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dr3amlab · 2 years

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4. wicked games, dm.

SUMMARY — Y/N Gorgon and Draco Malfoy have a long history of mutual hatred. You see, the two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since their 1st year at Hogwarts, to the dismay of their close friends and supervisors. However, after a prank left Y/N completely out of her mind, she decides that she'll pull her cruelest prank yet on Draco by pretending to be his secret admirer.

PAIRING — Draco Malfoy x reader

GENRE — series, enemies to lovers, rival, comedy (?)

WORD COUNT — 2191 words.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — thank you so much for the love !! I've never thought that this would get any attention, really 🥹

PARTS. 1 2 3 4 5 6 finale

TAGLIST — @hopefulfuturenovelauthor @charlenasaxen @johnmurphys-sass @alittlebitofinsanitea @islayedyourmom @dramatic-long-coats @louieblue2 @born2222die @nikki-89 @jamlessgucciswegsunshineot7 @slashermadness

IV. AMORE, AMORE.

My dearest Draco,

I think of you daily. It’s true. I think of you when I see green apples, books or even when I smell an expensive cologne. You probably don’t have a clue why, and trust me, neither do I.

I want to know everything about you; your favorite color, your favorite song and even your favorite season. However, i can't.

You see, i can't keep writing you these letters. I feel like i'm burdening you with my feelings, and it makes me feel horrible.

So i've decided that from now on, my feelings are mine to keep.

This is my last letter.

I'll love you always,

your secret admirer.

It was past midnight and you could see the moon shining brightly on your mirror. This night was a peaceful night, one of the most soothing you had known for a while, and yet, you couldn’t sleep. And as you couldn’t find a peaceful state of mind, you asked a question that plagued your mind to Athena who was also undoubtedly awake, "Athena," you started, "do you think I’ll ever forget draco?" , "what do you mean?" you could hear Athena shuffle in her bed, "Draco. Will I stop having feelings for him? Will I eventually forget him?" you clarified.

"I can’t tell you exactly, y/n," Athena spoke softly, "though, my mother once said to me that you never forget your first love, they live in you forever," you could almost hear her smile through her words, "even if you move on, they’ll always have a special place in your heart," she continued, "as bad as it sounds, you’ll always compare your other lovers to your first because you’ll think that no one will ever be as perfect as them."

"So, i’ll never stop loving Draco?" you asked again with a shaky voice, "you’ll stop eventually," she said, "but your heart will never stop smiling at the thought of him," Athena yawned, signaling that morpheus was finally taking her in her embrace, "sweet dreams y/n," she whispered loud enough for you to hear.

You wished Athena was wrong for once. You hoped and prayed to Merlin that you’d wake up having no feelings for Draco Malfoy. Hell, you even hoped to wake up with an amnesia so you could forget the entire existence of the blond boy, even if it meant you’d lose your most cherished memories. How dare he? How dare he make your heart feel like it’s about to explode?

Draco Malfoy was a heartless criminal that surely deserves a spot in Azkaban for he ruthlessly stole your heart and occupied your every thoughts without any permission. You wished to say that you hated every fiber of his being, but you knew that it wasn’t true.

"Tomorrow, I’ll give him one last letter," you thought, "then I’ll be done with him." You made yourself comfortable in your bed, "goodnight Athena," you finally replied.

On one side of the class, Draco was reading the latest letter he received from his admirer with, at first, a pleasant expression on his face but his face progressively got bitter as he got to the end of the letter, "What the fuck," draco whispered not so quietly as Theodore, his seat mate, heard him, "oi! What’s with the profanities," Theodore scolded teasingly, "man, shut up. I’m literally not in the mood for your bullshit," draco carped, "woah, dude, calm down! I’m just joking," Nott said in a dry tone, not really understanding the sudden outburst of his friend.

"What are you even mad about?" Theodore snatched the paper out of Draco’s hand, "what is this? A love letter?" Nott cleared his throat preparing his voice to read the letter aloud, "My dear—" But before he could start teasing his friend, the latter snatched the paper out of Nott’s hands, "what’s wrong with you Nott? I literally told you that I was in no mood to deal with your jokes," Draco snapped grabbing the attention of all the students in the classroom who were previously chattering.

On the other side of the classroom, you were watching the scene unfold. You observed their little quarrel from the beginning, and you saw how draco seemed disappointed as soon as he finished reading the letter. You should be proud for your plan turned out exactly how you wanted: Draco took the bait, and was apparently smitten by his secret admirer. But why did you feel the opposite?

'Horrible' was an understatement to describe how you felt right now. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t your brightest idea to write those letters to Draco because: The boy was losing his mind more than you wanted him to and you had realized that you actually like draco, and you would’ve preferred to stay in denial because those newly discovered feelings were not doing you any favor.

"I feel horrible Athena," you whispered as you laid your head on your desk, "well, you can’t say that I didn’t warn you," she spoke in a singsong, "shut up please! Don’t rub salt in my wound," you whined, "you mean his wound," she rectified, "look at him, he's a thousand times more affected with this joke than he should've! Geez, I wouldn’t want to be Theodore right now," she tut-ted, "the poor guy just wanted to cheer his friend up and now he’s getting insulted!"

You put your head back up to look at the two boys who were still arguing, "I wouldn’t want to be present when he’ll find out," she spoke, "find out what?" you replied tiredly. Athena frowned her brows in confusion, "that it was you who wrote the letters," she said in a hushed voice so only you could hear. Your face went instantly white, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"you put your head in your hands, "what am I going to do?" you whined, "he’s never gonna take my feelings seriously now," you mumbled. Athena looked at you sadly and rubbed your back as an attempt to console you in the midst of the chaos that was still going on.

Never in your life you would've thought that you'd be worried to death on knowing if Draco reciprocates your feelings or not. Life is such a funny thing.

"Where is Slughorn anyway?" Athena tried to change the subject. "He’s like 10 minutes late, what is he—," she stopped mid-sentence when she saw the said teacher come Into the classroom, "Oh, speak of the devil! There he is." The teacher sighed with exasperation as he saw the commotion that was happening in his class, "Alright class please calm down," he said in an a voice that lacked authority voice for the boys continued to argue. "Please calm down!" he shouted and this time, he earned the silence he wanted with a bonus of startled expressions from the students.

Slughorn smiled with satisfaction, "First and foremost, I apologize for my tardiness," he said, "and for my little outburst. "He placed the books he was holding in his arms on his desk, "Now, let’s start the lesson shall we?" Slughorn smiled, "Can anybody remind me what we talked about last week?" An eager student raised their hands to answer the professor.

Draco heard their answer, yet he didn’t listen; he was too engrossed in his thoughts. Malfoy didn’t know what to think of this situation, why were they leaving him? Why is it that all the persons that say they love him always end up leaving him? He didn’t understand, was there something wrong with him? Could he fix his flaws? Draco knows that he’s far from being perfect, but then again no one was, so why is it that nobody wants to accept him as he is?

The blond boy couldn’t pin point the emotion he was feeling right now, was it fear? Disappointment? or maybe even sorrow? Draco couldn’t describe the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he sure can tell when he feels like utter shit.

Draco got pulled out of his thoughts by Theodore’s elbow nudging him. The blond boy looked at his friend confusedly, wondering why he called him out. Theodore pointed his chin in front of him and Draco looked away from Nott’s eyes only to meet Slughorn’s, "I’ll repeat my question. What is amortentia?" Draco couldn’t understand what the professor was talking about as he had spent most of the lesson feeling sorry for himself, "Amoretentia?" He mispronounced, "No, Draco, it’s—, " the professor got cut off.

"It’s only the most powerful love potion in the world." Granger replied with a hint of a cockiness in her voice, but only according to Draco, "it’s supposed to smell differently to each of according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and—," Hermione stopped mid-sentence and the girl looked like she made shocking discovery.

"Shocking isn’t it, Granger?" Slughorn laughed, "How about you Malfoy, what do you smell?" Slughorn offered the potion to Draco for him to sniff. At first Draco was reticent but after a few seconds of reflexion, he took the flask from the professor, "I smell vanilla, violets, and— strawberry cake?" Draco recognized that smell. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the scent that wafted from the pink envelopes. Draco’s heart frowned again, "if only I knew who it was," he thought.

"And you, Gorgon?" Slughorn offered you the flask which you took in your hands carefully, "Books, green apples," draco’s ears perked up at your words, "and—," you met Draco’s eyes and you felt a feeling of fear wash all over you, "and that’s it." You glared at Draco hoping to keep the appearances up. You almost gave it away but he didn’t notice anyway or did he?

"Alright!" Slughorn took the potion from your hand, "Amortentia is considered to be a powerful and highly dangerous potion. Despite its power, Amortentia does create actual love. The potion is—," Slughorn explained but neither you or Draco were interested in what he was saying as you two were too busy giving a black look to each other, "Do you think he caught up?" Athena whispered to your ear, "I hope not," you answered as you broke the eye contact with Draco to look Athena but you still felt Draco’s narrowed eyes on you.

Perhaps the meteorologists weren’t the experts they claimed to be or perhaps, the weather was merely unpredictable for they didn’t warn the students of Hogwarts of the Cyclone Draco that was currently ravaging the hallway of the school looking for a person in particular.

"Sasha, there you are!" Draco’s shadow engulfed the younger boy leaving no light, "M-Malfoy," Sasha stuttered and Draco laughed, "S-Sasha," he mimicked, "you already know what I’m here to ask you," Draco gritted his teeth, "so spill the beans and don’t you dare waste my time," he menaced.

"I already told you that I can't tell you draco," the Hufflepuff cried, "I promised! I’m sorry but it’s not my place!" Draco poked his tongue in his cheek and turned away his gaze from the trembling form of the boy. "Promises are meant to be broken, aren't they?"Draco replied coldly as he got closer to the younger boy.

"Listen." Draco grabbed Sasha by the collar, "You’re going to give their name right now," Malfoy demanded once again but the boy shook his head vigorously and the blond boy sighed.

Malfoy released his grip on Sasha’s uniform collar and the latter fell on his buttock making him hiss with pain, "Sasha, Sasha," draco tut-ted, "I didn’t want to come to this," he faked a sad expression on his face, "I really appreciate you, y’know." The younger boy’s face displayed pure horror as he saw Malfoy reach for his wand, "But hey," Draco sighed, "Silly me to think you’d cooperate."

Draco pointed his wand towards Sasha, who was still on the ground, "Cru—,"The older boy started, "Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you please don’t do that," Sasha yelled, "I’m not sure Sasha," Draco shrugged, "Plus you know I’m not scared to say the cursed spells," Malfoy put up his hand again signaling that he was about to say the curse again, "Cruc—," he repeated, "Y/N!" the boy said while shielding himself from the potential curse that draco was about to cast. "Y/N, that's the name," Sasha said with a jerky breath.

Draco smiled satisfied that the boy caved in as he lowered his wand, "Of course it was her," he mumbled.

"Alright Sasha," Draco said as turned his heels to leave, "Loved talking to you, » Malfoy smiled, "See you around bro!" Draco emptied the hallway leaving a young boy that was probably going to be scarred for life.

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onedaughterofman · 2 years

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You, forever (Chapter VIII: Spawn of pure malevolence)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses and deaths, implied/referenced murder, discussions of Luciferianism and religion. I'll probably edit it again another day, but if I don't post it now I'm afraid I'll never will. Around 4K words!

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“I heard the wind has changed in Har Megiddo.”

Below the surface, the Necromancer’s boots emit a thunderous sound against the ground. The echo travels through the chamber, vibrating in the walls before getting lost in the distance.

In slow motion, they stride around the room. Those dim eyes examine the surfaces, rapidly bypassing the decorations and statues that clutter the corners before centering on the glass coffin in the middle of the place.

Oh.

Huge pupils expand even more inside the light irises when the Necromancer takes a step forward. Then, another. Gaze locked, they move cautiously towards the casket. It's not an ordinary occurrence to find a corpse so carefully curated, so beautifully cared for. There are flowers and gold jewelry surrounding the body, delicate silk and velvet enveloping it like a fine cerecloth.

Those are not merely bloody, mangled human remains.

No. That is a piece of art and there’s nothing the Necromancer wants more than to lay their hands on it, to make it twirl under the midnight sun. All it would take it'd be a twitch of their fingers...

Of course, they can’t do anything for as long as Papa Emeritus stands in the way.

Such a shame.

Such a pity.

“I love what you have done with the place.” The words are devoid of emotion, completely empty. Indifference coats each syllable, extending the spaces with air. “I can’t believe this has been down here all this time.”

Papa Emeritus IV continues to be silent. Guarding him, stand two ghouls. They all stare in the Necromancer's direction, following every slight movement.

The leather of Papa’s glove creaks when he tightens his fist, muscles tensing upon the gesture. His clothes are spotless, carefully tailored to drape around his body in a way that it wouldn’t fit anyone else. The Necromancer has a good eye for details and they must admit that Papa radiates a strong aura of power and royalty, to the point it’s almost intimidating.

Fortunately, the Necromancer laughs in the face of authority. The glass is cold when their hand falls flat on the surface, nails grazing over the smooth material.

Tap.

“This is nice.”

Tap.

Papa doesn’t reply. The black polish on the Necromancer’s nails is chipped and messy, a somber color on the extremely pale skin. It requires a considerable effort not to react when they move closer, face almost pressing on the coffin and head leaning to one side. The warm breath fogs up the glass, coats the surface that shields your body from the dust and humidity of the underground tunnels.

“The mortician did a good job with this one.” Dark hair falls flat on the Necromancer’s forehead, casting shadows over their eyes. Yet, it does nothing to hide the undeniable glint in them. “Looks like they sleep peacefully.”

Too peacefully. The Necromancer practically feels as if they could rouse you up with a few snaps of their fingers. Over your nose, the black nails tap once and then twice, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing happens, there is no fluttering of eyelashes or twitch of your brows.

You’re dead.

That’s good.

It’s better when they are dead. The deceased can’t judge, complain or do anything but follow orders and dance round and round. To be the puppet master, the one who controls and possesses, that’s a distinctive type of privilege very few have.

It’s a gift, something that must be appreciated and exploited to the full potential.

Not everybody agrees. Looking back, the Necromancer finds Papa Emeritus IV standing a few meters away, jaw tense and burning gaze. Another short sound emerges from the glass when their nails tap again, never averting their eyes.

“Stop it,” Papa barks, and the ghouls bare their teeth at the command. The infernal creatures are practically as tense as he is, ready to jump and attack at any threat. The Necromancer fears no ghoul or Papa, but they have to admit this one is different from the rest. Historically, Papas have inevitably been nothing but a figurehead, a puppet in the hands of the Clergy.

Not this one.

Papa Emeritus IV possesses a certain air of danger surrounding his body and the unmistakable scent of Death holds close to his robes and skin. When he moves, the screams coming from beyond the grave sound louder, rising in a never-ending chorus of misery.

The voices inside the Necromancer’s head never shut up. It’s annoying, terribly so. The damned crave violence, blood, yearn for more destruction. Everywhere Papa goes, the shrieks follow him, for he has sent so many souls underground, condemned many to burn and decay until the end of times.

A hollow laugh escapes their lungs. The Necromancer remains still, back straight as they take half a step to the side. “I don’t think your lover minds it,” they affirm. “But I have to admit I’m a bit saddened at the fact that the body is unburied. Digging them up is the best part."

“I’ll give you everything you need to work with.” Copia assures hastily, moving a hand to motion at the other. “But don’t test my patience.”

The Necromancer’s teeth shine under the pale glow radiating from the old lamps. Oblivious to the threat, their lips stretch in a grin before they let out a few bitter chuckles. Even if their shoulders shrug, the hand never leaves the glass. Their palm lays flat on the surface, as a blatant provocation. “If you don’t like me, you can always get yourself another necromancer. I know the Clergy occupied some. They used to bring Nihil back all the time.”

Papa’s reply comes rapidly, brimming with poison. “I have already asked them.”

“Is that so?" They mock, elongating the words. "What did they say?”

“Bringing my love back is not the same as the old man.”

Naturally. Reanimating a corpse to perform an action for a few minutes at most it’s not a complex task. It’s children’s play. Now, to bring back someone for an extended period, both in body and soul…

That’s a whole different story.

That’s insanity.

Fortunately, the Necromancer rejoices in it. “The underworld is very possessive of the souls that fall into it.” They explain, circling around the box. “If you don’t know where to search, you might end up roaming in the dark forever.”

Papa Emeritus is unimpressed. He merely huffs, a hardened expression plastered on his face. “You will find the way," he states, nonchalantly, but it still sounds like a command.

No. It sounds like a threat.

The Necromancer’s hair moves to follow the soft nodding of their head, as they muse over the situation. “This one has been gone for a while,” they say, examining the body. “An ordinary human with no spiritual influence or important connections to the occult. Their soul could be anywhere. We’ll have to search for weeks, months even, and if we find them we’ll have to gamble with Death,” a pause. “Shit. It’s going to be a mess. Are you sure you want both body and soul? Can’t it be only the body? It’ll feel just the same.”

“I demand for all of them. Don’t play games.”

It’s not easy. Necromancers prefer to summon the recent departed, since they still retain some lucidity. Usually, that timeframe is limited to twelve months following the death of the physical body. Even so, a big part of the success will depend on the circumstances around the demise.

The circumstances, as far as they heard, are messy. “Like I said. If you don’t appreciate how I work, find another person.”

Papa’s touch burns like hellfire. His leather glove is harsh over the Necromancer's skin, fingers curled tight on their forearm. They try shaking him away to no avail. Under the hazy lights, his white eye casts a strong, almost blinding glow. Waves of energy emanate from his body, shaking the Necromancer to the core.

That’s the power of an Emeritus.

It’s terrifying, intoxicating.

“I searched everywhere! Nobody wants to do this,” Papa yells, pulling them closer. The following words are muttered through his teeth, barely discernible. “You are the only one crazy enough to accept, Goore.”

“That I am.”

Mary Goore. Expert necromancer, a brilliant person with a prosperous future, cradled by fortune and the promise of wealth and honor since birth. Goore, the first born of an influential family within The Clergy.

Also, Goore, the teen who was expelled from the Academy of the Occult for questionable necromancy practices and devoted the rest of their days performing in rundown bars, doing everything in their power to spit in the faces of the higher-ups.

Mary Goore, who died more than a decade ago and then without any forewarning came back to life. The story says a corpse covered in cemetery dirt and hair full of maggots rose from an unmarked grave during the snow moon.

How could that happen, nobody knows. “Not even Death wanted them,” Mary said with pride upon questioning. Not even the cold, unforgiving grip of the Undertaker could halt them.

Hell spat them up.

Now, Mary is in front of him; an unhinged smile tattooed on their lips. The gesture does not match the desolation inside their deep pupils and the mix of those two things does nothing to bring peace to Copia. Yet, he doesn’t have any other choice.

Copia is desperate, restless. It’s either Goore, or letting his lover go.

He can’t do that.

You belong with him.

You belong to him, not Death, not Satan.

You belong to him only.

“Is it true?” Papa asks, this time in a more subdued tone. He allows them to go, and Mary clutches their forearm with their left hand. “Can you bring anybody back?”

Mary’s chest expands with pride. There’s arrogance in their body language, oozing from each pore. Goore can detect the smell of his despair, his need. They know they have him right in their palms. “I can. I was the only necromancer talented enough to bring myself back, after all.”

“So it wasn’t a lie, then.” There are many versions of the story. Copia has got wind of most of them. “You fell ill and died, but managed to perform a ritual before exhaling your last breath. How?”

It’s an unfortunate thing. Goore was young. At the time of their death, they were only in their twenties. A fresh corpse was buried on unmarked ground, without a gravestone or a funeral. No one wept for them, not even their parents. The Clergy didn't want to be related to Mary Goore anymore.

The day they died, it was just another Wednesday.

A slow, hollow sound emerges from their throat when they laugh. Underground, the echo is louder, more distinct. Copia feels shivers down his spine, and the ghouls must sense some change in his demeanor, because their muscles immediately stiffen. A slight gesture from his fingers informs them to remain in place, not to attack.

“Is that what they say?” Mary questions, brows furrowed and head tilted. “I fell ill?”

No emotion can be found in that laugh. How such an empty sound can harbor so much bitterness and anger, Copia can’t thoroughly comprehend. He stands still, fingers curling and uncurling. The ghoul on his right growls, letting the deep rumble carry an explicit warning.

Below the surface, the earth screams for blood.

Goore’s energy is overwhelmingly negative, intense. Stinging like ice, but with a burning tinge in it. When their mouth shuts, those black pupils return to Copia’s face. “The stories about my demise are too lame, man. Do you want the truth?”

There’s no reason to say yes. Still…

Copia wants to know. Knowledge is power. He nods.

“Good boy,” Goore says, mockingly. Papa Emeritus bites his tongue not to react. “After those old men got rid of me, I did a bunch of things to piss them off.”

Stealing corpses from the Ministry’s cemetery and forcing them to play songs for their band, for a start. Goore didn’t recall their names. They merely knew those cadavers were important to someone, because they had the best tombs full of lovely flowers and glistening gravestones.

Then, the papal paint. Messy and greasy, tainted with blood and dirt. That was blasphemous, a spit on all their faces. Mimicking and tarnishing something so holy arose a wave of outrage and shock, making a few old men and women clutch their crucifixes in dismay.

Naturally, the open mockery played a good part. Repugnant was on its way to become an established band and they were about to make it big. Someone had to stop them.

“I was doing just fine playing my shit. One day I drank something weird and blacked out. Then, I woke up inside a coffin, mouth sewn and so cold.”

Being buried alive is a dreadful way to die. At the beginning, the desperation clings to your body and heart. The blood flows rapidly, so hot it makes you believe you are capable of opening a way through the wood and dirt.

You can’t.

When the lack of oxygen hits, there’s only despair. It becomes so bleak inside the coffin, frigid to the point you feel your joints slowly freeze. However, Death doesn’t come until your body starts decomposing, while your heart is still fighting.

Lost in the darkness, drowning in your own voiceless screams, you wish you could die faster. It’s torture, a terrible punishment. Goore seized all the dread, clutched it between their palms and reversed it into a spell.

They transformed their death into a rebirth.

Goore finds it funny but also sad. The process of decomposition is fascinating, they investigated and memorized it when they were merely a child.

An old poem in a foreign language, nine beautiful pictures burning in their memory.

After the heart stops, the body temperature drops but it will require hours until it becomes completely cold. Initially, the hands and feet get cold, then the lack of blood circulation causes the skin to look pale. Purple spots commence to appear, born from accumulated stale blood. The dehydration and acidification of muscles make the whole corpse stiff.

What once was a lovely face fades quickly like flowers after the summer. As the autumn leaves, life falls to the ground and evanesces into nothingness. There is no difference between the old and the young, no escape. Sooner or later, faster or slower, everyone dies.

The first step is recent death, then distension. Faces turn dark and lose their characteristic rosy color and the hair withers before tanging with roots and wood. As the organs rot away, the gasses push beyond the grave.

In a deserted tomb, the spirit goes to the other world in solitude.

When exudation comes, the melted fat, blood and fluids emanate from the corpse, coating the surface with disease. At this point, the corpse is beyond recognition. The rotten skin begins to fall, mixing with the body’s impurity.

The wind, sad and cold, is the only one who continues to mourn the dead.

Remaining skin and flesh will soon be gone as well, turning purple and blue before vacating space for the bones to appear. The necrophages will feast and devour for long days and nights, white maggots and green flies covering the dirty remains.

It arrives the time when there is no more flesh, blood or fat. There are only bones, lonely, empty. No one recognizes the name of the person they belonged to or the story behind them. The plagues disappear, wilt and die.

Everything becomes dust and only the trapped spirits cry at night by the grave, waiting to see if the ashes bring new blossoms or more decay.

That didn’t happen to Mary Goore. They ruled over putrefaction and decomposition, remaining petrified in time.

They conquered Death and came back.

“Was it the Clergy?”

Copia is the first one to shatter the silence. His eyes are lost in the distance, staring at ghosts no one but he can see. They dance like shadows, round and round, hitting the walls and falling on the floor, crawling around the dirt and dust, damned.

“Who else?”

A cold grave and sudden death. That’s the sole thing The Clergy can offer to their detractors. Goore knows it well. To become a threat and a distraction, someone who goes against those old men wishes… That’s something no one desires.

A cruel fate. One that both you and them shared.

“I don’t care anymore. I knew who I was provoking, but did they? Were they willing to sacrifice their life for sticking with you?”

The saliva is thick when Copia swallows, but his throat remains dry. The weight in his chest becomes more intolerable than before, burdened with the pressure of Goore’s accusation. Copia’s poor heart beats once, then twice before ceasing.

He’s speechless, silent. Something dark moves behind his back, a shadow with sharp nails and putrid breath. The claws scratch at his nape, grazing the arteries in his neck. A sonorous, guttural screech escapes its throat.

“You promised,” it whispers. “You promised we’d be okay.”

“Murderer.”

Guilt is a faceless monster, a spirit that perches on your shoulders and squeezes tightly until there’s no oxygen in your body and your lungs burn and cry for relief.

For a brief moment, Copia wonders if Mary Goore can perceive it too.

They do. “I bet you also knew it. You look dumb, but you are not that dumb.”

Anger is a good motivator. Copia’s jaw is clamp shut, tense. His teeth press on each other as a low growl erupts from his throat. To his right and left, the ghouls imitate the gesture, celebrating the promise of fresh blood, tender flesh and violence.

The energy permeates the room with an oxidized crimson color, almost like rust.

“Of course I didn’t,” Papa spits through his clenched jaw.“I thought they were safe. Everything was going great. Ghost was becoming more and more popular, the tour was a success, we had so many projects and…”

“And? Where’s all that, now?”

Gone.

It’s long dead and gone.

“I’ll kill you,” Copia whispers softly, after a bit. If the statement is intended to threaten Goore or to bring a resemblance of comfort to himself, he doesn’t know it. There’s no power in his words, no strength in his voice. There’s only coldness, a biting lot of it. The raw indescribable emotion should be capable of paralyzing anyone, but Goore stands their ground.

“You could try, right. Hell will spit me back out, just like it did once.”

One step, then another. The heavy combat boots sound like ground mines in Copia’s ears, exploding louder and louder as they get closer.

“I can hear what they say,” Mary confesses, hushed like it’s a secret no one else should know.“I hear the voices.”

“Hear them?”

Copia must have said it out loud, in a tone full of confusion, because Goore replies. “Of the dead, inside my head. Are you curious? Do you want to know what your lover says?”

No, his soul screams. No, Copia doesn’t want to know it. He doesn’t trust Mary Goore, doesn’t even trust himself. Knowledge is a gift from the Dark Lord, but also an onerous burden not meant to be carried on weak, weary shoulders.

Copia’s head barely shakes, breeze caressing his hair. Goore disregards it, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. The warm, wet breath hits his skin like needles. “They want to return to tear the flesh from the living.They are so fucking pissed.”

For the first time in weeks, months even, Copia is scared. No, not scared. Terrified. Your anger and hate are something he never had to confront. He rejoiced in your love, your tenderness and mercy. He embraced all the sacred and divine you gave him.

The dark, the bad, the ugly… He’s not prepared to witness it, to experience it. You must love him, forever.

You must adore him as much as he does.

When Mary’s laugh dies, the gleam remains in their eyes. “That’s a spawn of pure malevolence, the one you got there.”

A rabid fury, a corpse corrupted with malicious energy that fills the veins and permeates the tissues like embalming fluid. Anger consumes this cadaver, tormenting the spirit even far beyond the grave.

According to ancient scrolls, it is believed that in the event of a premature or violent death, the corpse retains part of that unused vitality. Stored deeply inside your guts, Goore can feel the complex whirlwind of emotions. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating.

“That’s enough.”

Papa Emeritus never pleads. Not anymore, but his voice sounds a lot like a plea, a prayer. His gaze is lost again, somewhere far. Still, when his pupils focus on the present, they feel a shiver run down their spine. Mary Goore doesn’t know when to shut up, but the threatening aura of Papa forces their mouth shut.

“I’ll do it,” they start, taking a few steps back.“Give me a few months, and you’ll have them again.”

“Weeks,” Copia spits out, through clenched teeth.“You have three weeks. No more. Don’t fail, or I’ll have you on your knees begging for death.”

An audible sigh. Goore leans forwards, tilting their head down in a short reverence, a mocking gesture. “As you wish, Eminence. You’ll get exactly what you are asking for.”

Before Goore leaves the underground room, an entourage of ghouls behind his back, Papa raises his voice one last time.

“Do you think they regret it?”

“Who?”

“Do you think the infernal divine regrets granting you this power?”

Goore’s laugh is boisterous, but again there’s no cheer in his eyes. “Infernal divine, you say?” They growl, biting down each word. “No, you got it all wrong. It’s the necromancer the one who demands the obedience of demons and other spirits, thanks to the power that was conferred upon them by a god.”

“God?”

They are ridiculous. Copia feels the air freeze in his throat as he struggles to understand the delirious rambles of a crazy person. When Goore continues, their pupils are completely black, an empty vortex.

“Yes,” a long pause follows. “I am my own God.”

Essence of the Sun, brighter than any other before him. A dual star, an Angel of Immortal light so beautiful and free. Hidden within old scrolls and ancient rites, He is the one who can awaken those who call, who reject the emptiness of a fake god and yearn for a liberal spirit.

He, who loves those who love Him, who comes for those in need. Through air and aether, from fire and earth, coating the water that makes us humans, He exists and can be sought within. Clothed in the sun and yet awakened in utter darkness, He rose as a beautiful man who will break the enemy’s will and uplift the strong who embrace Him.

Then, why?

Why is he alone?

Why is he lost?

Why is he the one to suffer, when he did everything right, followed every rite and prayer to perfection?

Why?

“Lucifer,” Copia mutters, lungs devoid of oxygen.“Lucifer, offer me guidance.”

Please.

What would become of life without a lighthouse on the horizon? Nothing but darkness. Lost as his soul is, Copia clings to safety. These old transcripts in his hands are safe, just like the sacred books that weigh on his lap.

“Hail Lucifer, rise Lucifer, come Lucifer, descend upon me, Lucifer manifest.”

Recite from the text.

Renich

Pray for guidance.

Tasa

For strength.

Uberaca

For mercy.

Biasa

For fortune

Icar

For glory

Lucifer

For absolution.

A man like him, bathed in blood and destroyer of empires, should seek no absolution. He has tarnished everything sacred and unsacred, both holy and unholy. He has tested and bypassed the limits of generations, delivered nothing but death and decay to his Church of Satan.

If the Old One is pleased or displeased, Copia doesn’t recognize it. He’s not like Primo, who used to hear His voice, or Secondo, who saw through His eyes. No, Copia has always been alone in this world, consumed in the dark, crawling blindly like a parasite.

Not even Lucifer is willing to walk by his side. Not even Satan or King Belial. There's no King Asmodeus, no Beelzebub, no Astaroth or Stolas.

No one is here to save him or laugh at his demise.

Copia is completely alone. Yet, he recites.

“Lucifer, Lord, King and emperor come and rise”

Among the rubbish from the ruins.

“Lucifer, The Fire of the south, The Air of the east”

Rise from putrefaction and waste.

“Lucifer he who is eternal, Lucifer come unto me".

Unto a servant, a believer.

Unto a fool.

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Ps: the art Mary remembers is called Kusözu or "Painting of the nine stages of a decaying corpse". The poem (Kusôkanshi) is based on those paintings and was written by a Buddhist monk named Kukai.

The prayers at the end are based on "The Bible of the Adversary" and invocations from the Temple of the Ascending Flame. Will they work? Who knows.

I worked hard on this chapter and I'm still not sure if I like it. It was a big challenge, something different than the past chapters, but I hope you enjoy it. Mary is here.

#ghost band #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #mary goore #ghost band x reader #cardinal copia #ghost bc #my writing #my fics

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slightlyhopefulromantic · 1 year

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i probably should finish some of the sketches ive done over the past few days but ive spent the last six or so hours doing this instead

hopefully i can like... line and color this tonight, but its almost midnight and im going out with my mom tomorrow so we'll have to see

#dndads #sketches #travis's turn on the redraw trend! but feat. season 1 too #comparing my sparrow design to the canon cover always makes me laugh btw #i couldnt even make sparrow frown. it looks wrong on my design #they are two completely different people

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queenvivi123 · 4 months

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Death Doesn’t Wait

“You betrayed me.”

Vivid green eyes flashed under my eyelids, despite how much they told me to forget, the question begged to be asked; how could you forget the reason behind your scars?

“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me

At tea time, everybody agrees

I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero”

I woke to Taylor swift playing in the background of what I call my “Bedroom.” Behind the thick curtains were thick bars of steel, like a prison! The fairy lights I had scavenged twinkled faintly and it brightened my mood a bit. A bit. I lived above the stage in Solstice Cinema, a “room” long forgotten. There was a trapdoor, the one I climbed down now to a backroom. Mannequins lined the walls, each in a feathery dress. The room’s paint.. was peeling and its once vibrant color of periwinkle faded down to a dull, lifeless blue. I listened at the door, hoping no one was there. When I determined the coast was clear, I crept through the hallways and out the back door of the theater. I walked toward the Confectioner's Treat, a little late but Ms.Derniar usually didn’t mind. As i walked, my mind wandered to more important things, like my food stock. I was almost out of food, save for a few cupcakes and ramen. I would have to stop by kritanta groceries later.

As I reached Confectioner’s Treat, I saw a cake being loaded into a truck. Its blue icing was midnight-cold, cruel, and dark. Tiny star-shaped sprinkles decorated the first tier of the cake; the bottom of the second tier was decorated with a sparkling white frosting, making flowers that looked like they were made of moonlight. On top there was a little figurine, deathly pale-almost light blue- with eyes beady and dark, framed by luscious blue hair. Corpse Bride. It was silly, really, that I was afraid of a movie character-who wasn’t even the villain. Yet, my breath still caught in my throat. My lungs burned and my chest heaved for air. But none of it mattered to me. Nothing did.

I ran, ran, and ran as fast I could.

The wind pushed against me, blinding and burning against my skin.

Yet, I continued to run.

The one reason I had ran that day was because of one girl.

One girl.

One sister.

One twin.

My other half, the other piece of the puzzle known as ME.

She hadn’t made it out of the madman's house.

My heart beat, beat, beat.

Slow and steady.

Keeping me calm, calm, calm.

As my eyes fluttered close, burning, burning, burning.

The voice never stopped singing.

I woke with an IV drip in my arm. Screaming, I sat up straight, blinking wearily. In the corner of the white room, with the white walls was a black camera. Its red light blinked and I understood that it had detected my movement. For a moment, nothing happened and I was phenomenally underwhelmed.As my eyes wandered, I noticed a sticker on the IV drip bag. It read, Malnutrition. While I was reading the sticker, a woman showed up. She was Asian, with shiny black hair and chocolate eyes. My eyes traveled to her name card which read ‘Ms. Siwang’. I cleared my throat, realizing that I most likely looked like a rat.

“So,uh, hi?”

“What’s your name, dear?” Oh. So she was one of those Gramma people. Realizing that made my heart ache for my own Grandmother, who if she saw like this, would have done either of these two things: Hug me and hand me one of the infinite chocolates in her purse or slap me with the sole of her shoe for not looking ‘civilliased’. I was so lost in my memories that I hadn’t realized she had asked again.

“Oh! I’m Leandra!” A second after that I realized she could now use my name to trace me back. I shook my head, my long, uncut hair flashing an iridescent red with streaks of copper. Like Mom’s.

“Well, dearie, where do you live?” She questioned. I hesitated. She must have sensed my discomfort, however, because she stopped talking.

Wordlessly, she handed me a bowl of gooey, cheesy mac n cheese. I dug in, the cheese melting in my mouth giving me gooey pleasure. A few minutes later, the bowl was emptY. Dr. Siwang stared at me, like I was a creature she couldn’t figure out.

“So, where’s your family?”

“Um . . .” She looked at me like she had finally figured me out. I stared at her, partially because I wanted her to know that I knew what she thought.And also because I didn't want to seem like a coward. After a long and intense battle(1 minute long), Dr. Siwang left the room after handing me a doughnut on a plate. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Then, she left.

In an unknown amount of time, I woke up in another room, this time laid down on a colorful couch in a colorful room. The walls were a pastel teal and the ceiling a sparkly silver. I sat myself down then just . . . thought. Thought about my life, thought about my sister, thought about everything and everyone that had made me this way. A liar, a cheat, a thief. Completely against my will, a tear slipped out. As if it had been holding them back, a barrage of tears flooded me and I almost had a nice, good sob time. Keyword here: almost.

“There you are,” A military-like voice exclaimed. I turned to see a woman, tall and stiff, wearing a police uniform. Her raven hair was tied into a tight bun and her jaw had a roughness to it that told she could kill me with her words. A frown appeared on her plump lips as she saw the remnants of the tears that oh-so recently flooded my cheeks. She looked disappointed, like I had failed some sort of test.

“Yes, here I am.” Sarcasm inundated my voice and I didn't understand what game I was playing. Her frown was a lot more enunciated and it made me want to laugh. A lot.

“Sit, Leana.”

“Leandra,” I corrected, annoyance seeping into my tone.

“Okay, Leandra,” Ms. Military sneered. I disliked her immediately. Who sneers at a girl who you most likely knows that girl is homeless?!

Ms. Military seemed to calm herself down, clenching and unclenching her fists. She then motioned for me to sit once more, adding a very stiff, very forced “Please” at the end. I obliged, not wanting to cause too much trouble.

“I saw your records.”

I stiffened. If she knew . . .

“You, according to the files, disappeared two years ago.” It was a statement. Plain, boring, and everything it wasn’t.

So I answered the same way. “Three. He must haven’t noticed.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Because I was stuck with an alcoholic!” My temper flared and all I wanted was for someone to listen. To understand. Was that too much to ask?

“You were nineteen. You didn’t need a guardian when your parents died.” Wait. What? Nineteen? I had been sixteen when he had moved in. Hadn’t I been?

“N- no . . . I had been sixteen.” My voice stuttered on the words, like it was a death sentence to say them.

“Are you claiming the nurse who oversaw your birth is wrong?” Not an accusation, not an asservation. Just a question. And it meant the world to me. I couldn’t imagine my sweet, sweet mother lying to me.

I couldn’t process this.

My brain was whirling, whirling, whirling.

My heart held still, as if a ghost might appear and start explaining.

Everything.

This was too much.

My whole life was a lie.

We hadn’t had to live there.

I woke with a headache. It was like someone combined a hammer and pendulum and decided to test it in my head.I groaned, holding my head in my hands.

Waking up in a police office was disorienting.I’m guessing it was the chief police officer’s office as it was a separated room altogether. It had baby blue walls with the police logo painted onto one of those walls, shiny and sleek, it almost looked official enough for me to trust the police. Almost.

A man sat in a chair, his back facing me. He must have heard me snort, however, and so he turned.

“Hi,” he said and it sounded so casual, so nonchalant, so normal.

“Hi,” I whispered. My voice was still scratchy and he must have picked up on that because he handed me a glass of water right after I said that. Drinking water was like heaven: something I didn’t deserve.

“You mentioned something in your sleep,” He started, “Most of it was nonsensical, but something you said mentioned a sister.” He hesitated on this last part, as if he was unsure of what to make of this.

“Yeah, I mentioned my sister. STuck in an alcoholic's house or did you forget?”

“The files don’t mention a sister,” Honestly, my life has been so messed up that this time around i wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“We ran tests. You weren’t hallucinating.” A simple statement, yet it signified he believed me which meant everything.

“Do you know where exactly your uncle lives?” I shuddered. Forgetting was one of the most impossible things in my life, nothing worked.

“Y-yeah,” My voice is shaky, but strong.

“Take us there.” three simple words, yet they would change my life.

The sun dipped low into the crescent of the shattered roof of my uncle’s house. It had almost been a week before the man-whose name was Mr. Tuproamor, weird, I know- had reached out to take me to the house. Taking a deep breath to steady myself and calm my shaky nerves, I stepped over the threshold. The inside was just how it’d been before, except maybe a bit more rusty without my careful care. I did a 360 spin, taking in the sights-and not in a good way. The wall’s wallpaper was peeling and the wood behind it seemed rotted, and the flickering lights only added to the effect of a creepy haunted house. I saw the staircase 'ss railing falling apart and the stairs creaky and ants crawled across it, giving me a horrible feeling.

One will live and the other will die

Who was that? Oh, right, my inner depression! Anyhoo, I raced up the stairs and turned left. Right before I had reached the door to Hanna and I’s former bedroom, I saw the blood. A ragged crack ran through the door, like many others caused by my uncle, but this one was different. Blood coated the rims of it and the metallic smell made me want to throw up. You could tell it was recent.

I raced into the room, scratching my arm on the way in, but I didn't care. Not with the sight in front of me. My sister’s bloody head was smashed against the wood, as if someone had pushed her down there.

But I couldn’t find words to describe her pale, incredibly still body.

Mindless Tears fell down my cheeks and I rushed to her side, falling down on my knees.

She had saved me that fateful dawn, she had saved me

And now I couldn’t save her

I couldn’t handle this

I couldn’t

All the unanswered questions that had been living in my head faded into the shadows

I could hear the sound of my heart breaking, shattering like glass

Even as I closed my eyes, I could still see it, still see HER

Once vivid, now lifeless green eyes burned my eyelids

As Everything

Went Dark.

#Stories #notafanfiction #lotsofeffort #amazing #i'll sue you if you copy this without my permission!

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marriedandttc · 2 years

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The road to Aurora…

On September 6th we checked in for induction at 10:00 pm and began medication around midnight thanks to lots of paperwork! We initially thought I wasn’t responding well to the pitocin because I never felt contractions… but with the sun up and my wits about me I discovered the pain I’d been feeling in my back all night long was actually back labor and we were making progress! On September 7th at 8:00 am Dr. Eastman came in to check on me. I was dilated to about a 3 which was some progress. I consented to a breaking of the waters and they inserted an internal monitor. I loved the internal monitor, it was so much more reliable. The entire night before was spent readjusting my straps and monitors and it was really tiresome after a while. Following the water breaking I called my doula and she booked it up to come help us! She arrived just in time as contractions picked up following the breaking. Thanks to the internal monitor I had an easy time moving around (just had to carry my IV pole) so we were able to labor in many positions. We began with me bending over at the side of the bed and my doula taught Stephen about counter pressure. He spent the entire time rubbing my back through the back labor - while utilizing some peppermint lotion! This helped a lot as I was battling a headache. When I got tired of that position we moved to the birthing ball and I did some bouncing and some rolling, Stephen still helping my back. And the last switch up we tried was hands and knees on the bed, leaning over/using a peanut ball for support. I think the hands and knees was my favorite! But by this time I’d been going at it for a couple hours and was exhausted so I took some time to lay in bed with the peanut ball. And I have to say… I am incredibly proud of myself. I’ve always said I have no pain tolerance and that I couldn’t do this part. My goal was to make it to 4 CM before the epidural but I didn’t believe I could. But when it came time I focused on my breathing, relaxed every muscle in my body, and just closed my eyes. I was silent and didn’t speak with anyone or make a sound. It was just me and my body, and I did it! When the pain reached a point I could no longer tolerate without some level of panic I requested my epidural. This was a step I feared! Getting one and using it was always a part of my plan but I’d watched videos on how it’s done and I was terrified! My anesthesiologist came in and blew every expectation out of the water. He was fast but organized, explained every touch before he did it, and got it in with ease. I couldn’t believe how simple he made it for me. They laid me back in bed and began waiting on the medicine to work. My blood pressure tolerated it well and I was grateful for the relief. It took away almost all the pelvic pressure and decreased the back labor pain, though never took it away. I continued to labor with the epidural for quite some time. My nurse and my doula worked together and changed my position every 30 minutes for hours upon hours. I used the peanut ball, the stirrups, and various seated bed positions to get baby to drop. We discovered the dilation and effacement was going great, but her station was not changing. No matter how close we got down south she wasn’t finding her way down.

I’m proud to report that all the changing of positions did work and by 8:00 pm I was able to push! I had my doula and Stephen working together on holding my legs for me and I got to work pushing. Baby started off with a posterior face, which made it extra difficult. About an hour into pushing I told them I needed a break and that I felt like I was going to pass out - and then my body began to shake out of my control, I lost nearly all color, and Stephen informed me that my lips turned purple. My blood sugar bottomed out and I was not doing well. They quickly changed my IV from regular lactated ringers to a kind with dextrose in it to help me, and I ate a sucker. After about 15 minutes of this I recovered and went straight back into pushing. We restarted pushing and eventually got the baby past the pelvic bone. It was a glorious moment… until we discovered my temperature was nearly 102. Everything came to a halt while they gathered me some Tylenol and two kinds of IV antibiotics. The fear was that laboring so long after having the waters manually broken had introduced infection to the uterus. While they took care of me they cleaned up beneath me and we took notice that the amniotic fluid now presented with meconium, so we really wanted baby to get out. With my temperature coming down and the antibiotics started we returned to pushing. I got a few in and the baby began to show signs of distress. As it was explained to me the heart decelerating during a push is to be expected to some extent but what they’re watching for is it to go back up AND have variance - wiggles in the heart monitor instead of it being flat when it went up. Aurora’s heart was presenting flat after every return, nearly no variance at all. We decided to roll me onto my side and try laboring that way to get pressure off my blood vessels. We gave it a few solid pushes and saw no improvement - and things went south when my own heart began to act up too and my pulse was lingering around 130-150.

Dr. Holtz took a temporary pause and came up to talk with me. “You are a rockstar. You’ve put every ounce of your energy into pushing and laboring. You did everything absolutely right and I’ve tried every position I can. But you told me all you cared about was that you and baby are healthy and safe at the end of this. It’s my professional opinion that the way we ensure that is a c-section.” I fully agreed. I was exhausted and in pain. My baby was in distress, and my own body seemed to begin following suit. She called for an emergency c-section and everything happened very fast. Within 20 minutes I was on the table and they were working miracles to get us all safe.

Aurora was born at 11:32 pm and came out screaming - beautiful lungs on that girl. Stephen and I locked eyes and we both began to cry. He stayed with me for a short while before he left to go check on our girl. She got apgar scores of 9, which they said they rarely give out! She returned to the room pretty quickly with her dad while they got me stitched up.

At the end of the day it was 12 hours of active labor, 2.5 hours of pushing, and one c-section.

I feel like I’ve been run over by a steam roller today and I can’t do much. I haven’t been able to feed, change, or lift the baby. I do get to hold her with pillow support and Stephen putting her in my arms. It’s very defeating, but hopefully I’ll make enough progress the next few days or experience some of her first days as an active parent and partner.

That said, I have no regrets about my birth experience. I got to at least try everything I was interested in and experience a lot of parts of birth. Unmedicated contractions, medicated contractions, pushing, and a c! I felt supported and heard every step of the way, and always believed I was fully in charge. I feel horrible physically but so empowered and capable emotionally. It could not have gone better.

#giving birth #birth story

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liarsweapon · 3 years

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besidesthe first one idk if ima color any of these bc these sketches were primarily my looking at multiple references and trying to copy what i was seeing as closely as possible w the exception of like clothing changes and little things like that but these are the base sketches i got done before my mother decided she needed to control a 24 year old again

last one @folkesange my mom interrupted me before i could figure out how to lineart an ether merm tail slksskks

#out.#may increase janies eye sockets #i checked four times bc i felt like the face looked off but no the proportions to nats actual face were right so #idk maybe its bc ive been looking at it for an hour each of these linearts took abt an hour or so #the first one more like two but i wasnt trying to duplicate specific styles as much on that as actually having to brain it so #almost midnight and ive done no coloring #whoops #tomorrow im either gon actuslly clean or do more lineaorks so i have bases to work in later when i dont wanna draw and only wanna color so #hopefully ill at least clean a bit bc jfc my dog made an absolute mess on the floor idek whsy she did #executive dysfunction is bULLSHIT but i cant get riddalin anymore thanks to my sister stealing them from me so what am i gon do lol #ridalin didnt work anyways tjo i just hyperfocused for 10 linutes then passed out #evidently tho it means it djd kinda work bc i did hyperfocus but i still passed out afterwards so #mep i know theres other options i just dont remrmber whay theyre called #kinda wanna ask if j can go back on ambien its not adhd but i mean i slep so #for those noticing the even more spazzy bs of the brina #my cats threw their tree on my head again a few nights ago #it bles a bit #and i had another concussion #and adhd symptoms worsen from concussions #my cats are effectively trying to destroy any function capabilities i have lol #my ribs hurt and idk why #oh i have replies too dont i #may do those tomorrow too idk #no promises but i will t r y #honestly ones w/o icons or w ppl tbag dont mind my not cutting posts will be prioritized just bc going on lappy is a lot rn #iTS MIDGHT NOW AND IM OVERMENYAL INWANNA DRAW MORE MOM WHY #oh yeah i only put the sig over the lineart so ppl cant just take the lineart and claim it as theirs #like my lineart is 90% my staring at pose references and copying what i see down so like #i think anyone can do that #its like tracing without tracing bc youre not like drawing over an image bur sometimes you put the image over and lower opacity to see if

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collecting-stories · 3 years

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Midnight - JJ Maybank

Request: Hello, I would love to read something when reader gets shot and JJ is worried sick about her. Thank you!

A/N: Thank you for this insanely inspiring request...hopefully I did it justice.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The smoke from the bonfire dissipated as it rose, like clouds blending into the darkness of the night. You kept your eyes shut, so tight you could see colors behind your lids as you listened to the sound of Rafe and Barry tearing through the Chateau. If you looked to your right, you knew Sarah would be there, just as scared as you were. On your left side, a branch over, was JJ. He would probably be trying to save face, to look unafraid even though this all felt a little too real for any of you. Just moments earlier, minutes, really, you’d been sitting at the bonfire with JJ, his sweatshirt keeping you warm in the chill of the early autumn night, everyone shouting after Pope and Kiara as they took the HMS out.

Having John B and Sarah back felt surreal. Like you could do anything you wanted to do. And somehow, even scrambling up the big tree in front of the Chateau while John B threw a bucket of water over the fire, you still truly thought that everything would be okay.

You hadn’t even felt it at first, as Barry grabbed Rafe and he fired up into tree, you dropped flush against the limb, bark digging into your body. You saw a bullet hit the tree near JJ and all you could remember thinking was how relieved you were that he hadn’t been hit. You waited until you heard Barry and Rafe leave, speeding away from the Chateau, before you tried to move. And then you felt it, a burning in your shoulder worse than the time you’d broken your arm skateboarding. You tired to push yourself back up but your right arm gave out and you fell into the tree, cursing as you lost your balance and slipped, landing on the grass. 

Flat on your back, staring up at the leaves in the tree obscuring the stars and the blurry vision of JJ jumping out of the tree. Sarah reached you first, falling onto her knees beside you and pushing the old sweatshirt out of the way to try and see where the blood that was coating the fabric was coming from.

“Holy shit!” Sarah shouted, “oh my god…oh my god! John B, she’s bleeding! I think she was shot!”

John B pulled Sarah away from you, covering her mouth with his hand, “be quiet. The last thing we need is for them to turn back around.” Trying to shut her up was in vain, all you could hear was the pounding of JJ’s boots on the ground and John B cursing when he was pushed out of the way as JJ crowded in to see you, “lemme see!” JJ said, dropping to his knees next to you. 

Having him there, so close to you, felt like it reignited something in you and you turned your head to the sound of his voice, obscured stars fading until all you saw in the dark was JJ kneeling over you. “JJ,” you reached your hand across your body to feel your shoulder and he pushed you away, shaking his head. 

“Don’t, I got it…it’s gonna be okay.” He promised, pressing his hand into the blood-soaked sweatshirt. “John B man, we gotta get her to a hospital.”

“What is it?” You asked, words slurring, they felt heavy on your tongue...like you’d forgotten them. “What happened?”

“No, it’s okay,” JJ repeated. He wiped one of his hands on the front of his shirt before reaching your free hand and squeezing it, “it’s okay, we’re gonna get help.”

“We need to get outta here, if they heard us they might circle back.” John B urged, his train of thought still on Rafe and Barry. He tried to grab Sarah’s arm as she scrambled for the front door of the Chateau, “Sarah!”

“I’m getting the keys to her car, John B! JJ’s right, we need to take her to the hospital!” She called, tearing through the picked over living room. Rafe and Barry had done a number on the inside of the small house but she managed to spot your keys, the Kildare County High School lanyard sticking out amongst couch cushions. 

While she dug through the house, JJ stayed by your side, hand pressed over your shoulder, trying to apply pressure to the wound and stop the bleeding, staining red. John B opened up the back door of your jeep, pushing your backpack off the seat and grabbing a towel from the trunk to throw down. “JJ,” he turned back to his friend to find JJ practically shaking as he sat there, over you, “JJ, we need to get her in the back seat.” 

JJ nodded his head vigorously as he tried to stand up, stumbling back the first time and catching himself on the ground, bloodied hands sticking to grass and dirt. His whole body was shaking and you were lying there, half-conscious but too out of it to respond to anything, eyes flickering shut as JJ and John B lifted you. The movement jostled you and you screamed at the shock of it.

“Shit! Careful John B!” JJ cursed, unable to do much else for you.

“I’m doing the best I can!” John B snapped.

Everything felt like it was moving in autopilot for JJ, all his focus was on you and he was completely positive that if he stopped for even a second, he would collapse. Since his feet hit the ground beneath the tree every thought in his mind had been you.

They were careful of your shoulder as they loaded you in, JJ climbing into the backseat of your jeep and guiding you to lay over his lap. You groaned again as he grabbed your arm, keeping you on your back when you tried to roll over. He leaned down, kissing your forehead and promising, quietly, that everything was going to be okay.

“I got the keys!” Sarah shouted, holding them up as she ran to the car. “I got the keys!” 

The drive to the hospital felt like a blur. You weren’t even entirely sure that Sarah stopped at any of the stop signs that you knew you were on the road. JJ kept his hand on your shoulder the entire time, though somewhere along the way you stopped feeling it.

You couldn’t remember it, and when you were finally lucid enough to remember anything at all no one mentioned it, but the minute you were pushed behind the doors, away from the waiting room, JJ lost it. He’d spent the whole ride shaking like a leaf and as they wheeled you away it was everything John B could do to keep his best friend in the waiting room. He had his arms around JJ’s shoulders and he almost lifted him off the ground trying to keep him away.

“JJ! She’s gonna be okay.” Sarah said, grabbing at his arm as he pulled out of John B’s hold. As he broke away, JJ punched the wall by the door, shouting ‘fuck’ at the top of his lungs and alerting the desk nurse to the three of them. No one told you, later on, that JJ had punched the wall though you noticed his bandaged hand, and no one told you that two security guards had to escort him outside until he could cool down.

John B stayed in the waiting room while Sarah followed JJ outside. The security guards left him at a bench and Sarah knelt down in front of him, putting a hand on his knee to try and calm him down, or ground him as much as possible. “Hey, the doctors are doing everything they can JJ and it’s going to be okay. They said that the bullet didn’t hit anything major.”

“I can’t...” he breathed out, covering his face with his hands, “I don’t...what do I do if she isn’t?”

“She will be, Jay.” Sarah replied, “I think though...I think we should call Shoupe and tell him what happened.”

“Fucking Rafe man...it doesn’t even matter. Shoupe didn’t do shit about Gavin and he’s not doing anything about Peterkin...he’s not gonna give a fuck about this either.”

“You don’t know that.”

By the time you did wake up, Kiara and Pope had come back from the HMS, huddled in the corner of the waiting room with John B and Sarah, whispering with each other about what had happened and checking every few seconds that JJ, who was pacing back and forth, wearing out a rug near the nurses’ station. He was the first one back to see you when the nurse finally came out to tell them that you were awake. JJ was shaking worse than he had in the car. Kiara had found a clean shirt of his in the back of her SUV, the old one tossed in a trash can in the men’s bathroom when Pope suggested changing so he didn’t totally freak you out.

And you, JJ felt like his heart was pounding up into his throat when he walked into the hospital room and saw you laying there in bed, hooked up to IVs and only half lucid because of the morphine that they were giving you. But you gave him that sleepy smile you did in the mornings when you slept over at John B’s with him and the shaking in his hands started to subside as he dragged a chair over and sat down next to you.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice hoarse from being intubated during surgery.

All the promises that he’d whispered in the car, that Sarah had supplied him with as they sat up and waited all night, they were true. You were awake and you’d be okay and he was gonna nail Rafe to the wall for this...but maybe for now he’d just sit with you and remember how to breath.

“Hey.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x you #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fic #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #obx fic #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #collecting stories imagine

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mmeowmmeowonao3 · 2 years

Text

Cowboy and the Dough puncher

teenage cowboy agent whiskey x cook m!reader

3 fic ive ever made, english 3rd language,hotel trivago

disclaimer. i am not a cowboy

also catch the mib ref

You take a summer job as a helper at a chuckwagon, theres a cowboy with a dark hat you meet on the first night.

Will friendship bloom or will he stay as stiff and closed off as he is?

Night one

Chapter one

June 1992 Seymour, Texas

The bus ride was bumpy, inside it was stuffy and hot but you had never been happier to be in these conditions, because it meant that you would be able to get away from the city and actually see the stars, which had been a wish of yours ever since you could remember.

You packed away your things all while the bus was pulling to the side of a quiet intersection.

The bus stop sign coming into the view of your window was dirty and defaced, there was a red truck splattered with mud parked next to it, two men leaned on its hood, one an older man with a clean, cream colored Stetson and the other a much younger one with a dark dirt stained hat.

You got up and walked through the cramped space between the empty seats, down to the front, thanked the bus driver and exited the dingy bus, welcoming the fresh evening summer air with a deep breath.

It felt good to stretch your legs, your sneakers felt foreign when the blood started rushing to your feet, you stepped towards the two men, thinking about what exactly you'd say to make a good impression.

But the younger man cut you to the chase “you're the help? “He sounded disappointed, but you didn’t want to pick a fight on you first hour of your summer job so you held your tounge and replied, “yes”

He didn’t look too bad, brown short curls, traces of a faint mustache, dirty blue jeans that went over his cowboy boots and a red and blue striped pearl snap shirt.

The older man spoke “now don’t be rude to the boy, he might just spit in your chow” he shook his head. “fine” the one with the black hat answered “names jack, this is Harold, done, now let's hit the road, I haven't caught a wink of sleep all of last night” he said the last part while opening the passenger side door of the truck." don't mind him ducky, Hes a bit down in the mouth because he expected a woman to step outta the bus" Harold added as he turned to walk to the driver's side.

“well, that’s just charming isn't it" you spoke to yourself.

The drive back was quiet and awkward, at least the ac was on. That’s the only good thing you could say about it. These next four months were going to be as boring as watching paint dry.

When you finally did arrive at the ranch, it was almost midnight and the stars were in view, not satellites or darkness, actual stars. You gawked at them, looking up not paying attention to anything other than them, you bumped into jack “oh, I'm sorry” he looked at you funny and walked away not offering you another word.

Harold spoke up “don't mind him ace, he'll lighten up”

“yea” you started “so I wanted to ask- when am I meant to get up? And how exactly will this work? I didn’t really catch all the details when I was on the phone" you continued on.

“You worry too much tex- you get up at four to help me prep the chow an ingredients for the next day, then we get going at four again the next mornin” harold stated as he walked towards the farm house.

You didn’t move a muscle- four in the morning? you second guessed what you heard, maybe a summer job helping cook at a chuckwagon wasn’t such a good idea, I mean working as a sous chef you had to get up early but- never this damn early-

”You thinking about spending the night out here slick?” the much older man interrupted your thoughts.

“huh?” you felt completely disoriented” Oh no I was just-” you began but harold interrupted you

“don't like the hours kid?” you hesitated to answer but opened your mouth to speak, but the man spoke up again “c'mon I don’t wanna stay out here all night” you gave up trying to form words and walked beside him.

The accommodation wasn’t too bad, a carpeted room with a single window on the second floor, with a twin sized bed and a closet, nothing fancy, not that you would have expected it.

Instead of using your time for much needed sleep you instead took the chance to go out to the porch and watch the sky above you. It was a sight you'd never seen before, pitch black sky sprinkled with white dots everywhere, it made you sad to think theyd fade as the sun rose.

You noticed jack trudging towards you, he was probably coming from the barn.

He stopped next to you.

“they're beautiful aren't they” you stated somberly.

“what?" jack questioned.

“The stars” you had replied.

He looked up “yes, I guess they are” his eyes approaching yours “why? Never looked up before?” he teased.

Everything quieted down for a moment, the crickets and mosquitos being the only thing heard at this moment.

You decided to speak up “there's not a lot of reasons to look up in the city, you're always looking infront of you and being careful to not bump into someone”

He didn’t seem to understand you “well you still need to watch your surroundings round here” you were disappointed “can't go round bumping into people” he added.

You decided it would be better to talk about something he would understand “how long you been doing this?”

“a while, I heard you were a gourmet chef?” he was curious.

“no, I'm afraid you're down on your luck if that’s what you were hoping for, I am a good cook though- a sous chef" your reply puzzled him.

“sous chef? I aint never heard of that”

“it's like, head chef- sous chef- you know second in command?”

“ohh” he finally understood something you said, you felt like you were talking in a foreign language, well more like they were, you didn’t understand most of their accent.

You couldn’t think much to talk about “i like your hat” you told him.

“thank you-uh- I don’t think I caught your name” he lifted the brim of his hat.

“yea its-”

“Jack!” a man called- probably in this early twenties, “you gonna help out?!” he shouted while hauling up an old tire.

“ill talk to you later” he stated while running off toward the other man.

Disappointed and defeated you got up from your chair, you knew you'd see the stars again, and it was time to sleep either way.

__________________________________________________________________________

i will make entries that base on each week you spend with him/skip some boring ones.

@cainbutnotabel

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #teenage agent whiskey #x male reader #x reader #cowboy #chuckwagon #most deff angst i have some good things planned for this fic

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Will You? (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: Meeting Rami in the back alley behind an awards show.

Notes: ugh ive been having writers block for the first time in like two years so ive only been writing short stuff. i have a couple fics backpiled for various rami characters so thats coming up! gender neutral as usual WC: 1.5k

Ugh.

How quickly it all became too much. You wondered, clutching your aching head, why you even came here; large parties were never your scene, public events even less so. A world-wide broadcasted movie awards event was nothing near anything you'd done before. Earlier in the day, as you were dressing and readying yourself for the evening, you stared into the mirror and wondered then, as well, what you were doing.

Maybe––probably––it had to do with the fact that one of your favorite actors' presence was assured, and you rarely ever visited New York, making this the first time you'd been in the right place at the right time to have the opportunity to do this. You steeled yourself then and you steeled yourself now, digging into your clutch bag to pull out a carton of cigarettes.

You fumbled with the cigarette as you reached back in, searching for your lighter. A frustrated grumble grew in your mouth and came out as a curse. With a harsh sigh you yanked your hand out, throwing it up into the air, and sitting with a thud on a wooden box laying by the side of a large trash bin. You rubbed your face harshly, attempting to wipe away the irritation. To no avail––you had no lighter, and your nerves were itching, teeming with aggravation that crawled like bugs beneath your skin. You needed this and the world didn't like you.

The door you'd left the building from opened once more, swinging shut with a loud clanking sound that seemed to echo in the vacant alleyway. Drops of water fell into the puddles at your feet, still present from the earlier rain, and now filled with bits of trash. The very same water almost splashed onto you as a car passed by, its' wheels revving and spinning away through a massive puddle. It must've been midnight, but assholes were still awake as well, and the city lights showed no sign of stopping.

This was why you only visited New York City.

"Here," someone with a deep, rough voice spoke, and you looked up to find a vein-filled hand balancing a blue lighter between the second and third fingers.

There weren't any active lights in the alleyway, but the puddles reflected the street lights that stood a few meters away. That was enough to recognize him when you glanced to his face.

Rami fucking Malek.

He turned almost the second you looked up at him, meaning he didn't catch the sudden, stumbling recognition that flooded your expression. Thankfully, you had the time to calm yourself before he sat down across from you on a dirty (and probably wet) stool.

"Thank you," you said, lighting your cigarette and breathing in the sweet smoke before you said anything else. "You're a lifesaver."

"No, I just have a smoking problem," he said.

You both laughed, softly, and looked away.

You took another drag.

"You're Rami Malek, aren't you?" You said through the smoke that escaped you. It was rough on your throat, but you didn't especially care anymore. Somehow, you remembered a flask of water––just not the lighter.

"Yeah," he said with another soft, bashful, chuckle.

"I like your work. Or, your style," you mumbled as you tapped the ashy end away. He might've been a star of your dreams, and mere images of him might've taken your breath away, but you would treat him like a regular person. "It's.. unique, but familiar."

"Thank you," he said, nodding, a charming grin on his face. "May I ask your name?"

"(Y/N)." You shifted in your seat as you looked down. An ounce of humor came to you once you said, "you won't recognize the name."

"No, but I'm happy to recognize it in the future," he said, tilting his head in your direction.

You broke out in a laugh and a wide, blushing grin, shaking your head. God, he looked good in a suit––all black. Silver in his lapel. His neck revealed colored veins that led up to a jawline that would surely cut you. Why was he talking to you? Why was he being nice?

"You're a charmer," you finally said through your giggling, continuing with, "do you want some?" before he could say anything.

You handed the cigarette to him and he took it, pursing his lips and letting go with a puff of smoke. Even in the hot, humid air, those clouds coalesced and drifted away just as usual.

"You're not an actor," he stated, his eyes fixed on the cigarette as he tapped the ashes away. "Not here for that, so why are you here? Just out of curiosity."

"That's... a very good question," you said with an exasperated laugh. "I'm a teacher, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Teacher?" He repeated. "My brother's one of those. What d'you teach?"

He handed the cigarette back to you.

"Third graders," you grumbled. He sucked in a sharp breath in a wince. "I usually do first graders, but not this year."

"That's rough, I've heard those are demonic years," he said, earning a laugh from you.

"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it," you said as you doted on the cigarette. "I guess this is just the first time I've visited New York when an awards show is happening."

"How do you like the big screen life so far?"

"Not very much, but I never thought I would," you said quietly, but he still chuckled. "I... I did think about being an actor, when I was a kid. I think a lot of kids do these days, though. Actors are.. like the new Gods. You know, in ancient times people would worship idols, and that's what people call you now..." you met his gaze and couldn't tear yourself from it, "... idols. Images of something to strive for."

He nodded, his brow creased in deep thought.

"After a while the world shows you what celebrity life is really like, and you read all sorts of things, see how people change... eventually you don't really want it anymore," you said, shrugging. "Or you decide you want it, or want part of it despite the other stuff."

He nodded again but had little to say despite being a celebrity himself.

"Which was it for you?"

"Hm?"

A spell broke over his eyes and he appeared to return to normal, having not heard or comprehended your words.

"Did you become an actor because you wanted all of it, with the bad parts, or you wanted a specific part and still became an actor despite all the other things?"

"... complex question," he said after a moment, rocking his balance back and forth awkwardly as you laughed. "I wanted to become other people, transform myself into characters. I was attracted to the job. Not the other things attached to it."

"Well I'm glad you became an actor anyway," you said, relighting the cigarette with a quick drag. "That way I could meet you."

"And I could meet you, as well," he said in that same, deep voice he used when he first spoke to you.

You could do nothing but chuckle and cast your eyes down, shaking your head.

"Yeah, I guess you could," you mumbled.

He reached forward, snagging the cigarette from between your fingers. That made you look up, drawing your attention back to the subtle lines marking his face, and the glow of fire that revealed cool, green eyes behind thick lashes.

A loud wave of cheering came from inside the building, and the both of you looked back at the steel door. Still unopened.

"I should probably get inside, the cameras might notice my seat's empty," he said in a similar mumble.

The cigarette, now nothing more than a filter, dropped from his lips and fell to the ground, squashed beneath his shiny, black shoe.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Have to be," you said as you stood. "Not wasting a fifty dollar ticket on my damn social anxiety."

He chuckled and said, "I'd invite you to sit with me, but there aren't any free spots. How about..." He'd been opening the door, but he paused, causing you to misstep and halt yourself only when your chest was an inch from his. Your eyes darted up to his. "Come see me after the show. I have a '97 bottle of Montalcino at home that I think you'd enjoy."

You nearly choked on your own spit, but fortunately for you, it only came out as a cough and a clearing of the throat. 'What', almost escaped your mouth in the most astounded tone before you bit it back.

Was he propositioning you? Was this a friendly invitation? Why was, again, Rami fucking Malek asking to spend anymore time with you than he had to?

You realized a silence had spanned between you when his eyes flickered down to your lips, at which point shock fully brought you back into your body.

"Will you?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I'd like that."

#rami malek x reader #rami malek

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

A little follow-up to the 3x06 malex sneak peek.

Michael’s fingers should’ve gone numb from the cold hours ago, but he supposed that being an alien protected him from the elements, even as he stood alongside a radio tower, working on wires and satellite transmissions that would’ve been a lot easier with the help of a trained Air Force cyber-intelligence specialist for the better part of five hours.

Michael’s jaw was clenched for more than the chill, his fingers cutting and typing and scribbling across a paper for more than the desire to be done as quickly as possible. Caught up here in the silence, nothing but the sound of howling wind and dead grass swaying to keep him company, Michael couldn’t stop replaying Alex’s words in his head.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

After everything that had happened, everything Alex had told him, threatening to destroy the world if a hair on his head was hurt, Alex didn’t want him around now. Alex didn’t want him near him. Michael was supposed to be focused on finding Kyle, on waiting for the lab reports from Liz about the blood on that shovel and who it belonged to, but he was pretty sure he was losing his mind instead.

When Alex had driven up, Michael had been unable to help but smile, even at how pale Alex had been. Because at least Alex was here. He always came when Michael called, and Michael was just starting to allow himself to be giddy about it. Then all hell had broken loose, and Alex had seemed indifferent to his best friend missing.

Even Michael, who had never wanted Alex to forgive Kyle for their high school days, had felt betrayed. Betrayed even worse when Alex had refused him. Michael had asked specially, had kept Alex from leaving, and Alex had still gone. He couldn’t help but agonize over it.

When Michael’s phone rang with Liz’s name, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. He picked up, and held the phone to his ear, his eyes closed.

“Ortecho,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “you got a name for me?”

“Michael,” she said, and Michael’s eyes opened at the barely-contained distress in her voice. “Did Alex show up? Please tell me he’s there with you.”

Michael frowned. “No,” he swallowed, “no, he left. Why, what’s going on?”

“The shovel’s gone,” Liz said, frantic now.

Michael straightened. “What?”

“So’s the blood sample! Michael, that was the strongest lead we had! What’re we going to do now?” He heard her mutter something in Spanish, too quickly and quietly to be coherent. “Do you have any idea where Alex is?”

“Not a clue,” Michael confessed, raking an angry hand through his curls. “Was the house broken into? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine!” she said impatiently. “No one broke in, whoever did this knew what they were doing!” She huffed shakily. “We have to find Kyle, we have to. Who could’ve taken it? Who else knew?”

“No one,” Michael pressed a fist to his forehead, thinking. “No one, just Max, you, me, and . . . and . . .”

“Where’s the shovel now?”

“Liz took it.”

Michael froze. His hand with the phone fell limp to his side and an incredulous, humorless laugh escaped his lips. There’s no way, he thought numbly. No way . . .

He muttered, “Son of a bitch.”

Alex had barely stepped out of his car at a time far past midnight when Michael was there, shutting the door with his mind. Alex whipped around, startled, to find the cowboy there, glaring.

His lips were already curled around the question, about to ask what was going on, what had gotten into Michael, but Michael wasn’t about to humor his act. Not when it felt like his heart was breaking.

“Where’s the shovel, Alex?” he demanded. “What’d you do with the blood sample?”

Alex’s brows furrowed for a second before realization dawned, and his shoulders slumped. “It’s gone,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Then panic hit, “Is Liz okay?”

“You know damn well she’s not,” he growled, stepping into Alex’s space. For a horrifying second, Michael thought he might blast Alex back into the door of his house and demand answers. It had nothing to do with the shovel itself, but with the very idea that Alex – his Alex – had gone behind his back and hurt him like this. He’d never felt so betrayed, every part of him shattering.

“She’s scared out of her mind,” he said. “She wants to find Kyle, you know she does, and you took our only lead, so while I’m asking nicely –”

“While you’re asking nicely?”

“—where is the damn shovel?”

Alex searched Michael’s face, confused. Then he scoffed, the sound colored in disbelief. His next words were almost in a whisper. “You really think I took it.”

Doubt crept in, but Michael let his anger push it aside. “Don’t play stupid.”

Alex shrugged. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

“Where is it?”

Alex shook his head. He looked resigned. “I don’t know.” He turned to leave, but Michael grabbed his arm and turned him back around.

“Tell me, Alex,” he said, “before this gets worse.”

“Can it?” Alex asked, and Michael faltered when he saw Alex’s eyes were glassy. “Get worse?”

Michael squeezed Alex’s arm once, not knowing for a moment what to say, then he let go. “You’re the only other person who knew about the blood sample.”

He hummed. “Oh, and – uh – the kidnapper. Pretty big lead there, but I’m glad you came to me first.”

Michael’s face fell, and he shook his head. Without thinking, he blurted, “You’re – you’re lying.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

Alex looked like Michael had stabbed him in the heart. He looked away, swallowed, then turned back to Michael. “Even if I had taken it,” he said, “you really don’t trust me? You don’t trust it’d be for a good reason?” He huffed a miserable chuckle. Michael saw his hands curled to fists before he put them in his jacket pockets. “It’ll never be enough, will it? No matter what I do, no matter how much I love you, I’ll always be Jesse Manes’ son in your eyes.”

Michael opened his mouth. He clung to the anger, but found it was no longer there, replaced with shame and guilt. Even if Alex had taken it, even if he’d wiped it clean, even if he’d refused to help him find Kyle . . . wasn’t it all for something? Wasn’t everything Alex did for something?

He pushed the thought away. “I-It’s different.”

“Yeah, it is,” Alex said and sniffled, moving backwards. “The difference is that I actually believed in you.”

And without another word, Alex turned and went into his house, shutting the door and keeping Michael out.

Michael had no idea what he was doing here. He told himself it was to check that Maria was okay, since Isobel had told him that she’d woken up, but when he saw her sitting up against her hospital bed pillows, he found there was no hint of surprise. He’d known she was going to be okay.

He sat down with a smile regardless. “Well, don’t you look good as new.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, and tilted her head over Michael’s shoulder at the door. She reached for the IV strip in the back of her hand. “Quick, before Is gets back, get me out of here.”

Michael only scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? We won’t even make it to the elevator.”

“What,” she said dryly, “are you scared of your own sister?”

“Completely.”

“Oh, come on, Guerin!” she whined, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed. “Can’t you just –” she put her hand on his arm and flinched back.

“Ow!” she hissed, waving her hand as if she’d been burned. “Oh, jeez, what’s with the aura?”

Michael’s smirk tightened. “I’m gonna tell you what I told Isobel. Stop reading my feelings.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she said, “but they’re like” – she gestured wildly around Guerin – “everywhere. What’s happened with Alex?”

He faltered. “How’d you know it was about Alex?”

“Please,” she sighed. “You only ever get this loud around Alex. What’d you do?”

Michael gaped. “I didn’t do anything! I . . .” he huffed, and stood, pacing the length of the hospital room for a moment.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Today, Guerin, before the nurse comes in with more morphine and I have to fight her off again.”

“That bloody shovel Max found where Kyle was taken? It’s gone. Someone took it.” He hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “The only people that knew were us . . . and Alex.”

“Wow,” she had a hand on her chest. “Okay? And?”

When Michael didn’t answer, her eyes widened.

“You didn’t.” She leaned forward. “Guerin, you didn’t.”

“He asked where it was,” Michael defended. “And he wouldn’t help me find Kyle –”

She huffed an incredulous laugh. “Oh my God. You were so upset that he wouldn’t hang out with you that you accused him of stealing key evidence?”

“I –”

“And what if he did?” she demanded. “So he took it, so what? He must have a dangerous idea who’s behind all of this, and didn’t want anyone else to get involved! I don’t know, but it’s important! I know it is, you know it is! You know what he would do for Kyle! What he would do for any of us!”

A thought seemed to occur to her and her eyes widened. “Oh, poor Alex. Poor Alex, oh my God, this must be killing him!” She tried to step out of bed and swayed. Michael was at her side in an instant, but she was pushing him away. “How could you?!” she demanded. “After everything he’s done for you, how could you think he doesn’t care?!”

“Okay,” Michael tried, seating her back down. “I’m sorry, please, just –”

“You hurt him!” Michael fell silent. “You hurt Alex!” She shook her head. “We’ve already hurt him. You were supposed to be the one that protected him.”

Michael clenched his jaw and his eyes burned. He thought of Alex’s face, his resignation when Michael had accused him of not caring. He hadn’t been surprised at all. Even after the years of defending Michael, he hadn’t been surprised that Michael hadn’t defended him.

I just don’t want you anywhere near whatever it is I decide to do.

Now he heard the words for what they were. Now he heard the truth.

“Well,” he said quietly, “I didn’t.”

Alex opened his front door at almost four in the morning to a miserable Michael slumped against his doorway.

“This is why you didn’t want me anywhere near whatever you decided to do, isn’t it?”

Alex leaned against his door and sighed. The corner of his lips tugged up for a split second. “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They sat there in silence for a while under the warm yellow light of the lamps, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Michael studied Alex, the way his shirt ran tight over his muscles, his flat stomach, his toned chest, his strong arms and pursed lips and long fingers. Then he noticed the smaller things; the dark circles around Alex’s eyes, the scratches on his fingers and faint bruises on his jaw, the hollow of his cheeks. He was tired. Exhausted. Michael had been so happy to see Alex back, to have him close, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I hated that you didn’t want to work with me,” he said, and Alex looked up, meeting his gaze. “I hated that I had to convince you. I guess I always knew that you would do anything I wanted, and . . . I wanted . . . I want to do this with you. Because I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael exhaled shakily. “I trust you, Alex. You’re the only one in the world that I trust. Whatever you decide, I know it’s for a good reason. I just hate – I hate . . . I hate not being part of it. I hate that you’re doing it alone.”

Slowly, Alex leaned back against the couch, his finger tapping the mug in his hands.

“I left the Air Force.”

Michael almost dropped his cup. “W-What?”

“Full honors,” he said, smiling for the briefest second before something weary took its place. “What I’m doing now . . . I think I know how to find Kyle.”

Michael clenched his jaw. “You knew that he was missing.”

“Hours before you called. Even got his . . . what’d you call it? Suicide bat signal?”

“And the tower? You knew about that, too?”

Alex pursed his lips and nodded. “Let’s just say I’m not working with people that like to share information.”

Michael realized he’d known that. He’d always known, if he was being honest with himself. He’d known Alex had had his own lead, that something was different about him this time. It wasn’t like when he’d come back from war. Back then, it was like Alex had lost something and didn’t know what to do. Now he’d found it and had a plan to get it back.

“That’s why you didn’t want me working around it.”

Alex smiled sadly. “Would you believe that it’s for you? That everything I have and am is for you?”

Michael swallowed thickly. He didn’t need to say the words. Alex knew he believed it. “And you? When do you get a turn?”

Alex shrugged a tired shoulder and whispered, “I don’t know how to be good for everyone without you.”

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. His eyes burned and he wanted more than anything to take Alex in his arms and kiss his forehead and help him sleep. But they had work to do.

Alex sniffled and sat up, stretching an arm over his head. “You should go,” he said, his eyes on a hallway engulfed in shadows. “Keep looking for Kyle on your end.”

As he said the words, Michael heard the silent message beneath; And I’ll find him on mine.

Michael nodded him to himself, then stood. He stared at Alex, clenching his fists, and said, “You better enjoy these last moments going solo, Private. Because after we get Valenti back, whatever it takes” – he came in close until his lips brushed the shell of Alex’s ear – “I’m not letting anything come between us again.”

Without another word, Michael walked out, and as he left, he could’ve sworn he heard Alex’s resolute, “Neither am I.”

For the record, I think the fandom is being ridiculously dramatic, that teaser was wonderful and filled with delicious tension, so please don’t rant to me about it because I absolutely LOVED it and this little fic was just for fun.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

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sweetlavenderwritings · 4 years

Text

six thirty- [shinsou hitoshi x reader]

Summary: shinsou counts the hours ‘til you finally meet him for the night.

A/N: this took me way longer than i thought HAHA (*cries) a small sentence that tunred into a full fic LMFAO- this is a gift fic for @amoroushero !! 💜💜 its a little something to congratulate you for 3k followers (and for being a rlly sweet mutual) aaaaaaa ive never done this before so i hope you like it🥺👉👈

side note: reader’s eye color is @amoroushero‘s since this was specifically made for her but besides that everything else is general!

Pairing/s: shinsou hitoshi x reader

Word Count: 1076

Tags: FLUFF, mutual pining, love, romance, yada yada all that sappy shit

-ꦼ———▸ crossposted on ao3

⋅. ♪ .⋅ inspired from this song

Loving Hitoshi Playlist

Shinsou stays up late for a multitude of reasons.

The very reason for that is that it’s quiet. As soon as the sun sets, class 3-A retires to their dorm rooms for the night. They empty the halls bit by bit, taking away portions of the mindless chatter that fill the halls for most of the day.

He listens to Yaoyorozu scold Denki for trying to stay up late, pushing him towards the stairs to get him to his room. He winces at Bakugou’s deafening barks directed at none other than Deku, who meekly waves away his insults as a desperate attempt to get him to calm down. Of course, it never works.

It’s not until Kirishima distracts the blonde by throwing an arm around his shoulders to steer him away from his childhood friend that the living room is a whole lot quieter.

He waits until everyone finally closes their doors for the night, letting out a huge sigh of relief at the sudden peace he’s been agonizingly waiting for the whole day.

He revels in the silence that drowns him in its wake. It’s a small reprieve he likes to indulge in from the stress of training and heavy burdens of what it means to be a hero. Because for a short while, he gets to not think about the responsibilities he’ll have to bear in the future. An escape he finds himself looking for when the world is suddenly just too much.

There are no lights on except for the flashes of colors from the television illuminating his figure. His fingers are cold from the running air conditioner but he’s not bothered in the slightest. Too lazy to fetch a blanket from his room, he stuffs his hands in his hoodie and tucks his head deeper in his jacket.

The clock ticks as the long hand reach six. He glances at the hall, anticipating the arrival of a certain someone.

He waits.

By chance, he hears the tell-tale sound of your fuzzy slippers treading towards him. He whips his head back to the screen, pretending he wasn’t eagerly looking for you in the first place.

You appear just in time, a daily occurrence he’s yet to ask why of all people, but he doesn’t. Not yet, that is.

“Hey Shinsou,” you greet him with a sleepy smile, rubbing the drowsiness out of your right eye. “How was training?”

His eyes drift down to your figure, eyeing the black sweater embroidered with cats partnered with your sleeping shorts. Cute. They’re really short, he notices. It’s the same pair you wear every night, short enough to expose the top of your thighs.

It takes a lot for him to break away from the sight of them and look at you in the eye. “’s alright, I suppose.” Stop staring at her thighs damn it, don’t be a fucking pervert-

You giggle, brushing strands of your hair away from your face as you walk towards the kitchen. “I can imagine there’s not much to talk about. It’s sir Aizawa we’re talking about after all.”

He hums in response, ears perking at the sound of cups clacking and running water. It’s a routine of yours, another thing he doesn’t ask about even if it’s as mind-boggling as his sleeping schedule.

It’s the same every (weekend) night. You wake up at the beginning of the night, make two cups of hot cocoa, then share them with him. He never asked for a cup, but you always set one aside just for him. It seemed rude to refuse, so he always muttered a soft thanks and took a sip.

One thing he appreciates about you is that you respected his silent need for silence. You don’t push him with small talks or any unwanted conversations. Instead, you let him bask in his selfish gratification and focus your gaze at the wide windows showcasing the midnight sky and stars.

For once in his life, he wants to break the silence. To break his own rule he’s followed diligently for so long. But he looks at you instead, noticing small details he thinks nobody else bothers to pay attention to but should.

Like how your fingers grasp your hot mug softly, thumb mindlessly brushing the handle over and over, a habit that is so undeniably useless but finds himself thinking about. He also sees the way your eyes remain still, even in the void of dark nothingness that wouldn’t rouse any sort of interest from anyone, he included. It’s not like the stars twinkle brightly from where you are.

Maybe she’s daydreaming? He muses. There’s a soft smile gracing your pretty face, an expression of utter content and tranquility present as you lean your head on the window.

It’s then he realizes it’s the same face he’s had with you for a while now.

“You’re staring.” Your voice cuts off his reverie, a hint of amusement from your words.

He scoffs in mock disagreement. “I wasn’t.”

“Sure you weren’t.” Oh, he didn’t think a haughty smirk would ever appear on your lovely face but here you are. Surprisingly, it suits you. And your eyes, he’s seen them before yes, but wow, they look magnificent under the moonlight. They glint with something he can’t put his finger on (or rather, doesn’t want to admit in fear of being presumptuous) but he can’t help but want to stare at them forever.

(He decides that green is his favorite color.)

He huffs, not knowing what to say. He tries hard not to smile, feeling the familiar tugging of the corners of his lips. Satisfied with his reaction, you turn back to the windows with a barely concealed laugh.

As the clock nears striking twelve, he feels a sudden pang of want. A want for more, a selfish desire to get to know more about you. A wants to feel a whole new spectrum of emotions he’s tried to keep at bay for most of his life. A want to crave for something else besides the false security he hides in tightly shut lips and calm personas he presents to the rest.

And surprisingly, he wants to experience them all with you.

So he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to take a step beyond his boundary. “y/n.” You turn to him almost immediately, lips pressed into a gentle smile he’s come to adore.

“Yes, Shinsou?”

“Are you free this saturday?”

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x you #shinsou x y/n #shinsou hitoshi fluff #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou #bnha shinsou #mha shinsou #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha #mha #bnha x you #bnha x reader #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x y/n

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whats-rambled-rambled · 4 years

Text

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now?

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry.

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives.

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now.

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner.

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one.

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him.

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.”

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head.

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence.

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier.

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead.

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible.

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.”

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress.

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently.

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission.

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response.

Partially, to hide an amused smile.

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him.

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night.

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair.

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom.

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way.

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes.

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback.

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters.

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly.

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh?

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation.

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe.

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything.

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window.

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn.

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair.

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled.

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout.

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?”

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom.

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat.

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.”

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious.

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s.

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly.

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile.

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage.

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms.

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way.

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded.

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down.

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head.

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly.

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you.

Neil lowered his gun.

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?”

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed.

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face.

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

#neil tenet x reader #neil tenet #neil tenet fanfiction #tenet #robert pattinson #tenet fanfiction #the protagonist tenet #ives tenet #wheeler tenet #neil tenet imagine #neil x reader #smoke & mirrors #tags hate me

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earthfluuke · 4 years

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summary: individual ohmfong moments i couldn’t get out of my head.

everyone has been writing yearning fics (and i adore them so much), but i wanted to get some fluff out there. i hope you enjoy!

it’s second nature for ohm to slide into any open seat at their group’s table. full plate in hand, he’s just about to dig in when he catches phuak’s questioning eye, and his fork freezes a breath from his food. the silent questioning raise of his eyebrow has phuak shaking his head and motioning a hand to the opposite side of the table.

“sit next to your boyfriend, dumb ass,” he says, followed by the mumble of, “no wonder none of your girlfriends stayed with you.”

eyes widening, he turns to fong who can only send him a forgiving smile. scrambling to move his things, he falls onto the bench beside him with a sigh. head hung, shoulder slumped, he works out quickly, “i’m sorry. it completely slipped my mind, and i–”

“it’s okay,” fong assures, understanding as ever. “it’s…different. but we’ll get there.” he slides a plastic cup across the table to him and knocks their shoulders together. “now stop sulking, and drink that.”

ohm rises a bit, reinflates. he’s only ever remembered fong coming to the table with a signature blue hawaii in hand. there is none in sight, only this. taking a sip, he can’t help but feel it tastes a bit sweeter than any other time he’s had it.

they’re not there yet; but they’re on their way.

ii.

“oh!” he hears ohm exclaim as they’re walking out of their classroom towards the football field. just as he turns to ask what’s wrong, he feels a hand grab onto his.

eyes shooting down to the space between them, fong takes notice of how ohm’s fingers fit between his and curl over more than half of his knuckles. he soaks in the warmth ohm’s palm presses into his own and the feel of his thumb stroking up to his nail and back down again. he’s never held someone’s hand before, save for his parents a long, much younger time ago, so he doesn’t have much to compare to. even so, he doesn’t think any other hand would feel as nice. this is the hand he wants to hold forever.

allowing his fingers to close and rest between the ridges of ohm’s knuckles, he tightens his hold when ohm gives their arms an experimental swing.

“we’re boyfriends now,” he explains. “that means we get to hold hands.”

it’s so innocent, so simple, but knowing that doesn’t help in slowing fong’s heart.

iii.

fong knows he has a very handsome boyfriend. it’s difficult to ignore when they’re meant to be studying in the library. ohm has a hand in his hair, head rested against his palm as a finger taps in concentration. his lips move with each word he reads, tongue sticking between his teeth when he gets to an exceptionally difficult section.

it’s too much sometimes, to just sit there and stare. actions have never been his strong suit; observations are more his style, but it’s not enough. leaning past the edge of his chair, he smooths a hand under ohm’s chin and up the cheek farthest from him. he pulls him the small distance he needs to in order to press a gentle kiss to the cheek facing him.

he hides the laugh that’s building in his throat when he moves back to find ohm wide eyed and stunned. the hand in his hair has slid down to where fong’s lips just grazed, and fong has to turn away from him to hide his pink cheeks and silly smile.

“i’m going to get some snacks. do you want anything?” ohm is too dazed to respond, so fong pushes back his chair and scurries off to the vending machines. it’ll give him the chance to calm down.

(and if he comes back with a few choice snacks he knows to be ohm’s favorites, then that’s just a bonus).

iv.

when fong is fast asleep, ohm can’t help but prop himself up on his arm and admire him. his bangs curl over his brow, and his cheek buries further into the pillow when there’s an especially cool breeze from the air conditioner. dark lashes fan over tan skin, full peach lips puffing out calm, even breaths. one hand clutches the blanket closer to him while the other lays on the sheets as though it’s looking for something.

he’s as gorgeous as he always is, but there’s something more special about a beauty that only ohm gets to see. there is a constant pull of wanting to grab onto that hand, remind him that what he’s reaching for is right beside him. but he cannot will himself to disturb him and instead resigns himself to only stare. he’s done enough to last him a lifetime, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it; not if he’s staring at fong.

“beautiful. sweetheart. babe. love!”

“um,” tine clears his throat, looking from ohm’s wide, hopeful grin to the top of fong’s head, the only part of him visible from behind the pages of the book he’s using to hide. “what are you doing?”

“trying to figure out which name i like the most,” fong mumbles from behind his book, clutching the binding a bit tighter when ohm throws an arm around his shoulders.

“the secret is that he likes all of them,” he says, continuing over fong’s protests, “i just need to find out which one he likes the best.”

it picks up again from there, in front of their friends no less. all fong can do is let him go on and on, each name more blush inducing than the last, and hope his novel does a good enough job masking how much he’s enjoying this.

vi.

“i’ll see you for dinner after my group meeting. okay, tilak?”

“yeah, sure – wait, what? hey! fong!”

vii.

fong is always a vision, but this. this. this is something completely different and so very far from even his wildest of dreams.

his sweater – a light beige with a v-neck that dips lower without the collar of the shirt he normally wears underneath it poking out – hangs loose around fong’s smaller frame. the shoulders pool upwards, the sleeves drape over his fingers, the hem hits far past the bottom of his torso. it doesn’t fit at all, and yet it does. there is something so right about coming out of the shower and finding fong lying on his bed, homework papers strewn out across the sheets and ohm’s sweater pooling up around his hips.

“i’m sorry,” fong is quick to say, fingers scrambling to tug it over his head. “it got cold, and it was the first thing i saw. i can give it back.”

“no.” he holds his hands out to steady fong more than himself. when the neck of the sweater stretches back down and he can see him, ohm sends him a smile. “it’s…it’s good. nice. it looks nice.”

“nice,” fong repeats. the very tips of his fingers, the only parts that peek out from beneath the sleeves, smooth over the fabric. his eyes soften, the tips of his mouth curving up. ohm can’t the tingling feeling that spreads through him.

viii.

that single strand of hair. it’s as lovely as it is distracting, for fong at the very least. he supposes ohm must have gotten used to it, takes notice of it the same way he does to the air around him. but it’s so out place and somehow so perfectly put that fong cannot help but admire it.

it’s a flame, stark black and contrast to his skin, that draws his hand towards it like a moth. ever so carefully, with just a graze of his fingers, he pushes it back into place. brushing over his ear, his hand buries beneath the hair parted against his scalp, dark locks blanketing over it.

only then does ohm look to him, realize that there had been something out of place he hadn’t seen. what he does see – feel, sense, know – is fong. and what a wonder that is, to be more noticeable, more important, more vital than the air. to be what ohm needs to breathe.

ix.

ever changing lights flicker across the concert venue. sarawat’s band is on stage, but they’re impossible to pay attention to when fong has all of his focus. he’s beautiful in every color he bathes in, but ohm can’t help but be partial to the mixture of yellow and orange.

fong has always been a bright light, a beacon, an ever-present warmth. the colors paint him as the sun he’s always been, the very center of ohm’s universe. head back, ears turned up to the music, his eyes reflect gold when he turns to ohm to tug him close and sway them along to the bass beneath their feet.

purple and blue remind him of late nights where they’d forgotten to close the blinds. green brings memories of lying in the grassy field in the back of their high school, when all ohm could rely on was stolen glances and accidental hand brushes he’d hold nearer and dearer to his heart than he should have. pink and red mix together, and all he can see is love coating over full cheeks and a fuller smile that he is lucky enough to have directed at him. and then it’s back to yellow, back to orange, back to warmth so hot ohm could burn.

it’s a heat like no other. all he can do to cool is curls a single arm around the small of fong’s back and pull him close enough for their foreheads to touch. his heart still roars with flames, engulfs him in a love hot enough to melt.

wrapping himself around him, fong comments, “you really like this song.”

and all ohm can do is hum, hold him tighter, and soak in his warmth. “i think it might be my favorite.”

“how did you know?” fong asks. the two of them are staring up at the ceiling, peeling paint their replacement for stars. “that it was me, i mean.”

by all intents and purposes, it should be an easy enough question to answer. but it becomes difficult when it hits him that…it’s always been fong. there isn’t a moment where anyone else has taken refuge in his heart and made it their home.

“i don’t remember when it started. but i remember when i realized it couldn’t be anyone else.” the memory flashes behind his eyes in vivid detail, kept clean and clear from how many times he’s brought it back to the forefront of his mind. “new years eve of second year. after tine and phuak ditched us to find pretty girls to kiss at midnight.”

mouth agape when he looks to him, fong says in startled disbelief, “in your backyard when i almost burned my hand on that sparkler? that wasn’t as special as i was expecting. more embarrassing.”

“it wasn’t. and that’s why i knew. there didn’t need to be some big sign. i just knew that even in those simple moments, i wanted it to be you there with me. and,” ohm catches his eye, looks at him so he knows how much he means what he says, “it was the first time i got to see you smile. it wasn’t because of something stupid phuak did or something sweet tine said to you. it was just… because you were happy. i hadn’t seen anything that beautiful before.”

fong says nothing, only reaches down to grab his hand. but when he smiles – that smile – he tells ohm all he needs to know. it’s another one of those not so special moments; the two of them lying flat against the sheets, their hands twisted together between them. but that in and of itself makes it special.

#2gether #2gether the series #still2gether #still2gether the series #ohmfong #ohm x fong #my writing #i love these two so much #it's only been a few days #but they have my heart #also i'm so sorry that gif is SO shitty

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