Blue.

“You’re okay,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. “You’re okay.”

That night he tucks you to bed. You jokingly asks if he wants to share the bed with you, when he doesn’t respond, you squeeze his hand, bidding him a silent good night. He spends a few minutes standing at a dark corner of your room, watching you sleep.

The next day you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found.

_______________

It has been a week since you last saw Nines. You even contemplated tracking him down, maybe he has a GPS tracker or something, only stopping when you realize how weird that’ll be. He’s not some dog you own you can just track and put missing posters up for. He left for a reason. And the more you think about it, the sadder you get. The couch feels a lot bigger. Your apartment feels a lot emptier. Life feels a lot suckier.

A loud banging on the door followed by yell, “Police open up!”

What if they found Nines and?

You scramble to your feet and open the door. Your vision going red when you see Gavin Reed laughing on the other side. You swing a punch at him, connecting at his jaw. “You jerk!”

“What?” his signature stupid smirk on his face, “I am police.”

“I told you, detective. That was not a good idea.”

The familiar voice freezes you on the spot. Tears starting to sting the back of your eyes. Nine is safe. He’s okay.

“Suddenly, you know her better than me? I know her since – ” Reed jeers. He turns to you , only to see you crying, face hidden in your hands. “ – woah – are you crying? You punched me yet you are the one crying.”

Your sobs becomes louder, barely muffled by your hands. Reed silently pleads for help to the android who is now glowering at the detective. Nines ushers you inside your apartment, and seats you in the couch - the same couch you two spent hours just seating side by side. Nines wraps his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest. The clean crisp smell of his clothes no longer sharing the smell of your own detergent, instead it reminded you of the first time you met him.

He waits for your tears and your shaky sobs to halt, and for your heart to rest in a steady beat. He waits for he knows you waited long enough.

And when you are able to calm down, he holds you hand, rubbing gentle circle with his thumb, gauging your reaction, calming your distress as he explains. He is sent undercover to survey the building. The guy who bumped in to you week ago is actually a wanted criminal, and if ever you see something that night, you’ll be in deep trouble that’s why Nines had to leave and make sure to capture the guy as soon as possible. His words falls in your deaf ears, your mind focusing only on two words.

“An undercover mission, huh? Just a mission. Just doing your job.” You try to act normal but ended up cracking miserably, “Why did you return then…”

Thoughts of him saying his goodbye springs in your mind, just as fresh tears does.

“I have nowhere to return to but here,” he squeezes your hand, “I was told this is my place, too.”

He will never say it out loud, at least not right now. His place is with you.

#dbh rk900 #rk900 x reader #dbh nines x reader #nines x reader #idle-writer #detroit become human #dbh imagine #dbh fanfic

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futurewriter2000 · 3 years

Text

More than Family - pt. 3

A/N: It was such a long time since I had written a fic but I am so glad I did because wow. This was so fun to write and I hope you like it. Also I messed with the timeline a bit, so fuck it. I can write whatever I want. Woo, let’s go.

Sirius was pacing in front of you, rubbing his chin and running his hands through his dense hair. He stopped, clasped his hands together and pressed his fingers on his chin. He stared at you, then zoomed out into his thoughts and then back at you.

“I-” he started but the racket out on the hall caused his attention to avert from you. He looked at his watch and cursed under his breath. “Shit! They’re early.” he ran to the hall than back at you, grabbed you under his arm and poofed you away.

You felt sick to your stomach as you had appeared in an unfamiliar room, bending over as anxiety came over you.

“Sorry, kid. They can’t know you’re here.” he led you to the bed and sat you down. “It’s an ugly side affect, you get used to it.”

“Ugh.” you let out a groan. “I don’t like magic.” you said as he let out a laugh.

“It can be a bugger sometimes, yes.” he knelt down to you and looked at you a bit sadly. “I will be right back, kid. We’ll figure this out but for now, nobody can’t know about this.”

“COUSIN!” both of you heard a shout from the hallway.

“Don’t cause any racket and just... wait... please...” he tilted his head. “For me.” he started to plead you with his eyes as you rolled your own.

“Fine.”

----

Sirius did not trust you enough to leave the doors unlocked or to leave you without the silencing charm on your room but you were there, in his room, snooping.

For the first few days you were kept in, you tried to avoid any kind of snooping, seeing as it was respectful to not touch his private things but it has gotten more dull as the day passed slowly and you had nothing to do than see him by the end of the day.

He apparated in your room and found you lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t jump, nor look at him but he knew you were furious at him.

“I brought you a book.” he lifted the object in his hand and started walking towards you.

You replied with silence.

“I know this is an odd situation between you and me but we will talk, I pr-”

“Promise?” you finished instead of him. “Like you had promised four days ago?” you snapped, still not bothering to look at him.

“It’s not easy, kid.”

“I know it’s not easy.” you finally shot your head at him, glaring under your furrowed eyebrows. You jumped to your feet and started pacing. “You think you’re confused?! Imagine me being a kid and not knowing about half the things that happened in my childhood?! Imagine finding out that my mum is not my mum and my dad is not my dad and thinking that your dad was my dad because he was so fatherly-”

“That was not my father.” he snapped as well. He had no tolerance about his family. “My father was cruel, evil and a pain in the arse.”

“He was the closest thing I had to a family.” your eyebrows started to tremble, as well as your lips. Sirius closed his mouth to argue. “He gave me the photo of you and James. He told me about my mother. He told me about you- everything about you! He said you were a good man! A fair man, honest, brave, daring and then I meet you and it’s like... like you’re nothing of that!! I’m here! Trapped like a prisoner and all I want is to talk!”

Sirius stood up and faced you his back. “No.” he mumbled under his breath, shutting his eyes with force and gritting his teeth. “You’re lying. That was not my father.” he growled. “He could never say any of those things you had just said.”

“He spoke of you plenty.”

“How would you know? You said he only watched you from afar!”

“But he didn’t!” you shouted. “I knew there was more because I keep getting glimpses in my dreams about him and I playing chess and this boy- this boy that looks so much like you and he has such a nice smile- and...and... I have memories of him too! I just wish I could remember them because all I get is glimpses and as soon as they come they disappear! That’s why I need you!”

“Reg...” he mumbled under his breath, finally turning back to you and watching you with sorrowful, regretful eyes. “He-”

“Where in the bloody hell are you cousin!” the two of you heard a shout from the hallway, both glancing at the door.

“No.” you said as you saw him apologise with his eyes. “No, you can’t just leave-” you started to run to him but he was already gone. “UGH!” you screamed and ran to his bed, screaming into the pillow.

You were trying to remember the man from your dreams, the boy. You tried to focus on him, find out more about him but nothing came to light.

But then you remembered. You were in his room. His room.

You sat up and looked at his dark brown desk, which started to fall apart throughout the years. You walked to it, sitting on the creaking chairs and running your fingertips on the surface of the desk. You felt cuts, splinters that wanted to dig into your skin. At the very edge of the desk you saw initials- his initials.

S. O. B.

Except that the O and B were crossed over multiple times. You quickly averted your attention from there and looked at the wall in front of you. It was connected to the desk, with four small drawers on each side but in the middle it was an empty space, filled with polaroids, photos and writings. You saw quill and ink on the side, snorting a bit. “Who still uses a quill, old man?” you took the large feather in your hand and observed it. It was extremely light but what you did not know was what the feather hid.

The Marauders - was what it was carved in wood, under the polaroid of three young boys.

‘ Something pulled you away- something strong and powerful, letting you land on your 3rd grade classroom, listening about triangles. It was you and you were such a child back then.

“(y/n)?” you heard your teacher call you from the door and you looked up. “Your uncle is here to pick you up.” she smiled and you could see yourself radiate with joy.

And you couldn’t remember that day. You couldn’t remember anything about this specific memory that seemed to be hidden somewhere in your brain.

Your little self ran out of the class with her backpack larger than her body and you saw the boy beaming at you.

“Here’s my Princess!” he laughed as you ran into his arms and he lifted you up, spinning you around. You giggled joyfully as he placed you back down and took your backpack off your shoulders. “Let’s take this heavy thing off.”

“Where are we going!? Where are we going?” you jumped over-excitedly.

“It’s a surprise.” he winked at you, putting your backpack onto his shoulder and taking your small hand into his. “I asked the teacher about your progress. She said you had improved quite lovely.” he looked down on you.

“I listened to you. I did my homework every day after school and I didn’t leave the desk until I had finished it.”

“And you did it all by yourself?”

“No. Dad had to help me with geography.” you started to get a bit upset and he seemed to notice it.

“Geography is a bugger sometimes.” he smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with getting some help. And mathmatics?”

“I’m top of my class.”

“That’s wonderful!” he laughed. “I’m proud of you.”

“I just wish you’d come more often, Uncle.” you started to get upset again. “Granpa is fun and all but he keeps beating me at chess and-”

The man by your side let out a laugh. “Granpa was never keen on losing, kid. He did the same to me and my brother.”

You stopped in your tracks and so did he. He had realised what he had said and shut his eyes regretfully. “You mean my real dad?” you looked up at him, looking up at him with watery eyes.

The man knelt down to you and cupped your chin.

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He- uhm.” he stopped, trying to find the right words. “He’s busy.”

“I want to meet him. I want to know who he is.”

“No, you don’t kid. He’s extremely busy.” he started to get a bit frustrated and bitter.

“Busy with what?”

“With Marauders.” he rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth in anger. “With him and Marauders- as they call themselves- they come before family.” he continued to speak bitterly and saw how awfully that affected you, so he fixed his thin-lipped smile into a beam and cupped your cheeks. “But we don’t do this here. Me and granpa won’t do this to you. Family comes first, (y/n). We’re not like your father. We choose family.” he kissed your forehead and pulled you into a hug. ‘

You woke up from the memory, emotionally exhausted. You felt relieved and calm but so sad. You had no clue who the man was but how he made you feel was as close to family as you could get.

You pushed yourself from the chair and started to dig around the drawers.

Whoever this man was, he was right. Sirius didn’t care about family, he showed you that perfectly clear just about now, when he kept you in this room for four days and not telling you a single thing. He didn’t want to let you go but he didn’t want to tell you what is going on either. The fact is, you didn’t care about him anymore. You wanted to know more about your uncle. You wanted to know about his brother because he was there, you just can’t remember.

There must be a reason he stopped visiting you- your uncle but you had to find him. You need to know but you couldn’t find a single thing about him except a photo of him and Sirius, somewhere far in the drawer. No name, no information.

You ran to the bed and started to look for anything that could tell you something about him. You dropped on your knees and looked under the bed.

Nothing.

“Ugh!” you let out a desperate groan and slammed your face on the rug.

He forgot to lock the door.- you heard something in your ear and you quickly turned around to see who it was.

There was nobody but you and the voice. You looked around and around with your heart thriving on adrenalin.

Follow me. - it said from the door.

“Probably a bad idea.” you told yourself, staring at the door with wide eyes. “But at least it’s some idea.” you stood up and continued to stare at it.

Trust me. - it continued and it was as if somebody took a hold of your hand, something so familiar and safe that brought the man back into your head; his piercing eyes and his wonderful smile.

And you could. You could walk to the door without feeling afraid anymore... with feeling him by your side.

You put your hand on the handle and prayed to whoever was with you that the door was unlocked. With a twist you found out that Sirius left the door unlocked.

You peeked on the hallway, hearing voices from a room far away. You looked both ways and before you could decide, something inside of you said right and so you did.

You tiptoed down the hall and just stopped.

Here. Look to your right. - it said and so you did.

You put your hand on the door handle but it didn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

Try again.

“Why would I try again if it’s-” the door just opened and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Oh... yeah no. I’m not doing this ghost thing. I watched way too many horror movies to know where this is going.” you started to back away but it was as if somebody caught you and whispered.

“Don’t you want to know about me?”

You turned around with a snap and started back away, staring at the empty space where that voice came from and before you had realised it, you were in the room.

It was similar to Sirius’. The bed, the desk, the cupboards, wardrobes, window... everything was placed on the same location as Sirius’ room. The only difference was that everything was covered in white sheets.

You looked at the empty hallway then back at the room. “Fuck it.” you mumbled and closed the door in case somebody passes by. You did it as quietly as you could but even you couldn’t avoid the smallest creaks the old wood had caused.

You pulled the sheets off everything. His bed, his desk, his wardrobe- everything. You even opened the window to get some light in the room before you decided to search through it. His name wasn’t hard to find in his own room.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

‘ “This is her?” he said as he walked behind your grandfather. His eyes were still, observing every inch of you.

“This is her.” your grandfather smiled as he moved another piece of chess down the board. “(y/n).” he looked at you as you looked at him. “This is your uncle, my son, Regulus Arcturus Black.” he moved another piece as you looked up at the man. “He’s going to take care of you when I’m gone.” ‘

The memory left as soon as it came and a tear had fallen down your cheek.

“Regulus.” you smiled to yourself and started to look through his things.

His room was much more neater and organised than Sirius’. Everything was much more well kept, which you could see on his desk that had no scratch, nor carvings in it. It was smooth and tidy, much more darker than Sirius’.

You started to open the drawers but there was nothing there except some letters, school papers and books. Until something in your gut feeling told you to turn around and walk to his night stand.

Without a doubt you did so. Running to it and opening the smallest of the drawers. There was a box, quite larger than the drawer and for a moment there it confused you because how could a drawer so small hold a box this big.

You opened it and found many letters, many photos of you as a child.

You sat down on the bed and started going through it.

‘Dear Uncle,

I had finally finished it. I hope you come home soon! I can’t wait to see you again!

(y/n) ‘

You read with a photo of you holding your elementary school certificate. You looked at the date and saw that that was only 3 years ago.

“I’ve known you three years ago.” you told yourself. “Where are you?” you dug through it, trying to find any evidence of him.

You found another photo instead, a moving one. You were 16 years old- that was a year ago- when the two of you were filming him eating ice cream and when you appeared on the photo frame.

You felt shocked to the bone.

‘ “Hey, Reg!” you laughed, holding camera in your hand. “Say cheese!”

“Cheese!” he smiled brightly. “Let me see!” he said as soon as he heard the camera click. “Why on Earth hadn’t you told me I have ice cream on my face?”

“Now where would the fun be in that, Uncle?” you smiled.

“Have some respect for the elderly!” he gasped over-dramatically.

“What are you? 60?”

“Oh, dear God no.” he laughed, wrapping his arm around you and walking along side you.

“Though I see some grey hair making appearance.”

“Oi, kid. Don’t make me throw you in the water.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Are we going to have to duel?”

“You did learn me a few tricks, haven’t you?” you smiled, showing him a glimpse of your wand from the hem of your pants. “When pupil outteaches the master.”

“Dream on, kid.” ‘

You opened your eyes wide. “I knew magic.” you blurted out. “He thought me magic!”

#regulus black #regulus black imagine #sirius black imagine #sirius black #marauders #marauders imagines #marauders era #marauders imagine #james potter #remus lupin

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