#and you can put the book back on the shelf and keep the happy memories of its story close to your heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

farfromstrange · 4 months

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER THREE: Broken Glass

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: You have a really shitty night, and it only gets worse until a man in a black mask saves your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, graphic description of domestic violence (flashback), panic attack, mention of blood & injury, alcohol abuse, sexual assault, Reader tries to play the hero and it backfires (might piss you off)

Word Count: 7.6k

A/n: I worked very long and hard on this one, that's why I didn't post it last week. This is very heavy, so heed the warnings. I hope you all had a lovely Christmas! I’m spending New Year’s in London, and I won’t have my Laptop, so I’m already wishing you guys a happy new year! Spend the day with people you love. Do something that you love. Just enjoy yourselves and we’ll see each other again in 2024!

Read Chapter 3: Broken Glass here on AO3

The loneliness eats you alive like a parasite. As soon as the door of your apartment shuts behind you, the noise coming from the city disappears into the distance, and you are faced with the silent reality of being utterly alone.

It feels like you are living in a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, not a small apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

There are no picture frames on the dresser in the hallway. The two plants you bought for yourself are slowly dying of thirst. The fridge is empty. You don’t own any decorations—you don’t even have a shelf for all of your books, and more than half of them are medical research material, anyway.

You may be living in this place, but it isn’t yours. After two years, you are no closer to settling down than you were when you first came to New York.

Every day, you ask yourself how long this peace is going to last, and every day ends the same—you’re still safe, but you are deeply unsettled. Your thoughts keep turning against you like demons that you can’t exorcize. Every day, you wonder when you will have to run away again because your past has a way of catching up to you when you least expect it, so you remain on edge. That’s how you live your life.

If you knew how to accept peace, maybe you would have settled down and personalized your apartment by now, but then again, do you even know who you are? Do you remember the girl you once were? Your memories of the past are scrambled.

You can only remember what it was like to live in a bubble, to be forced into a cage like a bird and turned into someone you never thought you would become. You remember running. You haven’t been yourself in years. Even if you wanted to, there is nothing left for you to put up that would feel like it belongs to you without feeling like pretentious bullshit at the same time. So, you don’t even bother.

It’s lonely though, having nothing and no one. Claire is your friend, sure, but you had nothing and no one back then, and you still barely have anyone now. She’s your friend, but that’s all she is.

You can’t admit it out loud, of course. You can’t admit that you feel lonely, and you can’t pick up your phone and call the one friend you do have to take up on her offer because of reasons not even the rational part of your brain wants to understand.

The lamp in the living room casts a dim light over the main area of the apartment and the open kitchen. You place Matt’s business card on the kitchen counter.

Should you call him? A million questions go through your mind, firing rapidly like bullets from an automatic gun. You’re not even sure if you want to call him. You felt comfortable around him, but enough to abandon all your principles? If you call him, he might ask you out, and what do you do then? You don’t date, not anymore, and you definitely won’t let a stranger into the mess that is your life. You can’t do that to a kind soul like him. Matthew is special in a way that you can’t put into words, and that makes the decision so much harder.

You know exactly what’s holding you back. It’s the same invisible string of feelings that is keeping you from personalizing your living space. You don’t know when you might need to run, and then what?

Your lungs contract. Air is a lot harder to come by when you’re all wound up. You hope that a nice glass of white wine will help put some things into perspective. Fooling around with someone can’t hurt, but anything more than that could lead to a catastrophe. You have had enough of those for a lifetime.

You like keeping to yourself. It keeps your heart safe. What happened today, meeting Matthew after you so miserably sought a place to be alone, it was a coincidence—a welcome distraction. And you seemed so like-minded at first glance. He was intriguing and you’re still wondering about his injuries and how he got them, but that’s not the point. None of this is.

The point is that you are not the kind of person he thinks you are. That’s why you can’t call him. And strangely, that hurts a lot more than simple heartbreak, knowing that you have been ruined for all relationships to come because you made one wrong choice and fell down the rabbit hole—unfortunately not into Wonderland.

“Shit!” you curse when a drop of wine lands beside the glass.

You lick your finger, trying to wipe the liquid on the counter with a paper towel. In the process, your hand accidentally brushes against the glass, and the sole touch sends it hurdling to the floor. You try to catch it, but the fragile glass has already hit the tiles of your kitchen floor. It shatters into a million pieces.

The sound reverberates in your ears. Like a shot in the dark, your body is jolted awake into a state of panic. The crash reminds you of hell, and the all-too-familiar flames start touching your skin again, set out to burn you alive. It’s a feeling you know by heart—a feeling you wish you weren’t so painfully aware of.

Glass breaks before your inner eye.

You were trying to make him a drink, you remember. He wanted Whiskey, no ice, and at perfect room temperature—it was always the same. After the first black eye that you had to hide under mountains of concealer, you taught yourself to perfect it. You didn’t want to disappoint him. You didn’t want to get into trouble.

You spent more money than you could afford on the one brand of Whiskey he always told you to get, even if that meant traveling to a store miles away from home. He always wanted that Whiskey, and who were you to deny him?

You didn’t pay attention for one second, and the glass shattered on the kitchen floor. Your heart stopped. The last drops of the brown liquid spilled everywhere, including your clothes. The glass was his favorite. Expensive, too. It broke because you weren’t looking. You were so stupid.

Fear froze the blood in your veins. Your heart stopped beating. You couldn’t breathe. You reached for a cloth with shaky hands, trying to pick up the pieces in time, but the sound of the glass breaking—that godforsaken loud sound that reminded you of obnoxious screaming—was instantly followed by an even louder echo of angry footsteps.

Over time, you became painfully aware of those footsteps. You knew how they sounded on wooden floorboards, carpet, and the stairs in the hallway of the apartment building. You still remember how they sounded when he was wearing those squeaky sneakers on the linoleum floors of the hospital.

It’s a sound that always sends shivers down your spine; everyone has those sneakers, but his footsteps were much heavier, much more demanding even when he wasn’t demanding anything.

And back then, you knew what would follow as soon as you heard them.

“What is this?” his voice reached your ears.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t even dare to look up. If you had met his eyes, you would have seen your fate in them, and the empty black hole that was his soul. “I’m sorry, I– I lost my grip and–and I dropped it,” you said. You thought that would fix it. How foolish of you, to have faith in someone who never had faith in you. “I’m so sorry,” you couldn’t stop repeating it.

You thought this time, he would listen to your apology. He would let you fix what you broke. You would have done anything for his approval, for his praise, and for him not to be mad at you. You didn’t want to fight. The evening had started so well. He even kissed you when he came home because you finished dinner in time. He smiled because you managed to clean even the last crevices of his apartment after your shift. He promised he would reward you.

You fucked up. You knew you fucked up, but you prayed to God that his good mood would keep you safe this time. That he would give you a pass because you have been so incredibly good. You’ve been the best girlfriend he could have asked for, so obedient, never questioning, and always on his side—you were wrong. So, so wrong.

He saw the empty bottle of Whiskey. He picked it up. “That was the last sip of my good Whiskey,” he remarked.

You stopped moving.

“I’ll pick up a new one,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Stores are still open. This is my fault. Let me clean this up and I will–”

“You had one job.”

The sound of his voice turned cold, colder than usual. You exhaled a shaky breath.

“You had one job,” he said. “I go to work, I save lives, and I teach young, useless doctors like you how to do the same. All I asked of you was to cook dinner, clean the apartment and make me a fucking drink.”

With each word, his volume ascended. Your shoulder started vibrating, but you forced yourself to hold your breath. You couldn’t let the fear show. Being afraid, in his eyes, equaled weakness, and he would prove to you time and time again what weakness truly meant to him. He would turn you into a weak mess and laugh about it. You were trying your hardest to avoid any more unnecessary punishment. You had to tread lightly. He was in charge, not you.

And you breaking the glass was so stupid, all you wanted was to surrender. In your twisted mind, he was right. It was just a glass, but he told you how useless you were many times before, and you were slowly starting to believe it.

Without him, you were nothing. No one else could have possibly put up with you.

“What do you do?” He reached out and slammed the empty bottle on the ground.

You barely had time to react before some of the bigger shards hit your cheek, slicing the skin. It took you a second to process, the pain not even kicking in because you expected his hand to come down on you, not an entire glass bottle. The trajectory almost hit your eye. Almost.

“You spill my fucking drink!” this time, he yelled.

A sob escaped your lips. There it was, the smallest sign of fear and pain.

He rolled his eyes. You shouldn’t have sobbed, you knew that. “Get up,” he said.

You winced when he grabbed you and yanked you off the floor. The trail of blood ran hot on your cold cheek. It stung. Your heart was pounding in your chest, hammering against your ribcage and the fresh bruise that still hadn’t healed.

You were scared, and the tighter he grabbed you, forcing your chin upward to look him dead in the eyes, the harder it got to hide what you were truly feeling. In his eyes, you were nothing. And you were so weak, all you could do was to submit.

“Look at me,” he said. His eyes roamed your face.

You couldn’t not look at him. It was impossible. What you saw made you sick to your very stomach. It tied a noose around your neck, threatening to kick you off the high chair. Your feet were dangling dangerously close to the cliff.

“You’re pathetic, you hear me? Useless. You had one job. One. And you couldn’t even do that right.”

You opened your mouth, but instead of letting you speak, his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled, hard. “No!” he bellowed. “You have lost the right to speak to me.”

He said your name. He always said it in a way that made you want to vomit. Your first and last names were tainted because of him. He used them in vain. He used you. He used everything as he saw fit and believed he was entitled to it.

You hated him, but you also loved him.

“You’re going to clean up the mess you made, and then you’re going to go to the store, buy me another bottle of Whiskey, and you’re going to make me another drink. I don’t want to hear a single word out of you,” he said. “Are we clear?”

You nodded. He pulled a little harder.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” you choked out.

When he finally let you go, you fell to the floor, your chest heaving with dry sobs. Perhaps he was too annoyed or maybe leaving you alone, finally, was a display of humanity.

The man you once believed to have loved you turned out to be a monster that would not have wept, not possibly, if you had died. He only wanted to control you, and whenever he felt like he couldn’t, he punished you. You stayed way too long because you believed in someone who was never there in the first place. The real him you believed to know once had never been real. He had been a fraud. He did anything he possibly could to lure you in, and then you were stuck.

But even knowing this, you wanted to please him, and you took what he gave you. You ate it up like a starved cavewoman. You had no one else but him, and that alone is a sad thought that you keep entertaining now.

The sound of broken glass has haunted you since that day. Whenever it happens, either to you or someone else, you find yourself in a state of shock. It’s never the same memory, but always alike. And it hurts. It hurts so much, you can’t breathe.

You touch your left cheek. The scar is barely visible anymore, but whenever you touch it, it feels like a mountain of regret. You can still feel the blood pooling under your fingertips, the liquid as sticky as it was hot.

You stumble over to the sink, circling the broken glass. Cold water; your senses need a sudden slap across the face or you will cower in a corner and surely die. Your heartbeat is racing in your ears, and your fingers shake as you form a bowl with your hands to catch the water from the tap.

Air returns to your lungs. Burying your face in the cold water, you focus on the way it seeps into your hot skin.

Broken glass triggers you. Squeaky footsteps in the hospital hallways trigger you. You zone out so easily. You can’t talk to strangers without suspecting the worst. Every time you pass the hospital administrator’s office, you’re scared you will get fired—that you will lose your job and your entire career.

He took everything from you. He broke you and the optimistic young woman you used to be. You were so bright, so ready to change your life for the better. You worked hard to escape the toxicity of your childhood, and you still managed to run into the arms of an abusive narcissist who saw you as nothing but his property.

It’s sad, and it’s utterly ironic; you told yourself you would never make the same mistake your mom made before she died, and you still did. You were foolish, and you’re still foolish now.

You can’t call Matthew. You can’t trust anyone, not even yourself, and even if he is trustworthy, he doesn’t deserve someone as damaged as you.

The business card lands in the trash can under the sink. You give it one last teary-eyed look before slamming it shut. It’s better this way. The excitement you felt when you first held it in your hands was bound to only be temporary. You knew reality would screw it up, maybe it truly is for the best. Or maybe this is the trauma talking and you’re sabotaging yourself, but even then it’s better this way.

It’s early in the morning, and you leave the broken glass on the sticky kitchen floor. You can’t touch it, not even with gloves. Every time you do, the scar on your cheek stings, and you lose your breath. Every bone, muscle, and nerve is hurting in your body, and every breath tears right through your soul.

You don’t want to live like this anymore.

The warm water of your small shower rains down on your clothes frame. The bottle of wine in your hand is no longer cold and mixed with water, but you don’t care. Your mind is fuzzy, intoxicated, and in agony. It’s a raging wave of anger with no possible point of release. You’re drowning in despair, buried in a grave of your own making. Alcohol knowingly doesn’t mix well with heartache, but it’s the only thing that will make the voices go away. It silences your thoughts just long enough for you to find a sliver of rest in this stormy ocean, something to hold onto so you won’t drown completely.

Your heartbeat aligns with the rhythmic pattering of the water. It serenades you. The fog engulfs your brain, weakening your already strained muscles. The cocktail in your veins is poisonous. You should know better than to do this to yourself. You’re a doctor, after all. You are well aware that liquor is not medicine, but it’s the closest you can get. You don’t care as much about your own well-being as you should.

Getting drunk all by yourself under the hot shower stream fits right into your miserable state.

The sun rises and falls over the next couple of hours. Your alarm goes as night befalls Hell’s Kitchen, but you don’t hear it. Only after it has gotten dark and your phone has started ringing with calls from the hospital does your mind registers that something isn’t quite right.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Your head is pounding. The wine bottle lies empty on the nightstand next to you, together with a bottle of tequila that you decided to open. Glasses are strewn around with empty takeout containers that are more than a few days old. At first, you’re disoriented, reaching beside you for your phone, which is still in the living room next door.

You forgot to close the blinds, but you were so out of it that you didn’t notice the hours pass by. The analog clock on the bedside table tells you that it’s a few hours before eleven. At night.

Your shift was supposed to start at ten.

The information takes a moment to connect and process, but as soon as it does, you snap out of whatever hungover state you are in and force yourself out of bed. You stumble over empty bottles and dirty laundry on your way to your phone.

“Shit, shit, shit!” you curse. You almost step into the pile of broken glass in the kitchen. “Fuck me! Shit!”

You are screwed, you know that. You’re not even sure if all the alcohol has left your system. You might as well lose your job tonight.

With one hand, you dial the hospital administrator’s number, who called you over thirty times over the past hour, while you try to find something to wear with your other hand.

The line finally clicks after what feels like an eternity. “You better have a damn good reason why you aren’t here, Olivia, or I swear to God–”

You cut her off. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” you say. Your voice is slightly shaky, but you keep it together. “I didn’t hear my alarm a-and I slept in. This has never happened before. I’m usually a very light sleeper. I… I’m already halfway out the door, I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You slept in?!” Shelly answers, her voice resembling a screech. “What— Liv, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just… I slept in, that’s all. I’m so, so sorry. I know I screwed up.”

“Unbelievable. First Claire calls out with a mystery illness that apparently still hasn’t gone away, and then my best trauma surgeon sleeps in.” You can hear her shake her head over the noise of the hospital in the background. She sighs. “You’re lucky that this is your first tardy,” she says. “I’ll let it slide just this once. Just… hurry, okay?”

A weight falls off your shoulders. You let out an audible sigh of relief. “Thank you,” you tell her. “You have no idea how much this means to me. I–”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make sure you get here before midnight. And you will have to work the time that you’ve missed, even if that puts you at risk of having to pull a double shift. This is not up for debate. I feel like I’m working at a children’s daycare.”

You’re not sure if that was meant for you or if she simply forgot to hang up.

You grab your bag and your keys in one swift motion. “I’m leaving now. See ya!”

The bus you usually take to work at this time of night is long gone. There is one more that could take you to your destination, but you arrive at the bus stop just a millisecond too late. It takes off right in front of you, refusing to turn back even when you start sprinting after it, flailing your arms around wildly.

It’s late, it’s dark, and you’re all alone. The walk to the hospital is over half an hour long, and you promised Shelly you would make it in time before midnight. The next cab is miles away; you’ve checked the app twice, and anything beyond that would be too expensive.

Hell’s Kitchen is dangerous at this time of night, but you don’t have much of a choice. If you don’t try, there is a high chance Shelly will fire you. If she fires you, you would have to find another country to start over in—you burned bridges in all possible States, and anything closer to where you came from would be too dangerous for you.

Darkness doesn’t scare you; broken glass and loud footsteps scare you, but the dark of the night has always been somewhat of a soothing companion to you. What scares you is what could be lurking in that very darkness, and the thought makes you walk a little faster.

Your head is still pounding. Every step you take delivers a punch to your temples. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. The streetlights are suddenly too bright for your sensitive eyes, but you push through. You have to.

“So stupid,” you mutter under your breath. “Universe, if you can hear me, just kill me now.”

Passing a particularly dark part of town with the mace on your keychain clutched tightly in your hand, a loud scream pierces the air. Your feet glue themselves to the ground.

Some things you can only understand if you have experienced the paralyzing feeling of dread that would cause a human being to scream bloody murder.

You would be lying if you said that the scream you heard coming from that alley wasn’t in any way familiar to you. Perhaps that’s why you choose to abandon all rational thought and run toward danger rather than away from it. Adrenaline is a funny thing, and when it interacts with trauma and anger that has been building for years, there is no knowing what the human body might be capable of doing.

With the mace in your hand, you walk toward the alley. The closer you get, the louder the desperate pleas grow. The helplessness in the woman’s voice paints a clear picture of what is happening.

“Hey!” your voice resembles a shout in the poorly lit alley. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask. Your voice becomes a foreign language.

The man, dressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie, is towering over a terrified woman. The bottom of her dress is slightly ripped, and it keeps riding up as she struggles against his grip.

From the corner of your eye, you can see the shiny handle of a knife sticking out of his boot; there is no telling when or if he will pull it. And when you look into his empty eyes, you realize you overestimated yourself.

“Get lost!” the man tells you. He must be around your age, judging from his features.

You shake your head. “I have no intention of letting you live out your disgusting rape fantasies on a real-life human being,” you retort. “Let her go, or I will call the cops.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for the knife. Instinctively, you extend your keychain and spray the pepper directly into his eyes. You empty the entire bottle on him, the adrenaline in your veins locking your thumb to the fragile button.

The woman slides out of her attacker’s grasp when he topples over in agony. He cries out. The spray is quickly causing the skin around his eyes to redden and swell. For a moment, he’s completely incapacitated.

You can tell that he didn’t calculate for this to happen. He also doesn’t seem to know the woman he decided to attack personally. He just saw a woman walking alone at night and thought he could take what he wanted like the animal he is.

Your eyes flick toward the woman. Sweat is starting to pool from your pores, mixing with the adrenaline.

She adjusts her dress, her sobs turning into heavy panting. You know that look on her face all too well. She has scratches on her thighs and arms. It’s hard to tell just how badly he already hurt her before you came along, at least in this lighting and from where you’re standing.

You reach out to support her. “Are you alright?” you ask her.

She looks down at her shaky hands, then back at you. She reminds you of a deer in headlights. With a gentle tug, you pull her further out of the alley. The man who attacked her is still blinded, clutching his skull and scratching at his eyes, making the effects of the pepper spray worse. In your mind, he can’t hurt you anymore, but you still need to get her away from him—as far as possible, too.

“A few cuts and bruises,” you observe, trying not to touch her as you assess her injuries. “Listen, I’m going to call the cops and we’re gonna get you to a hospital, alright?” You search her eyes until she finally looks back at you. “This is nothing I can’t stitch up in a few minutes,” you say, “and then I’ll get you someone who can help you process what happened. Just know that he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise. I’m a witness, and I will make sure he gets what he deserves.”

You should know better than to make promises, especially in the heat of the moment. This is not something you can confidently promise because things might not turn out in your favor.

The woman pulls her arms away suddenly. “No! No cops, no hospitals,” she pleads.

“I know you’re scared, believe me, I do, but–”

“No!” She shakes her head again, her voice becoming more determined as the seconds tick by.

You wish the world wasn’t as cruel as it is. You can’t force her. If it were easy, you probably would have turned to law enforcement too, but it’s not easy. What hurts the most is that you understand why she is so adamant about not calling the police and not going to a hospital, even with so many variables still unknown; you understand too well what it is like.

Shame and fear are powerful emotions—when all else fails, they take over.

“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice quivers. She looks between you and her attacker once more. “Thank you, really, but I can’t—I have to go. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait!” You try to stop her, but she slips through your fingers before you can convince her otherwise.

She disappears down the street. Calling the police seems almost futile now. You look down at your phone. You’re still a witness to a crime. You should speak up about what you saw. You should try to get justice, even if it will be your word against his.

Your finger hovers above the call button, but a dark voice from the alley stops you in your tracks. “You bitch!” the man shouts. His voice carries, making you shiver. Now that you’re alone with him, you realize how helpless the situation really is.

You can’t move. You can’t run. You can’t hide. Your eyes widen. Even half-blind, he has managed to pull the dirty knife from his boot, and he is charging right at you. As if you are the substitute for the woman you just saved. You should have run with her. This was a bad idea.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You press down on your keychain, but it’s empty now. You’re weaponless with a lot of fake confidence that is slowly swindling, and somehow, you still can’t move.

You’re frozen in place. Your own recklessness will get you killed. No one will miss you. Your corpse will be buried in a strange cemetery in a strange city that has only been your home for two years, and no one will ever know who you truly were because you told Claire to take your secrets to the grave with her. You will die alone with the familiar feeling of fear and despair spreading through your veins like wildfire.

Something inside of you cracks, and it melts your frozen muscles. You snap out of your haze when he is only a few inches away from you. In an instant, you have started backing out of the alley almost entirely. You’re running, and you’re running fast.

You believe that karma comes back around, but sometimes, it takes the wrong direction. You lose your footing suddenly, stumbling over your own shoes, and your ass hits the pavement with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your wrists bend at a painful angle as you catch yourself, and you look up into the red eyes of what you expect to be your certain demise.

The impact from the knife never comes. You know what it feels like to be impaled by a sharp object. You know what pain feels like—but it never comes.

You open your eyes when your ears pick up on the sound of bone breaking—the sight you’re met with startles you, and for a second, you wonder if you’re still alive. You touch your wrist to check for a pulse; it’s still there. You’re not dead, and you’re not hallucinating, either. This is real.

You’ve seen the news reporting on a man in a black mask scouring the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at night. For weeks now, gang bangers, suspected rapists, and drug dealers have been piling up in the emergency room with several fractures, some of them severe enough to require extensive surgery, but none of them were ever hurt enough to die from their injuries.

A Russian was dropped from a building a while back. He fell into a coma and then died suddenly a few nights ago, but that was the only patient who got beat up by the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who lost all quality of life.

You don’t like to judge, but there is something about him that makes you feel safe rather than afraid. He only beats up those who are in the business of committing injustice and pose a danger to innocent lives. He’s there when the law fails. And so far, he has never killed anyone. The injuries on the patients you treated were quite severe and suggested that whoever did it has a great collection of anger issues, but he has enough self-control not to kill.

He’s not a threat to people like you. He is, however, a threat to the kind of man who tried to rape an innocent woman and then threatened you with a knife.

Your attacker drops to the ground with a pained grunt. The man in the mask is towering over him, his chest heaving. You admire his physique for a moment too long. Your eyes trail from his toned chest in that tight black shirt to his backside in those tight-fitting black pants.

He seems oddly familiar yet, at the same time, he is a total stranger. A stranger in a mask. A stranger who throws fists like a professional boxer. A stranger who could crush your head within seconds. And still, there is something about him that reminds you of someone else, someone you just recently met, but you can’t put your finger on it. It wouldn’t even make sense if you tried.

You’re still sitting on the cold asphalt, staring up at the man who saved you. He turns his head toward you, slowly. His plump lips glisten in the moonlight.

“You hurt?” he asks.

Your throat is all dried up. One glance down at your palms tells you that you only scraped the skin, but you’re not injured. So, you shake your head. Maybe there is a little fear mixed into your stunned eyes, but only because this is a very strange situation to find yourself in, and you have been in a lot of very strange situations in the past.

He tilts his head ever so slightly. His nostrils flare. “You’re bleeding.”

You don’t even want to know how he knows that.

“Just a scratch,” you finally manage to speak up, although your voice sounds embarrassingly small.

You wipe your palms on your pants and slowly rise to your feet. Every bone in your body hurts. Standing across from him, you realize how much taller he is in person.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“I know.”

He stops. You can’t see his eyes, but the lower part of his face reveals the confusion that has taken him over.

“I’ve dealt with men worse than you,” you state. “I’m not scared.”

He chuckles darkly. “You’re welcome.”

People usually don’t talk back at him, it seems. At least those he saves usually don’t.

“I could’ve defended myself. In fact, I already did.” You lift your keychain. “I don’t know if playing the hero is your thing, but I’m not a victim.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wasn’t trying to play hero,” he clarifies, a humorless smirk resting on his lips, “I was saving your life ‘cause you were trying to play the hero. Next time, I suggest you don’t bring mace to a knife fight.”

“And I suggest you don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong,” you retort.

You were grateful for no longer than a second. Now, you’re just annoyed.

The alley is still. The atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the danger you only narrowly escaped—thanks to him, and you hate admitting that even to yourself. He seems unfazed, almost amused, by your attempts at asserting your independence, and the arrogance radiating off him is hitting the wrong nerve.

“This guy was gonna kill you because you decided to do the right thing,” he says, adjusting his leather gloves. “I decided to save your life. We both made decisions tonight, and it doesn’t matter whether we are happy with them or not. What matters is that no one got hurt.”

“Tell that to the woman he traumatized for life.”

He sighs at your words. “You still did the right thing.”

“I know,” you say.

“Are you always this feisty?”

“Only to masked vigilantes who think I’m some damsel in distress that needs saving and that everything can be solved with their pretty little fists.”

“Well, my pretty little fists are the reason you didn’t end up stabbed, so,” he answers, and his lips curl into a smug smirk. He shrugs, his black shirt riding up only slightly, revealing a sliver of marble skin. You can’t help but let your eyes wander.

“I don’t need a thank you,” he says, “but you need to be more careful next time. Don’t go into dark alleys alone, especially at night. It’s not safe.”

You want to give a snarky remark, but the sound of church bells in the background signal to you that it’s midnight, and you are supposed to be at work. Checking your phone would be a death sentence. Sirens can be heard in the background, but they are not headed for you.

Maybe Shelly won’t fire you if you’re honest with her about what conspired tonight—if you bare you allow her a glimpse into your soul—but you will suffer the consequences of your own stupidity gravely in the days to come, that much you do know.

You exhale an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time for this,” you mutter.

“Got somewhere to be?” the masked man asks you.

“As a matter of fact, I do. But that’s none of your business.”

You wonder if he’s frowning under that thin cloth that is hiding his real identity. He still seems so familiar to you. How can he fight if he’s keeping his eyes covered? It’s not the first question you have asked yourself about him, but it surely is the most prominent one because no explanation for it makes sense to you; at least not one you can think of. You want to ask, but you also don’t want to keep encouraging him. You shouldn’t care.

You look back down at the man he knocked out. He’s still unconscious, and he’s bleeding profusely. The angry woman in you wants to let him rot here and let the masked man have his fun, but the doctor in you can’t just leave him there.

“What about him?” you hear yourself asking, but your mind is far away.

He tilts his head toward where you’re pointing, not actively looking. How could he? His eyes are covered. His eyes… You can’t make sense of this, and it is affecting your judgment. It’s making you frustrated.

“He can’t touch you anymore,” his dark voice suddenly sounds so soft.

A sliver of humanity shines through his facade. Your angry demeanor cracks. “You beat him up pretty good. He could have lasting brain damage,” you remark.

He pauses, tilting his head further toward the man on the ground. “No,” he says, pouting a little. “He’s still breathing.”

“He could still have brain damage.”

“He has a few broken bones, cuts, bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Those things are totally unrelated. You’re not a doctor, you wouldn’t understand. I’ve already treated more bad guys in the past month than I could possibly count on my fingers, and all of them seemed to fear the same man. Now, not many things can scare a gangbanger to death. Not many people can deliver blows so deliberately without actually fatally wounding anyone. I know it was you,” you say. “Everyone knows it was you, and they’re afraid of you. I’m not, but I am a doctor, and I took an oath to do no harm. I vowed to help those in need, including those I believe may not be worthy of my help. This has nothing to do with judgment. I know you don’t kill; I see it with my own eyes every damn night, but the Russian you beat up a couple days ago?”

That catches his attention. His head whips back around to you, his upper lip twitching slightly as if he is tasting the air. His attention is entirely on you. The question, “What?” gets lost as nothing but a breathless whisper in the cold night air.

“He was in a coma,” you continue, “and then he died. It’s probably unrelated to what you did, but there was only a small chance he would have ever woken up again anyway. Just because someone is still breathing doesn’t mean their brain is alive. What makes us human, who we are, that is all anchored in our brains. We can’t survive without it. You may not have killed him, but that guy barely had any brain activity left, and that is not something you can consider life.”

You didn’t expect him to sneer. You must have hit a nerve with your words, but it must have hurt him deeply.

“My point is, I am not letting you do the same to this guy. I’m calling an ambulance and the police, and I will let them figure this out.”

“He’ll walk,” he says, and his voice is dark again. It sends shivers down your spine.

You look at him, your confidence not wavering this time. “Then so be it, but I am not letting him die,” you say.

“How is having a rapist walk the streets of this city not doing harm?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Beg your pardon?”

“He will do this again, and maybe next time there will be no one to step in and he will hurt another woman.”

“So what, you want to kill him instead of surrendering him to the authorities?”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I’m trying to make this city a better place!”

His voice bounces off the walls building a cage around the alley. “And I’m just trying to save a human life, even if it’s a shitty one!” you shoot back. “It’s not our choice who gets to play God, okay? Death would be too kind for a man like him, and leaving him here won’t solve anything either. Like it or not, but I’m not breaking my oath.”

You made a promise when you became a doctor, and you are not going to risk letting someone die on your watch. That could get you into a lot of trouble.

You approach your attacker’s limp body. When you kneel next to him, a gush of wind blows through your hair. You assess his skull, his abdomen, and his limbs. So far, all you can see are superficial wounds, and the same fractures you have seen pass through the emergency room more than once in the past couple of weeks. He did a number on him, but his pulse feels normal and he is breathing.

You lift your head, but when you do, you find the spot before you empty. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has disappeared into the darkness, leaving you to fend for yourself. You should have seen this coming.

The ambulance takes a while to arrive after you’ve dialed 911. You try your best to keep the man stabilized, but he remains unresponsive. When help finally arrives, the emergency responders are followed by police, and you don’t hesitate to give your statement. You leave the masked vigilante that saved your life out of it—you may not have seen eye to eye just now, but you don’t want to rat him out either. You owe him as much.

Just as you’re picking your purse off the dirty ground to follow the EMTs to the hospital in the ambulance, giving you the perfect excuse to give to Shelly on why you are even later than you already were, a glimpse of silver in the shadows catches your attention.

“You did the right thing,” the Devil speaks only loud enough for you to hear, hiding in the darkness protecting the fire escape of the nearest building.

You swallow your pride. “Thank you,” you finally tell him.

He chuckles. “For telling you that or saving your life?”

“Both,” and you even offer him a small smile with your gratitude. That is all you’re capable of giving him, for now.

“Take care,” he says.

The glimpse of silver disappears, causing the metal of the fire escape to shake under his weight, and he is long gone before you even whisper, “You too.”

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #reader insert #doctor!reader #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox #do no harm

104 notes · View notes

spartanguard · 9 months

Text

sons of love and death, 7/13 {CSSNS 23}

Summary: After the Final Battle, Killian Jones had finally settled into his happily ever after with his wife and family. Until a new foe arrived in Storybrooke: the infamous Dorian Gray, who looks rather familiar—one might say identical—to the pirate, and he’s on a mission: to claim the powers of the Dark One for himself. There’s only one problem: the Dark One no longer exists. What follows is a journey of vengeance, revelations, magic, and finally facing down the darkness within himself that Killian thought he’d finally put to rest. [roughly canon divergent from 5B, though set post-canon] A/N: Greetings from band camp! But that won't stop me from updating my @cssns story! Hope everyone is having a great week! (As always, thanks to the best beta, @optomisticgirl !) rated M | 5.1k words | AO3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Dorian hadn’t been seen since his encounter with Regina the previous morning, but Killian knew better than to let his guard down. Every time the bell rang in the library, Killian was alert, ready for the worst (even if logically he knew his twin wouldn’t announce his presence—though, they did share an affinity for melodrama…). And he’d put on his sword belt for the first time in ages, for both comfort and protection.

He was reshelving a few books when the bell chimed again. He paused to listen, but was mildly surprised when Leroy’s voice rang out in the otherwise quiet library—and sounded more than grumpy. “What the hell, pirate?”

Confused, Killian shoved the book in his hand on the shelf and quickly made his way to the lobby. “Watch the volume, mate,” he chastised. “What’s the problem?”

Leroy was glaring at him and huffing. “Don’t pretend you don’t know; I saw you! Taking a joyride on my boat this morning, using all my gas, and then you just left it adrift. It almost ran into the shipping lane!”

“Why would I take your dinghy when my ship is right there?” Killian countered. “It was probably my good-for-nothing brother.”

“Then why was he dressed like you? And I saw your hook!”

He rolled his eyes; of course Dorian would find a new way to make trouble for him. “Well it wasn’t me! I’ve been here all day, and my wife can provide my alibi prior to that—in detail, if you’d like,” Killian threw back, biting back a smirk at the memory of what they’d gotten up to in bed that morning.

“No thank you,” he responded, stepping back with his hands up. “Just—keep that asshole in check, okay?”

“He’s not my responsibility.”

“Whatever,” Leroy grumbled, and left as quickly as he’d arrived.

Killian was irked by the encounter. Not so much at Dorian’s antics, annoying though they were (and would probably need his attention at some point)—but he was somewhat perturbed by the fact that Leroy was so quick to assume it had been him. There was definitely a time he may have done that, but now? After everything in the past few years? Did the dwarf truly still think so little of him?

He shook his head; Leroy didn’t have much faith in anyone. It was just a stupid misunderstanding; perhaps he’d go down to the docks and see if he could use his powers, meager as they were, to tow the boat back into harbor. But it was nothing to be truly upset over, not on his end.

The day went on without further event and the encounter was nearly out of his mind when he ran into another dwarf outside the sheriff station. Sneezy was coming from the opposite direction and reached the door before he did, but then paused and faced him.

“Uh, Captain,” he started, then characteristically sneezed. He went on after wiping his nose on his ever-present handkerchief. “I was about to report what happened earlier, but I’d be happy to settle now, if you want—if you’d rather Emma not know.”

“Know what?”

“About the rum you stole,” he said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t exactly hide it.”

Killian scoffed; he’d never been impressed by the rum selection at the pharmacy, nor was he desperate enough to shoplift subpar liquor. “I’ve been at the library all day, mate; you should hit up my lookalike for the cash. Or go ahead and report it; may as well add to his rap sheet.”

The dwarf tilted his head, confused. “But—your hook—and clothes—”

“—Are easy to replicate with magic like his,” Killian sighed. “Really, mate? I thought you knew me better.”

Sneezy at least looked a bit like his brother Bashful at that, then uttered a quick apology before nearly running back in the direction from which he’d come.

Killian pinched the bridge of his nose, again frustrated.

It didn’t stop there, though—on the entire walk from the station to Granny’s with Emma, he was on the receiving end of glares, muttering, and people keeping their distance. Granted, that was typical treatment from the gaggle of fairies they passed, given their history.

But even mild-mannered Gepetto, upon his exit from the diner, turned suddenly angry at the sight of Killian and wasted no time getting in his face and yelling in his native tongue. Killian was skilled at languages but not well-studied in that one, save for a few curse words—all of which he heard in the tirade.

The carpenter didn’t give Killian a chance to reply before storming off, leaving him fatigued and Emma confused. “What the hell was his problem?” she griped.

“No clue—but I’m willing to bet it was my brother; that’s been happening all afternoon.”

“Ugh, that dick,” she cursed. “But can’t people tell the difference by now?”

“You’d think,” he sighed, knowing that didn’t mean a damn thing if a glamour spell was involved.

“Sounds like he needs to be punched in his pretty nose to make sure it’s more obvious,” she suggested, stepping into Killian’s space and tapping his own nose.

“You think my nose is pretty?” he flirted back.

“All of you is. Way more than him,” she assured him, then dragged him into the restaurant.

He obviously knew he was innocent of the various misdemeanors he’d been accused of, and he was certainly no stranger to being a suspect. But that hurt feeling from earlier crept back up in him as he fielded side-eyed stares from his seat across from an oblivious Emma while they ate.

Hadn’t he earned this town’s trust? Weren’t they well past any questioning of his actions? Yes, his history was rocky—but he’d literally died for the residents of Storybrooke.

And it was no secret he had a doppelgänger running around. So the fact they were so quick to turn on him was far more painful than he’d like to admit.

“Babe? Your glass—are you okay?” Emma’s concerned voice pulled him from his morose thoughts, and he realized a whirlpool was threatening to spin out of his glass of water.

“Sorry,” he answered quickly, and focused on calming the tiny maelstrom. “Just—thinking about everything,” he said, simplifying the truth.

“I know.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Good thing you’ve got another magic lesson in the morning, huh?”

He groaned in response; she giggled.

“Come on; let’s get you home. You’ll need your rest,” she said suggestively as she got to her feet, taking him with her, hinting that they would spend time not resting as well.

The lascivious smirk Granny gave him as Emma paid their tab was less out of place than his other interactions today, but was at least positive. So he did still have some friends, it seemed.

And as he and Emma finally collapsed in each other’s arms later, sweaty and sated, as long as she was still on his side, who else did he require?

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Though Dorian was no stranger to using a glamour spell, and had certainly used far more dramatic disguises in his life, this one was perhaps the most initially uncomfortable—mainly in how little changed.

As it was, he and Killian were nearly mirror images to start with—what with their scars on opposing cheeks and the fact that they parted their hair on different sides. So to see such minor differences in his reflection was a somewhat out-of-body experience—this was close to what people actually saw when they looked at him.

He allowed his minor existential crisis to persist for a minute before finishing the transformation; at least his brother had decent style, if a bit different than his own. (How could he stand these tight jeans?) The false hook over his left hand was awkward, but necessary.

Anyways. It was time to see if he could pull this off; after all, he was far too wise not to do foolish things now and then. He headed down to the diner (after peeking around a corner to make sure neither Killian nor Emma were already there—though the fact that he’d slept in probably prevented that) and slipped onto a stool at the counter.

This time, when Granny greeted him, it was much warmer. “Early lunch?”

“Aye; the usual, my dear,” he tested. “And I just couldn’t wait to see you,” he added with a wink.

Granny blushed and chuckled, then shuffled off to the kitchen. Good; she was receptive to his flirting. If he was bold enough about it, surely that would stir up some ill will towards his brother; just what kind of man brashly flirted with a woman who wasn’t his wife? And there was a reasonable audience, even if mid-morning was somewhat slow.

So hopefully someone noticed when he grabbed the bottle of whiskey sitting behind the counter and snuck it into his lap.

A few minutes later, the older lady was back, sliding over a plate of fish and chips; predictable of his brother. “Fresh caught, extra vinegar on the chips—just how you like it.”

“Oh, you spoil me,” he replied, holding back a gag at the smell of the vinegar. He leaned across the counter, continuing, “If there’s anything I can do to repay you, you know where to find me,” then suggestively licking his lips.

To his shock, she just laughed and patted his cheek. “You know you couldn’t handle me, sweetheart.” And went back to her business.

Hm. Well, that wasn’t quite the response he expected. But he at least passed for Killian; that was a good sign. (Unfortunately, he had to sell it by actually eating this meal; thank the gods for the whiskey to wash it down.)

He headed down to the marina next, finding the easiest boat he could hotwire (which, with his magic, was all of them) and took a bit of a joyride, then poofed ashore when that got boring.

After a trip through the pharmacy, where he got a five-finger discount on some mid-range rum, he relieved himself in the shrubs outside a convent, knocked over the displays outside the florist, pretended to need the services of the carpenter but just dumped wood stain over his wares, and dragged the tip of his hook along some parked cars.

Briefly, he took a smoking break outside the elementary school and let the half-burnt cigarette fall into a bush outside a classroom, setting it alight. He was enjoying watching the slowly growing fire when the room’s window flew open and a petite woman with short, dark hair attacked it with a fire extinguisher. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” she snapped at him.

“No,” he answered succinctly, and transported away, hopefully leaving a scorch mark on the lawn, too.

He’d noticed a friendship between his brother and the librarian—the gorgeous woman who had seemingly questionable taste in men. He’d be shocked if the two of them had kept things purely platonic, despite their respective well-known relationships. And if they hadn’t…well, it was time for him to explore that, even if for his own enjoyment.

The bell on the library rang as he entered. “You here, love?” he called out, suddenly realizing he’d never caught the lass’s name.

“Right where you left me,” she shouted; shit, he forgot his brother worked here. That was a close call. He followed the sound of her voice to the next room, where he found her desperately trying to reach something on the top shelf. “Perfect timing; can you lend me a hand? Pun intended.”

“Ha,” he answered awkwardly, not sure if he should be acting offended or not. “But of course.”

He didn’t hesitate to grab the volumes she asked for, but rather than just hand them over, he took the opportunity to move into her space. “Oh, uh, thanks,” she said, trying to take a step back, but she didn’t get far before bumping into a cart.

“That’s all my assistance is worth? ‘Thanks’?”

“Killian, you know I appreciate you—”

“So let me appreciate you, darling,” he said on a breath, leaning in close. “Don’t tell me you’ve never felt something…more…between us.” Subtly, he raised the blinds in the room so any passers by might see his attempted pursuit of someone who clearly wasn’t his brother’s wife.

She looked up at him, lips parted, and he was aware of her heightened heart rate. She narrowed her gaze briefly. “No, I haven’t—Dorian.”

“Who’s Dorian?” he lied.

Her knee found his crotch swiftly and strongly; she might be short and slight, but she was the perfect height to do optimum damage to his manhood. He stumbled back, dropping the books and holding his groin, groaning, with stars beginning to cloud his vision.

“I can’t believe I almost fell for that,” she yelled. “You really thought I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

“Ah, but you almost did,” he countered, even though his voice was incredibly strained.

He could see her blushing even through his squinted view. “Never,” she insisted, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “I won’t do that, and I won’t help you.”

He scoffed as his breath started to come back. “What use are you to me? Just a silly librarian; even if you are married to the Dark One.”

She smirked. “I’m used to people underestimating me. I suggest you don’t again. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that painting of yours, would you?”

“My painting?” He wasn’t surprised she knew of it—this was a library, obviously, if even the book he’d inspired was largely fabrication—but he’d left it behind in another realm, hoping the distance (and that particular realm’s timelessness) would prevent its aging, or at least slow it.

But then—he felt it. A faint heartbeat in his ear, just a millisecond behind his own but the same tempo: the heart of his True Love, continuing to carry a rhythm for him even though it was shattered and locked in canvas. It seemed to be coming from above them; he glanced up, trying to locate it, but didn’t get very far before his gaze was forced away rather painfully.

Belle had slapped him—again, stronger than he expected, but he’d been hit so many times that it hardly stung. “Get the hell out of here, and leave us alone.”

“Alright, alright,” he replied, and immediately poofed away—right into the attic of the library. The drumbeat of the heart was even louder up here, and he was easily able to follow it—while stepping lightly enough to not make a sound—to one end of the cluttered storage room.

And there it was: his iconic portrait. It…wasn’t pretty. Not that it had been when he’d stashed it in the Land of Untold Stories, but it had definitely continued to deteriorate, though thankfully less than it probably should have. There was part of his soul that certainly felt like the withered, grayed, gnarled mess of a man in the image before him, but only a small one.

Actually, it was a good thing the portrait had made its way here; perhaps, when he achieved his plan, he’d also be able to sever his tie to this in favor of the dagger. He’d leave it here for now—but he’d be back for it later.

He had at least one more stop to make. So he transported again to an alley by the sheriff station, knocked over a mailbox, and casually headed inside. While it would be fun to see how far he could take things with Emma, he had no doubt she’d be able to see through this disguise even quicker than the librarian had. But the other deputy, the blond one—he might be slower on the uptake.

“Hey, Hook,” the man said, barely glancing up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Emma’s doing rounds.”

“Aye; I’m aware,” he said, sauntering closer. “I was here to see you, anyway.”

“Yeah?” The man—David, judging by the name plate on the desk—looked up at him. “What’s up?”

Dorian wasted no time in taking a seat right in front of him on the desk, cupping his (rather handsome) face, and quickly finding his lips.

The ensuing chain of reactions was honestly hilarious: the other man stilled at first, then leaned into it, but then seemed to realize who he was kissing and pushed away, jumping to his feet.

“What the hell was that?” he spat, wiping off his mouth on the back of his hand.

Dorian hopped off the desk and moved closer to David. “I was always curious; you mean you weren’t?”

“No!” he shouted. “Not like—just, no!”

“Was I that bad?” Dorian flirted, tilting his head.

“No, you were—not my son-in-law,” David sighed, realizing who he was talking to.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Dorian replied. “And you’re only a halfway decent kisser.”

“My wife thinks I’m just fine,” David threw back, somewhat offended. “And if you’re trying to turn people against Killian, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

“You almost bought it.”

“Please; Killian only has eyes for Emma. Not that you’d know anything about True Love, I bet.”

Dorian glowered. “You don’t know anything about me, pal. Maybe get off your high horse with your generalizations.”

David stepped closer and put his hands on his hips; Dorian couldn’t help but feel like he was about to get a lecture. “I don’t know everything about you, but I’ve known enough people like you. I actually had a twin, too.”

“Oh? More than one of you? Must have been terribly dull.”

“Actually, you’d probably have gotten along with him famously; he was a selfish cad, too.”

“And where’s this fellow now?”

“Oh, he’s dead,” David went on. “From what I heard, he got a little too cocky, a little sloppy, and it came back to bite him. Or, well, stab him through the chest.”

“Ouch,” Dorian deadpanned. “And your point is?”

“Maybe you should ease up on making enemies. Because you don’t know which one is going to finally take you out.”

“And what—make friends instead?”

David shrugged. “Can’t hurt. Though I also can’t say you have good odds of finding many here, after all the drama you’ve stirred up so far.”

“No thanks.”

“Hey,” David said, softer, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’ve spent a long time chasing one thing, and it seems like you have nothing else to live for. But I watched your brother change his path; it’s not too late for you.”

Dorian gingerly pushed David’s hand off, like it was something disgusting. “Look, I know you hero types, and I know you mean well and want what’s best for me, or whatever. But I also know this: you have to want to change. Clearly my brother did. Me, though? I find good advice rather annoying. So save your breath.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I will, thanks.” And he transported back to his pilfered room at Granny’s.

His conversation with David was already forgotten; the deputy had probably hoped his words would linger and Dorian would reconsider his entire life. But no—he knew what he wanted.

And now, he just had to wait to see what fallout his (mis)adventures today wrought.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Late 1880s

Dorian stepped out of the portal onto a dirty cobblestone alley. Once the gateway closed behind him, he placed his second bean in his inner coat pocket for safekeeping, and sealed it with magic—which thankfully worked; he wasn’t sure what to expect as far as being able to normally access his powers in this so-called Land without Magic, but was glad to see they were so far unhindered.

Of course, the irony of this realm carrying that name was that he had come here seeking magic out. It wasn’t fully devoid, he could tell, but he’d heard that it was far-flung, infrequent, and hidden from the general populace.

Which was probably why it was so dark in this backstreet; what kind of uncivilized society hadn’t figured out proper outdoor lighting yet? He could see some primitive lanterns at the end of the way, on what looked to be a main street, but could smell the fuel in them from here.

As such, he conjured a fireball in his hand to get his bearings. He’d arrived in the corner of an alley that went between and behind buildings—great, grimy brick monstrosities. Some parchment sat atop abandoned crates along one side; he inspected closer, reading The Daily Telegraph across the top of the page, followed by a picture of a man identified as the Prince of Wales, which he had to assume was a meaningful title as no proper name was given.

He further studied the fashion of the man, then glanced down at his own clothes, which were decidedly not of this realm from what he could see. That was easy to fix, though, and with a wave of his hand, he was wearing a garment that closely resembled what he saw in the image: a coat with long-ish tails, slacks, and a waistcoat. He didn’t hate it, but the vest wasn’t quite his style.

Anyways. That settled, he reached into a different pocket (he’d made sure the contents of those stayed the same regardless of what his jacket looked like) and pulled out a slip of paper with a name written on it: Basil Hallward. From what he’d been told, this man could help him find the magic he needed to get him one step closer to the Dark One’s powers.

(That Rumpelstiltskin bastard had placed so many protection spells over the Dark Castle, it was bordering on ridiculous. Didn’t he know it was once Dorian’s home? But no—the demon wouldn’t even grace him with a meeting to grant him access to his old quarters. Granted, he’d have been an idiot to, but one could hope. But perhaps here, in this land that seemed to reject magic, he’d find that which could break through those spells and reclaim his birthright.)

He glanced down both alleys in front of him. The one towards the street was empty—just brick walls and boarded-up windows—but going the other way, he could see a light glimmering outside an inconspicuous door.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, the light in the lantern was not fueled by whatever oil illuminated the streets; no, this one was quite similar to the ball of fire in his hand. The portal had placed him in the right spot.

Before he headed to the door, he placed the slip of paper in his own flare, letting it fall to ashes on the stone pavement. Then he extinguished it with a shake of his hand and headed over.

Upon closer inspection, the lamp was indeed his variety of fire magic, though there seemed to be an object at the center of it that kept it burning. Clever, he thought; it meant less mental effort to keep it lit (not that he had to exert much anymore for such simple spells).

The door itself was painted roughly to match the exterior wall—or it had been, once upon a time, and now was faded and flaking, but he could still make out where “B. Hallward” was written in yellowing letters.

He knocked, firmly and insistently, and then waited. He wasn’t naive enough to think he’d get an immediate answer, or even to think he’d be seen tonight, but there was also no sense waiting.

He listened close to the door for a minute or so, but if there was anything to hear, it was unnoticeable. Then he paced a bit, keenly aware of the sounds of his unfamiliar shoes tapping on the stones.

But after nearly 10 minutes, he had to concede that either Mr. Hallward was out for the evening, or didn’t wish to be disturbed. Well, surely a town of this size had a red-light district; it wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent a night in such an establishment (usually willingly).

He began to walk towards the sounds of society, at the far end of this alley, when he paused; he thought he heard the turn of a deadbolt. He turned back to look at the door; it was still shut, but the color of the flame in the lantern had changed to blue. Curious.

He moved closer to it, and to his surprise, a small window appeared from nowhere. There was no glass inside it, but he could see nothing but blackness behind it. “Yes?” a voice called out from the void.

“Basil Hallward?” he asked.

“Who wants to know?” the voice replied.

“Someone who has traveled a great distance to seek you out.”

The voice cursed, probably realizing he’d revealed his identity without meaning to. “What for?” he finally came back with.

“A bit of magic,” he answered, then called forth his own fire again.

The window disappeared and the door swung open. “Come in,” the other man called out; Dorian didn’t hesitate to oblige.

Whatever he was expecting—this wasn’t it. Despite whatever spell lay on the entryway—and he could feel it as he stepped through—it was actually fairly light inside, with more enchanted lamps around the open space, which revealed the absolute clutter everywhere. And, to the back of the room, what appeared to be a painter’s studio.

“You’re an artist?” he exclaimed, minorly disgusted.

“That I am, sir,” the other man replied, and Dorian finally got a look at him: he seemed young—younger than him, at least—and the narrow mustache above his lip did nothing to make him appear older. He pushed his dark, curly hair out of his equally dark eyes. “What of it?”

“I came here looking for magic,” Dorian spat. “Not to sit for my portrait.”

“A pity; you’d make an excellent subject, with that profile. But I do both, actually.”

“Both?” He raised an eyebrow, skeptic.

“Aye; let me show you.” Basil beckoned Dorian towards his work bench; he hesitantly followed. The man picked up a vial of what Dorian assumed was pigment off the cluttered surface. He uncorked it and held it out. “Do you recognize it?”

Dorian narrowed his gaze and peered inside. It was just a black powder, but he recognized the smell. “Adder’s fork?”

“Good eye,” Basil commended. “And this?” he asked, holding out a small dish with a bluish powder.

“Mermaid scale,” Dorian identified. “I don’t understand.”

“Magic works differently in this realm,” Basil explained. “No one here is born with it inherently, but what makes its way here usually requires a conduit—some physical tether. Me, I learned how to embed it in my paint, using these ingredients.”

“And then what?”

“Whatever you want,” Basil answered. “Within reason, of course.” He showed off a portrait of an expectant mother, explaining that the woman and her husband had been trying to have children for several years when he painted her; “Now, she has three children and another on the way.” Another painting displayed a vagabond sitting on a street curb. “His wife discovered he was cheating on her; now he’s destitute and she kept his wealth.”

“So you grant wishes?”

“In a sense. A fertility spell was embedded in this portrait, a curse of ill-luck in the other.”

Dorian glanced back at the work space and saw a good number of potion books—many of them he knew—across a bookshelf above it. “Ahhh,” he sighed in understanding. “Then you likely don’t have what I’m after.”

“Which is?”

“A way to break into a heavily fortified castle?”

Basil shook his head. “Afraid not. But if you have something of its occupant’s, we could probably find a way to cast them out, or at least make them horridly uncomfortable.”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be here.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Hope you didn’t come far, then.”

“Only a few realms away.”

Basil whistled low. “Then I at least owe you a drink. What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey?”

He nodded and led him over to a sitting area, where they proceeded to chat over (some damn fine) liquor. Basil was curious about the magical realms—he had some acquaintances who passed through the other worlds who supplied him with his materials, but had never been himself. Dorian wondered how he’d fallen into this line of work, then.

“The man I apprenticed with taught me; passed on all he knew.” Well, that sounded familiar.

As such, they got on famously, to the point that Basil offered Dorian use of a spare bedroom in his home for as long as he was staying in this realm.

What the hell, Dorian thought. The Dark One wasn’t going anywhere—he could enjoy himself for a bit. (It wasn’t like he ever needed an excuse to do so.)

For the next few weeks, Basil showed him about this curious town—London, it was called, and far larger than he realized—and introduced him to many interesting people (and vices; opium was a delight, though he saw enough of the strung-out folks addicted to it to use in moderation).

They went to countless parties, gatherings, concerts, sporting events. At one such dinner, he met a writer named Oscar who seemed to be infatuated with him; he couldn’t say he disliked the attention. The man became a regular fixture in their outings as well (and maybe a few private nights).

Dorian did oblige Basil to pose for a portrait eventually; far be it for him to deny the world his beauty. “And what enchantment will you weave into this one?” he asked, peering over his friend’s shoulder; Basil had finished painting his face and form, but nothing else yet.

“None,” Basil replied simply. “You have enough magic on your own.

(There may also have been a few nights he spent in Basil’s room, as well. He was hardly a choosy lover, so long as someone caught his interest.)

He smirked cockily at the praise and admired his face and form on the canvas. Basil was truly a gifted artist and, in his personal opinion, had perfectly captured Dorian’s handsomeness, strength, and form, down to the color of his eyes.

However, later that night as he readied for bed, he caught a glimpse of something new in his reflection in the looking glass: was that…a wrinkle?

He pulled at the flesh around his eyes, watching as it stretched and returned. Indeed, there was a fine line—a few, even—in that delicate skin.

He was 30 years old; he knew it was inevitable he began to look it (even if he dare say he looked better than most men his age). But it was a sudden, stark reminder: the being he was chasing was immortal; he, however, was not.

(There was probably some sage advice somewhere about avoiding vice to extend his longevity, but…where was the fun in that?)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・🗡・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

thanks for reading! tagging some peeps (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609 @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke @bluewildcatfanatic

#cs ff #killian jones ff #cssns 2023 #captain swan supernatural summer #sons of love and death #my ff

47 notes · View notes

echoedcrosshairs · 10 months

Text

Playing with Fire / Cad Bane ~ part one

Summary; Cad Bane sets foot in a library looking for information, quickly coming to learn you were more then the average librarian. As a former Bounty Hunter you decide to help out, you’re smart and that’s an asset he could use but that wise mouth has him wondering what use he could use and if it would be worth it

Warning; Fluff, Angst, Emotional Turmoil, Violence, Smut, PiV(eventually-brief mention), alien (obviously), Cad Bane can kind of be an ass, age gape (canonically during clone wars Bane is 41-43ish) reader is mid 20’s, sapiosexual, mild toxicity that gets fixed, toothpicks 🤌🏻

Word count: 3k

Part two

Masterlist

Might turn into a series, let me know if you like it

Humming a small instrumental ballad helped keep you awake at this late hour along with enough caf that would cause a regular person to need a medic. You sipped the huge canister mindlessly as you strolled around the library putting dusty tomes away happy to be working on one of the last paper libraries in the galaxy. Your feet traced the familiar pattern of the library bouncing section to section as you dusted and returned books back to their proper places. The books themselves smelled like history waiting to be remember from long forgotten minds and the promise of small vacation without having to leave a sofa or a bed. Life was hectic as is sometimes the promises of that short vacation was promising but there were never enough hours in the day or days that you remained awake. You heard the door open with the faint bell not perceptible to most, you grabbed your caf and quickly headed to the service counter to greet who ever had come in at this late hour.

“Welcome to the library on Vossos, how can I assist your inquiry?” the greeting rolled off your tongue like your own name which was permanently engrained into your cortex.

“Matta’ o fact I be lookin for an old book ‘bout the plants of dis here planet. Any i’dere where a book like that might be?” He asked rolling a tooth pick between his teeth using his canines to hold it steady.

“Right this way sir, I’m assuming your interested in the poisonous variety?” you inquired noticing his blasters and gadgets about his body.

“Matta’ a fact lil lady that is indeed what I be lookin for,” he said tilting his hat up letting you see his Duros predatory eyes internally surprised when you were unfazed by it, he’d seen the locals with barely an alien in sight.

You flipped the sign on your desk saying with you were with a patron and you’d be back soon as a formality, “Right this way sir, I’ll show you which one I consider the best out of the current selection of our poisonous flowera.”

“Ain’tchu an interestin librarian. You best not be waistin’ ma time. Let hurry it up, I got betta things to do,” he groaned out following after you.

You listened to the metal distortion in his voice, the thick unplaceable accent but you could identify from the ocean depths skin and bright crimson eyes that he was a Duros. “Reptilian humanoid, advance hunting instincts and scent tracking via olfactory organs under their eyes, green blood, avid travelers and explorers..”

“Quit ya yapping, soundin like one of these here books.”

“Sorry,” you offered with a small laugh, “This is the book,” you said pulling the newest book off the shelf and handed it to him, “I recommend pages 152-183, I think that is what your looking for,” you smiled automatically opening the book to the pages, “Tell that droid who’s discreetly following to commit to his memory banks.”

“How did you know I was there?” Todo said moving in hovering next to Bane.

“I have exceptional hearing in confined space like the small rattle of bell above the door.”

“That is most fascinating, Bane she might-“

“Can it, Todo.”

“If you need any further assistance just shout,” you said giving the man a small nod noticing the sharp fangs at the corners of his mouth.

“D’anks.”

You strode away leaving him to his research not waiting to interfere or catch wind of whatever nasty business brought him in under the cover of darkness as much as your curiosity was compelling you to put the puzzle pieces together. Your lips found the straw of your caf taking a few large gulps before turning your attention back to the checklist of books that needed to be marked returned that you were putting off doing. Your finger drummed against your desk as your eyes danced between the chart of returned books and the list checking them off, circling the ones not yet returned. Every few books your mind would wonder back to the mysterious man and his droid, it was like thinking about him caused him to appear. You looked to see him walking towards you with his droid in tow.

“Lil lady, wanna earn a few credits? You knowin’ this place will keep ma from wastin ma time.”

“Depends, what would be the task?” You ask looking up at him resting your face on your palm.

Cad Bane stared at you almost seeing the wheels turning in your head along with the interest about the proposition, “Wanna have you come with ma, you won’ wanna wear somethin’ so pretty. Wear somethin’ ya can worth throw away it might get messy.”

“Are we killing someone’s or going into the woods?” you asked curiously.

“Lil of both.”

“When do we go?”

“Wastin’ darkness, betta get it ova’ with before he knowin’ it comin’. Ain’tchu a curious one, we hav’a deal?”

“You didn’t tell me a price,” you countered, “But if it’ll get me out of doing this list, let me grab my coat. What I am wearing is fine.”

“Still think this is a good idea?” Bane asked Todo.

“You are actually asking my opinion! That is wonderful. She does seem highly intelligent and insightful, I do think it would make our task easier.”

Bane started walking after you watching you lock up finding you taking off your top layer of clothes folding them into a nice stack onto the desk revealing a slimming snug bodysuit that left nothing to the imagination grabbing a coat made with similar material which hung to your thighs. He notes the hidden vibro blades concealed in the sleeves. Maybe a little too intelligent and insightful for her own good. Interesting lil thing. He watched you adjust the coat and the cuffs before bending over and fastening your shoes tighter. Bane ran his tongue over his teeth wondering if this was turning into a game of cat and mouse.

“Are you going to keep staring or are we leaving?” you asked arching an eyebrow at him.

Bane adjusted his hat with a curt nod grabbing the tooth pick from his mouth and tossing it into the trash, his curling, “You didn’ seem to hesitatin’ comin’ wit me,” he probed.

“Maybe some fresh air will do me good,” you offered, “I mean you did see the big jug of caf.”

“Hmm,” came from Banes mouth observing you and how relaxed you seemed, “Names Cad Bane.”

You introduced yourself him slotting away his name for further research, it seemed familiar but not in a good way. Oddly enough it sent a small shiver down your spine as you strolled into the ship after him. The Justifier, interesting name. Do the means justify the ends or do the ends justify the means? Or was the name simpler then that? You let a small delirious sounding laugh finally remembering where you’d heard his name before.

“What is thee Cad Bane doing out here in Vossos? Nothing is out here, barely any crime not even a decent trade port?”

“Dat be a good question, whatsa librarian skin’ wearing somethin like dat?” He countered finally eyeing you but not smelling a shred of fear.

“To distracting?” you asked noticing his fixated gaze.

“Somethin’ nice to be lookin’ at in da mean time,” he smiled noticing you looking at him, “just makes ma wonda if there’s more to ya.”

“There’s always more to a person then what you see.”

“No kindin.”

The conversation lapsed into silence as both of you examined each other with curious eyes even though it was hard for you to read him with his hat covering you.

“Pick?” You asked pointing at the tooth pick and sticking out your hand.

“Don’ like sharin’ maybe if you wanna risk gettin’ it outta my mouth,” he scoffed like it was you asking for his personal com number. His jaw dropped when you walked up next to him and grabbing it out of his mouth sticking the dry side in your teeth.

“He’s letting you live!” Todo said flabbergasted.

“He asked for my help consider it a tax for it being so short noticed,” you replied.

He put another one in his mouth smiling with his exposed fangs, “Wastin’ time, the pick don’ matta I got more.”

Your light footsteps fell in sync with his, every footstep silent except for the ground shifting underneath. Todo flew ahead to survey the forest head location finding the small shed ahead with one heat signature. He swooped down and dug out one of the plants before returning and bragging about it enough that Cad threatens to turn him into spare parts if he didn’t shut up.

“Any i’deres bout gettin him to eat it?” he whispered.

“Why do you have to poison him?” you questioned.

“Part of da request,” he shrugged.

“Give me that,” you said grabbing the plant from his cold hand, you flicked out one of the vibro knifes and cut it up to where it was barely recognizable, “I got a couple ideas,�� you tucked the knife away and walked your way up to the shake hearing Bane hiss behind you asking what you were doing. Maybe you should know what type of business happens on this planet. You hiked your way through the brush and knocked on the door brazenly. The door swung open to someone you’ve never seen in town before, not that it mattered. “Heard you were looking for some company,” smiled coyly at him.

“I didn’t-“

“Well someone paid for your tab and your up anyway, sure you wanna waste it?” you said stroking the door frame eyeing himself a smile.

“Waste a ladies company? Never,” he said opening the door.

The toothpick fell out of Bane’s mouth watching you stroll in like you owned the place. He slowly moved closer to the house sniffing every few seconds just in case he needed to go in guns blazing. Stupid librarian or whatever she is. That girl is playing with fire with that cat inside. Bane practically was pressed up against the window watching them drink and laugh… then the man fell over and your eyes found his with a smile.

You eyed the crimson in the window and blue skin looking at you offering him a wave as you sat there with your legs cross just sipping the tea watching the man twitch on the floor until he finally stilled. You looked back up find Bane standing with his hands on his hips. Smirking you sipped your tea watching him come in.

“I bet this was real boring for a man of you… expertise.”

“He coulda killed ya,” Bane said moving his arms folding them over his chest.

“Oh he tried, unfortunately for him I’m the bigger burra fish here.”

“What are ya woman?”

“Just the helpful librarian.”

“That’s who you are!” Todo said rushing forward flying around you, “Bane do you know who this is?” He said excitedly.

“No but I know’ your gonna tell me ‘bout anyway.”

Todo repeated your name a few times excitedly, “She’s an informant for bounty hunters! You want to know something and she finds it! Quiet the record for bounty catches too.”

“Was,” you correctly coldly stalking about out of the room away from them. Todo tried to follow you but you kept swatting him away. You plopped down back in the seat and waiting for Bane to arrive.

“Answer ma one question before we go, why’d ya give it up if you were so good?”

“Why did you invite me to come if you’re so good?” You countered.

“ ‘spose that’s enough of an answer. Todo, he on board?”

“Yes, Mr. Bane. Obviously.”

“Good, fly the ship. You watta join me for drink?” Bane asked.

“Going to try to take me out?” You smiled.

Cad leaned over your chair and offered you the toothpick in his mouth of his own freewill hearing Todo gasp, “Insurance I won’t.” Your breath was warm against the cool of his skin sending a little tingle through him. As soon as you pulled away his fingers went to his arm band and turned up the temperature on his body suit wondering if it was a failure in his equipment or if you were just a walking sun lap. He lead you down the hall to a little bar room even if it was only stocked with one drink.

Bane tilted his hat up letting you take a good look at his face, the blue hue of rivaled the depths of sapphire and eyes like the finest wine on Coruscant. It was a striking bold combination. You grabbed the shot he passed you and slammed it back, wincing which rose a chuckled out of him. It reverberated in his throat low. You tried to keep the smile off your face but you couldn’t help it, you’d never been a fan of the hard stuff but you tried. Grabbing the refilled shot your hand grazed against his chilled hand as a reflex you quickly pulled back.

“I don’ bite. Hard,” he mused.

“The reproductive biology of Duros during heighten states of their cycle-“

“Woman stop bein a damn manual.”

“I actually going to ask how that works if their mate is a non Duros. Let’s say like us mammals our skin isn’t designed for that roughness.”

“If ya keep hangin’ round maybe I’ll show ya how it werks.”

“Are you asking for my continued help?” you raised.

“Wi’dout knowin betta, I’d say you’d be interested.”

“As long as the work isn’t boring and if I’m reading you promise to leave me alone.”

Something almost warm stirred in Bane at the easy acceptance, mentally weighing the pro’s and con’s of having a rival on board but you didn’t seem to care about the credits, “Whats ya angle? Don’ seem to care ‘bout the creds,” he made himself ask.

“The great Cad Bane scared of a pretty little librarian wanting to be helpful”

Bane growled at the comment staring at you for a moment squinting before returning to his natural relaxed state, “Don’ ever accuse me of bein’ scared again, I’m cautious dats all.”

“I got more than enough credits to tie me over for life, spending so much time around books makes me forget how to be around people.”

Bane sniffed the slight change in the air about your scent, it was a little sweeter but just faintly twinged with excitement, “Was it somethin’ I said? You don’ wanna go messin’ with dis Duros, scrawny thang.”

You looked down at yourself realizing what the growl had stirred before looking back up at him, “You’re calling me scrawny? Duros are naturally of slender thinner builds with muscle tone not designed for athletics instead designed knowledgable which is why your semi large cranium. By the looks of it I have more meat on my bones then you do.”

Bane grabbed the toothpick out your mouth flicking the wet side into his mouth tasting your saliva, it was a bold mating declaration if there ever was one from him. Some day some where some time, he was going to have his way with you and enjoy every moment of making you go dumb for him to shut that loud mouth up. As he poured another set of shots, he let his tongue side over the glossing over all of the information his advances senses could acquire.

“Or is it your age making you on the thinner side? You are technically middle aged for your species. However I don’t concur that it means you’re out of your prime, far from it. That is an honest question from someone who’s brain craves information.”

Bane angrily snapped the toothpick in half and it fell out of his jaw unto the ground, he let out one harsh breath because if you were any one else he would killed you right there. Not that Bane cared about you in the slightest but realized you might be worth the hassle of trying to control his temper time to time with whatever annoyingly extensive useful knowledge was racking about in that brain, “D’ose who play with da fire tend to get burned,” the threat was empty but still noticed the way your face twitched for a moment at it, “Bodies always been ‘bout the same,” he admitted.

“I am the fire. Speaking of which you should probably drop me off at the library so I can grab my stuff, or just pick me later if you don’t want to wait.”

Bane let you off the ship and closed the ramp grumbling about how much of a pain that useful brain was. You got back to the library and packed everything you had into three bags and got back to work shoveling books away and slept until it was time for the next shift. Bane hadn’t come back yet and you didn’t mind, the short lived adventure recharging your batteries for the literature kind. It gave you time to pick new books and retrieved unreturned books by whatever means where necessary from knocking on doors to fisticuffs. For the most part your brain didn’t think about Bane but again it was like he summoned from hell, you looked up during your shift and saw him standing there waiting for you. It had almost been a month but you never did specify when later was. Smugly you closed the library and grabbed the three bags and a fourth one you acquired for books that could be handy, “Let’s go cowboy, kept me waiting long enough,” you said, “It better be something worth my time.”

“Woman,” Bane muttered flicking the tooth pick to be ground and trailing after you wondering how much he was going to regret this.

37 notes · View notes

atinyjules · 10 months

Note

please write a woonhak fic 😞 it would be so cute if it was like a first love/kiss thing

TEDDY BEAR FT. WOONHAK pt. 1

Oml suree! I have been waiting for ages for someone to request a Boynextdoor fic so I am so happy!

I'm kinda busy these days so I split the parts so this one is basically the confession part and I'll make the next part on the first date and first kiss🤧😭

🤧So without further a do! Here it is!🌠

"Because of you...I was able to come out of my shell and live life with no regrets."

Summary: Where Woonhak meets his first crush and best friend after 5 years of not seeing each other because of a teddy bear which played a key factor in creating the bond they have.

Genre: Childhood friends to lovers trope , romance, fluff, crack.

Pairings: Childhood friend!Woonhak x reader

Warnings: None

Woonhak had loved teddy bears for as long as he could remember. He got his first bear from his dad when he started kindergarten, he carried it everywhere he went and surprisingly still had it. Except, now it made it's home on top of Woonhak's shelf where it according to his mom watches over him now. Overtime it had become worn out but Woonhak still insisted to keep it not only cause it was his first bear but also because it was the reason he was able to meet you.

"Woonhak! I already told you five times this week to clean up your attic!" he groaned at the mention of the attic by his mom who then pulled his ear.

"Are you even listening?" she questioned making Woonhak wince in pain.

"Oww-ow-eomma it hurts!" he exclaimed as she let go.

"Clean your attic now or no lunch!" she exclaimed and left him as his stomach grumbled.

"I'll have to clean the attic now I guess." he mumbled and jumped up on his bed and clicked open the stairs to the attic and went in, immediately regretting doing a summersault and after climbing in which resulted in the dust flying everywhere.

He quickly opened the windpw and fanned himself as he let out a sigh of relief.

"That was close..." he said and coughed as he started cleaning the attic. Woonhak had been vacuuming the place when he caught sight of an all too familiar light blue coloured box, he smiled as he pulled the box out towards him.

"Woonhak's memory box." he read out the paper written and pasted on the box which 6 year old Woonhak had made. Opening the box he was taken by surprised at the contents of the box. Old toys, expired candies, drawings, photo albums, books, stickers, a hoodie and a teddy bear necklace.

Wait...a teddy bear necklace?!

"It was here all along?! I thought I lost it forever..." he trailed, voice going quiet at the end of the sentence as he put on the precious jewellery over his head.

Woonhak's

"God, I miss her..." I mumbled grazing my fingers over the bear.

I then picked up the photo album and smiled at the first picture of the album. It was me holding my beloved bear next to a pink adorned y/n who smiled at me. As I flipped the page a pink envelop fell from the book making me furrow my eyebrows as I picked it up.

"What's this...To my dearest Woonie...from your bestest friend y/n...what in the world-" I stopped mid sentence at the first line of the letter.

I know I've probably already moved by the time you read this letter.

I thought it'd be better to tell you since we might not meet again.

"You idiot...why am I like this?!" I exclaimed and slapped myself for not finding this letter sooner, I continued reading the letter.

Back in kindergarten I was really quiet and was often picked on by our classmates and one day you came and rescued me...I haven't forgotten it even though I insisted I did. It's a memory I'll never forget.

I'm sorry I kept that secret from you...I was scared you'd say no if I confessed my feelings so since I'm leaving I thought I'd tell you now...hehe.

If we meet in the future...I hope you can maybe accept my feeling even though I doubt you will.

"Woonhak...IDIOT!" I exclaimed as I fell to the ground and let out a frustrated sigh when I heard mom call for me downstairs. I made my way down quickly since mom sounded really hurried but froze mid-way down the stairs once I caught sight of said girl who was currently in my mind.

"Woonhak! Remember Y/n and Jaehyun?" mom said as she looked at me and smiled.

"Hi, Woonhak...long time no see!" she exclaimed as Jaehyun waved at me. Mom proceeded to drag my surprised figure down, right infront of her.

"You didn't forget her already did you?" mom asked as I shook my head.

"Y/n...h-how are you?!" I exclaimed as she chuckled.

"I'm great, you seem to be doing well!" she said as I felt a wave of emotions attack me making my eyes water as I hugged her tightly.

"I missed you..." I mumbled as she hugged me back.

"I missed you too.." she trailed as Jaehyun and mom looked at us fondly.

"Sooo, what have you been up to?" she asked as I awkwardly rubbed the back of my nape.

After having lunch the both of us retreated to my room to talk.

"Nothing much really." I said as she smiled.

"Oh...is that the bear from kindergarten?" She asked after catching sight of it.

"Oh yeah! Wanna see?" I asked and stood up to bring it down from the shelf and gave it to her.

"I'm sorry it's really worn out and dusty." I said as she shook her head.

"No, no! It's completely fine." She said and proceeded to pat the dust away from the bear's head.

Y/n's

I felt nostalgic as I held the now worn out teddy bear in my hands, thoughts going back to kindergarten.

"Leave me alone..." I cried as the bullies laughed and pushed me to the ground.

"Why? Is y/n gonna cry?" one of them spoke up and pulled my hair making me break into a sob when a voice caught their attention.

"Yah!" I looked up to see Woonhak approaching us with shakey legs, holding his bear."What do you want you wimp?" the bully asked as he puffed up his chest and stood infront of him.

"Leave her alone!" he said making them laugh as he huffed.

"What can someone as tiny as you do?"

"You-Yahhh!!" Woonhak exclaimed and started hitting him with the teddy bear making the bully wince.

"Yah! Stop it!" he exclaimed as Woonhak continued attacking the bullies with his bear, chasing them away.

"That's what you get for making Y/n cry!!" he exclaimed and raised his teddy bear in victory.

"Y/n you okay?" he asked as I smiled and wiped my tears, nodding.

"I am now...thanks for saving me Woonie." I said and hugged him causing a bright red tint to graze his features as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"No problem!"

"Woonhak...thanks for saving me back then..." I trailed as he widened his eyes and shook his head.

"Don't thank me! I did what I had to do...to protect you..." he said making me chuckle as I hugged the bear and looked at him with a smile.

"Because of you...I was able to come out of my shell and live life with no regrets." I said and blused as Woonhak chuckled awkwardly and looked down trying to avoid me from seeing him burn up.

"I-I...uh...I'm happy that I could help you live life cheerfully...cause...you were the reason that made school...amazing..." He trailed making me look at him with wide eyes as he finally gained enough confidence to look at me.

"I...uh...I like you a lot." he said making me turn red as he cleared his throat and gulped.

"Woonhak...I...I like you a lot too...even more I guess!" I exclaimed andlooked away as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Uh then...would you...I mean...we should...I mean...uh...we should go out for lunch and stuff sometimes..." he mumbled when Jaehyun poked his head inside the room.

"Y/n...time to go." he said as I stood up and gave him the bear.

"2pm at Saturday?" she said making me look up at her with wide eyes.

"S-Sure! I mean-YOU BET!" he exclaimed making me chuckle as I smiled at him and retreated to my hotel.

_______________________

I am so sorry it's so short! I'll try to post part two as quickly as possible! But I hope you guys enjoyed this enough to wait for part 2? ♥

Well thanks for reading! ☁🌠

Likes and Reblogs would be appreciated🌠

#boynextdoor masterlist #boynextdoor imagines #woonhak #leehan #sungho #jaehyun #taesan #riwoo #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor ff #boynextdoor fic

52 notes · View notes

shepardsherd · 7 months

Text

I'm Gonna Love Me Again

So, I'm writing short story format to try and get ready for creative writing competitions, and I managed to write this. its about an autistic girl named Rose

I’m Gonna Love Me Again Rose

Staring down at the pages of my own handwriting, I realise that it is hard to read. I can’t remember what I wrote myself. These old diaries are from my dark days; from days I want to forget. My school days. It is hard to put you back in those shoes when you hardly fit in there in the first place - you want to expand beyond the lines of what’s good to make yourself comfortable and embrace your differences, no matter how much people may push and pull to keep you in line, to mould you into what they want you to be.

I remember those days of trying to fit in, of trying to be what they wanted me to be, but I still was never good enough… I was still me.

Staring at these papers, feeling the ink and the scrawls of what I used to say, what I used to be…is not me anymore. Its not someone who loves themselves - its someone who has turned to darkness to cope, to crave something, to feel despair and not look back as they plunge into madness and continue to drown in sorrows. Its someone who wishes that things were different back then, that someone, anyone would love me for who I am, or was, at the time.

I did some things I regret, I was a kid. I was a neurodivergent kid in a world that shames differences. I would run and cry and push away those who made fun of me, who blamed me for being the way I was, that I was faking my conditions for attention. But they never picked on other kids like me because they were seen as “authentic”, not faking.

I had dreams. Like any other kid. I wanted to write, to sing, to soar and be better than what these people were making me out to be. But they would crush my dreams, telling me that I would never be loved and would never be successful.

Time went on, I lived in my own fantasy worlds to cope - wrote mountains upon mountains of words whilst failing every exam I ever took because I don’t do well with exams, so I’d always fail. I was the failure back then. As time went on, I stopped attending school to save my life from school bullies. The Rose that wilted, they used to call me. The fragile flower. I dedicated my time to writing, constantly improving, constantly making worlds. I loved every second of it.

But when the pandemic hit, the words just dried up, as I wrote to cope and wrote to keep my sanity, watching shows and looking for inspiration in books I could read on my Kindle or from my shelf. There was this whole spiral of “What if I’m not good enough?”. Again, this. Again the thoughts, the spiralling depression… A cycle I had to break free from.

Looking at all these…memories…I realise that that is what they are - memories. Old things that I can remember but aren’t necessarily important to today, I should make myself happy, take care of myself. Know that I am loved by my family and pets and look for friends where I can find them.

I know that I can achieve what I want, if I work hard and put my mind to it. I could climb mountains, soar free like an eagle, if only I spread my wings and fly. My mother and my family support me, so that’s all I need. I need to build myself up, go where I wanna go. Be who I want to be. Do what I want to do. Nothing is stopping me.

To live, to laugh, to love. That is the point of life. Finding your way in life is just a part of the adventure and my adventure isn’t over yet; for it has only just begun. There are things you have to learn about yourself in order to love yourself and every Rose has its thorn.

I shut the notepads, resisting the urge to tear them all apart. These words that I can barely read are not important to me anymore - they’ve taught me one thing: To love myself, to embrace what I am, to do what I love and keep my head held high. I stuff the notepads back under my bed where I found them, knowing one day I should chuck them all away, but today is not that day.

I look to my desk where all my writing equipment is waiting for me - my laptop, my pads of paper, my pens. My notebooks. All of this is at my disposal - my dreams are within reach. I can write and share my stories and bring love to them, to everyone as long as I strive to be the best I can be - to have people who want to share in this world with me. I have always had this power inside of me, some days its stronger than others and some days I’m driven insane by simply trying to find the words to say.

I wouldn’t give this up for the world. I love my life, I love my family, my pets, my writing abilities, my books, reading… there’s so much that goes into a passion that you’re never really alone in walking down this path you’ve chosen for yourself. Just don’t give up, give yourself a chance and keep working on it, whilst taking time for yourself to love what you do - to do what you want to do and pace yourself.

And you know what? I’m gonna love me again.

That’s the most important thing. To love me again, is to love who I am, no matter what others make me out to be. There is only one of me and I’m perfect the way I am; perfectly me. Perfectly sane. Perfectly insane on the other hand. Creatively balanced. Creatively me. Free. Forever me. A Rose by any other name.

#short story practise

6 notes · View notes

lynnbeth5172 · 6 months

Text

Wake ‘em up and keep them perfect

Small Drabble for @fatherforgivethem board for haunting of hill house.

Made a small board myself though it isn’t that good.

—————————————————————————————

The strange dreams were back again, this time of Aegon. He was playing with his video games and she was watching with a small book in hand, an odd feeling came over her and when she looked up from her book. Her son was on the floor, a bottle of pills next to him and his skin a ghostly white.

Alicent opened her eyes immediately and shivered, from both the cold and the dark dream she had. She reminded herself that her son was okay, Aegon was in bed.

To reassure herself, she got out of the bed and. As quiet as a mime, made it to her eldest children’s rooms.

She moved closer to the bed to look at her oldest son, Aegon had looked more like their father than she’d imagine. His sharp features were the exact opposite of what his sister had.

“They’re the elephants eyebrows those two.” Alicent quickly turned around to see where the voice came from, she saw a woman near Helaena’s desk and chair. She looked as if she were from the 30s, with her lips a shade of plum and her hair neatly done up. Her dress was a light shade of red.

She looked beautiful.

The woman turned to leave and looked at Alicent, as if expecting her to come.

“Well come on, don’t be scared.” A smile grace the woman’s face as she said that.

“Who…who are you?” Alicent took a hesitant step near her, is this another dream? Was she still asleep?

The woman stopped when she was near the hallway, she turned to her and let out a small chuckle.

“Nyra…you can call me Nyra.” Nyra moved closer and took Alicent’s arm in hers, walking her to Ali’s small reading room.

“I do quite adore what you did to the place,” Nyra let go of her arm to gracefully move to pick up a book.

“It use to be my dressing room, then of course when I had Joff it was his little nursery room. Luke and Jace shared a room.” Ali was still confused, she had to still be dreaming…or maybe she was losing her mind.

“I’m…I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“Course you are.” Nyra glanced up from the book that Aemond had read not too long ago.

“I’m a dream, and so are you and so are we,” she must’ve seen Alicent’s confused face as she then let out a laugh and moved closer. Taking Ali’s face.

“I know you’re confused…Ali darling.” She tapped her cheek with her thumb and pulled away before Alicent could process what she did.

“Don’t worry, you’re not as confused or stupid as the girl’s Daemon used to bring home.” Nyra’s smile had faded and a small bit of rage showed on her face before returning to normal.

Nyra sat down and beckoned Alicent to do the same.

Alicent was quiet for a moment before Nyra spoke again.

“Do forgive me for saying but you look just a fright, as if you’ve seen a ghost…you wanna talk about it?” Ali looked up to see Nyra’s concerned face, although it didn’t look quite concerned as it did appear more curious.

“I…I don’t think I do.” She looked back down in her lap.

“It’s your dream, darling.” She then tilted her head to where the library shelf was, Alicent followed her gaze.

Nyra got up and walked to the shelf, she looked as if surprised or remembering something.

“I…Joffrey’s crib was right here, I think…painted little trees on it. Green trees, so he could sleep and dream of the forest.” A nostalgic smile graced the woman’s face, as if remembering the happy memory.

“When he grew he didn’t need it anymore and it just broke me,”

A small feeling of pity filled Alicent as she felt the same way when Daeron was old enough to walk or when Aemond was too big for the crib.

“You try and try to keep them safe, all that someone can do really…but you can’t keep them safe forever.” She sat in front of where Alicent sat and put her hands on the chair’s armrest.

“Sad feeling, losing a child or watching them grow up.” She sighed and touched Ali’s cheek.

“You’d think there’s a feeling worse than that?”

Alicent responded immediately.

“No…I don’t think there ever could be,” then she took in a breath as she remembered the stormy night that Helaena got lost.

“I had the worst dream not too long ago…I lost my sweet girl during the storm, one moment she was there then the next gone.” She swallowed as she tried to forget the fear that clogged her throat when she desperately looked around.

“I had a dream like that…I lost my oldest boy, I dreamed that I was in the woods and I heard a choking noise…I remember I went near mad trying to find the noise but then I did. It was my eldest boy, Jacaerys. He kept gasping for air as if he was dying and when I looked closer I saw a noose around his neck.” She got up again to where the crib was.

“Oh and sweet Luke was there too, he was so small when he was in the tree. Looked as if he were a tiny baby bird looking for its mama…he jumped; I remember still the blood, it oozed out often his head as if it were simply overflowing water and not my little boy’s blood.” Her mouth widened in horror and she looked as if she were going to scream, then before Nyra could scream. Alicent always hated screams, her old boyfriend used to do that a lot. By habit she lifted her fingers to cover her ears, but the scream didn’t come. In fact the only thing she heard Nyra produce was a laugh.

“But that was just a dream, just a bad dream.” She went to where Ali sat and offered her hand to lift her out of the seat. Alicent’s nightdress flowed slightly as she got up to face Nyra.

“The worst dream, a screaming meemie. But then I woke up, and they were safe in their beds.” She turned around to where Nyra stared at and a smile came to Alicent’s face.

They were in Aemond and Daeron’s shared room, Daeron’s poster of horses was above his bed and he held a stuffed animal horse as he slept.

Alicent walked to where Aemond was, his face scrunched up as he moved in his sleep. He was perfect. Daeron was perfect.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Nyra hummed and moved to where Daeron was, moving in to press a light kiss to his head.

“I bet you’d do anything for them, ain’t that so?”

Alicent answered immediately:

“Yes I would, for all of them.” Her love for her children was unconditional, it was the same for her brother, Gywane.

“So what if they were having dreams? Bad ones, positively screaming meemies…worst of the worst.”

Alicent froze, her children had already been saying that they were seeing things, Aegon and Helaena had kept talking about seeing a tall man and a broken neck lady…and Daeron and Aemond kept talking about a girl named Alyssa.

They couldn’t escape the scary imaginations in their dreams.

“I’d…I’d wake them up.”

Nyra looked at her and spoke again;

“I mean a dream so bad, about loss and death…sicknesses that can’t be cured or medicine that you’d take till you pass.”

It felt as if she was taunting her, telling her all the dreams her sweet children could suffer from. Nyra’s face was still a slight bit curious.

“Well…I have a secret, a way to keep ‘em just perfect. Didn’t work with Jace cause he was older but it worked for Joffrey and Luke.” A knowing smile came to her face as she moved closer.

“Care to hear, Ali darling?” Alicent swallowed and nodded before Nyra leaned in close, putting her lips into her ears and whispering something that Alicent would remember and hold close.

“Mom?” Aemond’s voice broke her thoughts and she looked at her young boy who was awake, a look of genuine concern was on his face.

“Momma are you okay?” A smile came to Alicent’s face as she leaned down and kissed her son’s forehead.

“Yes sweetie, In fact I feel…perfect” she grinned as Nyra’s words repeated in her head.

‘Wake them up and keep them just perfect.’

—————————————————————————————-

This was longer than I expected um…thank you so much @fatherforgivethem for letting me write a small story for Alicent.

Also in this version I had Aegon and Helena as twins and as a Neil and Luke, it would make sense for Aegon especially if it’s going with his character.

And yes, Rhaenyra is Poppy in this story.

#alicent hightower #house of the dragon #the haunting of hill house #olivia crain

4 notes · View notes

boowhumps · 1 year

Text

|WHUMPRIL 2023|

|Day 2 ~ Insomnia|

(@whumpril)

⚠TW⚠

- Swearing

- Mentions of Death

- Mentions of Suicide

----------------

I found myself walking down the corridor once again, the stress I was facing enough to keep sleep from coming.

It had now been at least 50 hours since I last slept. You would think that "dead" people don't need sleep, but since I'm still alive in the overworld my needs are different.

I find myself at the last door at end of the corridor. I push against the large doors and enter the silent library. I subconsciously walk over to the nearest bookshelf and retrieve the brown book I left there.

I flip open the pages and quickly scan over them.

'Memory #1 - You are Amnesia. You are not fully alive nor fully dead. You work for Selyna.'

'Memory #6 - You were betrayed. Back stabbed. They never loved you.'

'Memory #13 - Watch out for Brendan. He's always watching you.'

'Memory #21 - Briar is planning something. Don't let her get away with it.'

'Memory #25 - Zaaron is good. Kairo is good. [CENSORED] is good. Silas is good. Lua is good. Selyna is good. Protect them.'

"Up late again, huh?"

I jump and shut the book closed as I whip around to find Silas leaning on the doorway.

"GOD- Can you not do that!?" I hiss but he shushes me.

"Quiet, don't wake anyone up. And I didn't mean to scare you.. I just was wondering why you're awake in the dead of night?"

I take a deep breath and put the book gently back on the shelf. I turn back around and walk past Silas who quickly turns to follow me.

"Don't worry about why I'm up." I say as I walk down the corridor once again.

Silas walks fast beside me. "Sorry it's just.. you look dead."

I stare at him. "Way to rub it in."

He quickly shakes his hands. "Oh shit, no, that's not what I meant-! I mean you look dead as in you look like you haven't slept- god I'm sorry that was really insensitive-"

I grab him by the shoulders. "I was joking."

He looks at me confused, then sighs. "Right.. I forgot how.. expressionless you are.."

I huff. "Yeah, you lose the ability to express yourself after your second attempt at dying."

Silas stares at me concerned.

I groan. "Fuck Silas, I was joking again."

He laughs awkwardly. "Yeah, I definitely knew that.!"

There's a few seconds of silence before Silas speaks again.

"Sooo.. Insomnia?"

I stare at him. "What.?"

"You know.. That thing where you have trouble sleeping-"

"I know what insomnia is, idiot. But why did you bring that up?"

"I thought that's why you were up this late."

"Well, I guess a bit of that mixed along with some nightmares and stress is why I'm up, but what about you?"

He smiles awkwardly. "I guess I just wanted to talk to you some more. We haven't really spoken since.. You got here."

I sigh in response. "Right.. Thanks by the way.. For helping me when I arrived."

Silas smiles at me. "No problem Amne.. Say.. Can I show you something? I think you'll like it."

I think for a moment. "Why not, I don't think I'll be sleeping anytime soon."

His smile grows. "Great! C'mon!" He says and reaches out for my hand. I place my hand in his and he drags me outside.

The sky is dark and helps contrast the snowflakes that fall as Silas leads me away. I wrap my cloak around myself with my free hand as the slight wind picks up.

Soon we arrive at a large tree in the garden outside the castle. Silas plops down oto the ground and pats the ground nex to himself, signaling me to sit. I oblige and he points up at the sky.

"Look up, this is the best place for stargazing."

I tilt my head up and I immediately stare in awe at the beauty of the stars. Each little constellation is bright against the dark sky. A few shooting stars pass by and I find myself wishing up in them.

I look away for a second to find Silas staring at me.

I glance at him. "What are you-"

He laughs, genuinely. "I've never seen you so happy."

I feel my face go a bit red, and I'm grateful that the hood of my clock helps cover it.

Silas eyes go back to looking at the stars. "I always come here when things get hard. It's.. really pretty here. Even if I know things won't get better right away.. at least I can enjoy happy things like this."

I stare at him for a second. The way his ruby eyes gleam as he gazes at the stars.. The way his shoulders ease.. The way he seems so.. peaceful. His calm makes me feel calm.

I go back to gazing at the stars.

Silas was right. Even if things didn't get better. At least you could find happy moments like these.

They won't last forever however. But it's nice to enjoy them while they are there.

The stars glisten throughout the whole night, and at some point I think I finally managed to fall asleep.

All I know is the next morning I awoke in my room, lying under the soft covers.

And if the following days I find myself in the blonde boys presence. I'll know why.

I'll enjoy my time with him while we train together. While we travel to the overworld. While we tease Lua. While we gaze at the stars.

Silas is my star, and I hope he'll last forever.

#whumpril #whump #whump writing #Day 2 done!!!#this in fact did not come out earlier #was kinda burnt out today but i pulled through #kinda short but i hope its still good <3 #fun fact that no one asked for: Amnesia (the girl in this story) and Karyme (the girl from day 1's story) are the same person #but thats lore for another day #hope you enjoyed!

3 notes · View notes

hhenderson · 4 months

Text

My #1 favorite mobility aids.

Embark on a journey through a handpicked selection of my favorite mobility aids, curated based on personal experience and research. These items have been a game-changer, offering unparalleled support and empowerment in navigating life's various terrains.

With these items I hope to inspire confidence, promote independence, and revolutionize the way we approach mobility challenges.

Whether you seek assistance with mobility challenges or aspire to improve daily life, this list is crafted to guide you through innovative solutions that prioritize functionality, durability, and user-friendly design.

————

Get tired of holding your phone or is it uncomfortable to rest your tablet on your chest while lying down? This item is perfect for you. I have 3 of these in different areas of the house where I spend the most time. Great for weak or tired arms, perfect for watching videos on your phone or tablet.

360 Degree Rotating Bed Tablet Mount Holder Aluminum Arm for iPad, iPhoneXS, Nintendo-Switch, Amazon Kindle Fire or Other 4~11 inch Devices.

https://a.co/d/6i52vgF

You also might want a really great stylus, pen with two working ends with different points. One is a pen tip and the other is eraser sized. This stylus is rechargeable and works great with your phone or tablet. Perfect for that extra reach you might need so your arms don’t get tired.

Active Stylus Pen Compatible for iOS & Android Touch Screens, Pencil with Dual Touch Function, Rechargeable Stylus for iPad/iPad Pro/Air/Mini/iPhone/Cellphone/Samsung/Tablet Drawing & Writing

https://a.co/d/9tWiG20

If you work at home from your laptop, this item is a complete game changer for those with back issues and have trouble sitting for long periods of time. I can do my work, search the web or play computer games while laying comfortably in my bed.

MagicHold 3 in 1 360 Degree Rotating Height Adjustable Laptop Tablet Stand for Bed, Floor, Compatible with Ipad Pro 12.9 Inch, IPAD, MacBook Pro/Air, MS Surface Pro, MS Surface Book

https://a.co/d/ciHBPhz

Let’s face it, most chairs and couches have no back support. If you have back pain, you’re gonna want to get a lumbar pillow. I take mine everywhere in a tote bag or straps to my back. Depending on the chair or bench, I will use it for back comfort even sit on it if the surface is wood or stone.

ComfiLife Lumbar Support Back Pillow Office Chair and Car Seat Cushion - Memory Foam with Adjustable Strap and Breathable 3D Mesh (Black)

https://a.co/d/4pHeCCP

This multifunctional storage cart on wheels lets you keep everything you need right next to you so that you don’t have to fetch the items that you use most often.

Keep your meds, tissues, games and drinks directly in your reach wherever you might sit in your home. I even have my phone and tablet mount attached to it so I don’t have to hold my phone while resting.

SimpleHouseware Heavy Duty 3-Tier Metal Utility Rolling Cart, Red.

https://a.co/d/bOsu9MW

Are you tired of losing the tip of your phone charger? If you have lots of

different chargers for your iPad, phone, other items that use charging cords, these cable clips are perfect for you. Attach one or two of these clips to your side table and I even put them on the side of my rolling cart.

Cable Clips, OHill 16 Pack Black Self Adhesive Cord Holder, Ideal Cable Management Cord Organizer Wire Keeper for Phone Charger, Computer, Desk, Home, Office, Car, Nightstand

https://a.co/d/fJNTPOU

For those who have trouble bending while in the shower, use a loofah or brush on a stick. Trust me, you’ll be happy you did. This is the loofah I currently use, and there are different styles available with longer handles.

2 Pack Back Scrubber for Shower with Long Handle (2Pack Blue)

https://a.co/d/6IKQKm7

This reacher is perfect for picking up light items nearby that might be out of reach. Perfect for grabbing toilet paper off of a shelf or clothing off of the floor this reacher has so many different uses you’ll want to get one for each room in your home.

DMI Reacher Grabber Tool for Elderly, Disabled or After Surgery Recovery, Claw Grabber, Reaching Assist Tool, Trash Picker, Hand Gripper, Arm Extension, 32 Inches, Non Folding, Magnetic Claw

https://a.co/d/bwpfYi3

If you like me and get tired while in the shower, you’ll want to get an adjustable shower stool. This particular stool has a rotating seat so if you need to turn left or right, it’s easy to do. This seat is also perfect for shaving your legs and washing your feet.

Adjustable Tub Chair and Bathroom Stool with Storage Tray for Seniors, Elderly, Bath Handicap & Disabled

Green https://a.co/d/5jjwC8T

The most difficult area for me to wash is my feet. I found a really great foot scrubber that attaches to the bathtub surface with suction cups. When you’re finished using it, just hang it on the bath tub faucet.

Fresh Feet- Foot Scrubber With Pumice Stone, Cleans, Smooths, Exfoliates & Massages your Feet Without Bending in the Shower or Bathtub

https://a.co/d/4JmWfB0

I really hope that these suggestions help you navigate your life with disability as they have mine. I will add more mobility items as I use them.

For any questions you may have, please message me at any of my social media sites.

TikTok: @itsthebigh

Instagram: @itsthebigh

Facebook: facebook.com/OfficialHeatherHenderson

YouTube: @HeatherHenderson

#mobility aid #mobility tools #handicap #disability #disabled #back pain #chronic pain #fibromyalgia #lifestyle #self care #self help

1 note · View note

ecargmura · 9 months

Text

Witch Hat Atelier Volume 1 Review

Let me give you a brief anecdote of how I discovered this manga. I was stressed from work and since there was a library nearby, I decided to check it out. The second volume of Witch Hat Atelier was once of the librarians’ recommendations. I wasn’t in the borrowing mood at the time, but when I saw the first volume in the manga shelf, I kept thinking about it. The next day, I decided to go back and borrow it. I had no regrets. I believe this was a wise decision for I loved the story!

The author is Kamome Shirahama, who is known as an illustrator for DC and Marvel comic covers. This is her first manga and I am already engaged by her storytelling.

The story is about Coco, the young daughter of a seamstress that dreams of using magic after buying a picture book from a mysterious merchant. The world of magic enchants her as she spends her days dreaming of being a witch, despite not having the talent or the lineage for it. Her meeting with a male witch, Qifrey, changes her world as he ignites a stronger curiosity for magic within her, but it gave her a huge drawback: her mother became petrified after misusing a spell. After being rescued by Qifrey, he introduces her to his atelier where she becomes his apprentice alongside three other aspiring witches.

From the get go, this world that Shirahama created is mesmerizing! Usually, stories about magic revolve around incanting words or phrases that would then materialize into what the user says. In this world, magic is used in the form of glyphs. I love that. I always loved looking at the magical glyph patterns that anime and game spell casters use whenever they cast magic. Glyphs are super underrated in the magic world and I am happy they are utilized here. The author really took the time to design each glyph to their respective usage. I love how drawing is utilized as a skill set here. If you cannot draw a proper circle, your spells won’t work. Colors and patterns really matter! Details matter when drawing! I love these sort of details!

The characters are wonderful too! I love Coco! She’s enthusiastic about the world of magic and keeps going forward because she believes she can turn her mother back to normal if she works hard to obtain more knowledge about magic in order to reverse the spell. Her passion for magic and her love for her mother make her an enjoyable protagonist. She’s still a newbie in the world of magic and has a lot to learn, but her optimistic attitude helps her persevere. Seeing a young girl with this attitude makes an adult like me want to emulate her. I love the fact that she keeps smiling despite the grave mistakes she made; I think it’s brave to do so because she could’ve been so negative and pessimistic about everything, but she doesn’t and I really like that. I loved the portion where she uses quick thinking to use the wet ink cloth as a makeshift pen. It shows that magic can happen anywhere and anytime if you put your head into it. I want to watch her develop into the greatest witch ever, even stronger than Qifrey.

Speaking of Qifrey, he’s my favorite character. I love the mentor-student relationship he has with Coco; he’s like a father to her. He encourages Coco to keep her love and passion for magic and sees her potential. The fact that he takes her in as an apprentice and not erase her memories shows how much he cares for her as a person, even if there might be some hidden agenda regarding this. Qifrey’s motivations for taking in Coco may be suspicious at best, but he still has kindness in his intentions because Coco has no one else. Qifrey’s design is absolutely wonderful and one of the reasons this manga pulled me in. He has all the qualities I love in a character and that’s why he’s my favorite. I am a shameless Qifrey stan.

Qifrey has three other apprentices, Agott, Tetia and Richeh. Tetia and Richeh are cute and seem to have distinct personalities with Tetia being the chipper one and Richeh being the quirky one. Agott, on the other hand, sort of rubs me the wrong way with the way she deliberately puts Coco in danger by testing her to get an herb despite the weather not being in the right season for travel. She doesn’t even apologize to her when Qifrey tells her that Coco was always going to be an apprentice and that there was no need for a test. If Agott develops later on, this negativity I have for her might dissipate, but she’s my least favorite of the bunch by far; her design’s awesome despite my opinions on her character.

The world of magic always has adversaries. The villains seem to be these Brimhats that Qifrey is after. One of them gave Coco a book of magic that she never knew contained forbidden spells. I wonder what it is he intends for her since he gave her that book. I hope to read more to learn more about them.

The minor characters in this story are great too. Coco’s mom seems like a bad mother up front, but she has good intentions. Any mother would be protective of their child and it’s understandable that she’d be against Coco’s passion given the requirements needed to be a witch. Although I don’t support that sort of mindset, Coco’s mother was right about magic in a way—look what happened to her. The stationary shop owner Nolnoa and his grandson are also interesting characters. They are implemented into the story that magic has to be materialized from somewhere and that not all magic users are witches and some can be used as supportive roles for them like them. As someone who loves stationery, I hope I can see more of them! Also, Qifrey’s friend that he went to visit in order to get Coco licensed is hot and I want to see more of her too.

The drawings are beautiful. From the start of the first chapter, the drawing of the lake Coco was in was beautiful and set the tone of the majestic world Shirahama visualizes. The character designs are unique too. The children have similar faces, but all the adults are quite distinct in character designs. I love how the art is like a mix of Eastern and Western drawing styles with the eyes and face shape being more eastern while the noses are more western. The stationery store is my favorite design by far due to the tree design. Shirahama draws trees so well.

With the way the first volume ended, I want to see what happens next. How will these rookies deal with a dragon?

#witch hat atelier #manga #manga review #kamome shirahama #coco #qifrey #nolnoa #tartah #review #ecargmura #arum journal #I wrote this review two years ago...#Happy 7th anniversary WHA

1 note · View note

tomyfuturelover · 1 year

Text

12.23.2022

It’s been 7 months since you woke up and didn’t love me anymore, and honestly I’m still trying to figure out how to live with that.

I hope you’re doing better, sweet girl. I hope moving to cincy and living with people who love you endlessly helped. I hope starting school again brought the light back into your eyes. I hope you feel connected to the world in some way again. I hope time has loosened grief’s grip on your mind. I hope you got a beautiful new tattoo to honor C. I hope your laughter sound full and genuine again. I hope you’re thriving under teachers who actually teach you things. I hope you like your job down there much better than the one here. I hope you feel safe.

I hope you think about us. I hope you meant it when you told me you’d never wish we hadn’t met. I hope you remember what we had before your world fell apart. I hope those memories bring you a little happiness. I hope you don’t hate me, I feel like you probably hate me most days. I hope you realize I was trying my fucking best, I hope you realize I love you enough to have put the research in and that it just gave me the wrong advice. I hope me being there and trying to help during the funeral and month after did actually help. I hope it matters to you that I was there. I hope you remember me and those memories matter to you, I’m so afraid you don’t or they don’t. I hope you can see how hard I tried and not just all the times what I was trying wasn’t what you needed from me. I hope you are not still sitting there sobbing over what we lost, I also hope you are. I want you to be happy but I also want you to miss me as much as I miss you.

I still sleep with your picture near my bed. I still have that candle from our first date on my shelf. I still have the book you gave me on my nightstand. I still use the body wash and soap you gave me, I’ve bought more because I can’t stand to stop using them. I’m wearing the shirt you loved me in right now and I think about that every time I put it on. I still listen to the songs and the playlist. I still look over for you in my passenger seat and it’s not even the same car I had then. I still have a watermelon lemonade and peach tea in my fridge because I can’t drink them or throw them out, and it’s not even the same fridge. They’ve lost the pieces but I can’t throw away the puzzle I gave them the first day you met them. I can’t finish that show we watched on our second or third date. I’ve cried at the mall because we walked through those places together. I’ve cried at the grocery store because you share a name with a damn cheese.

I swear I can still feel you next to me some nights. I still have nightmares that you’re the one we’re having a funeral for. I cried at my grandpa’s funeral but only because more people said nice things about that vile man than stood up and said good things about C. I panic when I see people walking on the side of the road. I’ve never not looked for you when I heard someone say your name in public. I think about where they keep the cream cheese every time I’m in the grocery store. I once walked by a man who smelled like cigarette smoke and my whole body relaxed instantly, I didn’t even realize I’d been stressed. I forced myself to go on a date and cried the whole hour drive home because she wasn’t you.

I am still living the life we’d planned on. I’m still watching the boys grow up, I wish you could see how big they are now. I know you’d be so proud of how good W is doing. R still asks for you sometimes and says peekaboo the way E did in that video. I am still waiting for Christmas morning and thinking about how much you would’ve loved watching our boys be so happy. I started cos school because of how much I loved hearing you talk about it and how interesting I thought it was. Every time I’m proud of how something turned out, I think of how you’d be proud of me for it. I look at the full time class that started just a month after you did, and I wonder what things you’re doing over there.

I have tried to convince myself to leave you behind, to accept that our forever is gone. And I just can’t. The words and songs are still about you. I cannot look at the world or my life or my own skin without seeing your fingerprints in all of it. I don’t remember who I was before you painted all my nights a color I have searched for since. I cannot untangle you from me and I cannot pry you out of each of my cells.

I have not felt safe or peaceful or truly alive or genuinely wanted since you’ve been gone. My therapist calls it grief but I call it hopelessness. I know you woke up one day and just didn’t love me anymore but I wake up every day and remember that you don’t all over again. I know you left me behind but all I feel is that you took all of me with you when you went away. Most days I believe in you someday magically meeting me again falling back in love with me the way a 13 year old believes in Santa, because if the fantasy is gone, all I have left is what is in front of me. I don’t know how to want to stay for what’s in front of me. But I know how to live for the hallucination of you.

It is Christmas and I wish more than anything it wasn’t because the only thing I want is you and the only thing I’m sure I’ll never have is you. I cannot look at the trees and the gifts and the stockings without seeing where you should be. I’d have arranged the stockings to spell out BREW just because I’d have thought it was funnier that way. I’d have loved to watch you roll your eyes at how much I loved it.

This goes without saying, but I wish you were here. I wish things were different. I wish you wished it too.

0 notes

chaosmultiverse · 2 years

Note

"Heyyyyy, Faithy, how are you doing?" Polly's crept in, literally, sliding under the door and only marginally clipping the edges of it. She would've liked this to be a happy visit. Really, honestly. Out of everything, Polly sincerely wished this could have been just another evening to hang out with Faith and stick around as little more than a pest of a spirit.

But her shape is unsteady, body parts slipping through themselves, unable to remember which parts of herself have gone where, unable to sort out a foggy mess of memories that she can't even fully remember which are hers and which are not. Her face takes a turn for the abstract, the hardest part of her to fully recall, and sits as an absurdist painting of herself.

It's been a bad day. Again.

"So, uh. How's it looking, on getting more anti-possession measures put down? Anything new?"

( from prankmasterz :> )

Faith had been reading when she heard Polly’s voice, at first she let out a rehearsed annoyed sigh but then she looked and saw Polly’s current form, right away she set aside the book her focus now on the spirit.

Faith made her way over to a book shelf which held many tomes of knowledge, magical odds and ends and a few potions, keeping half an eye on Polly as she searched for something.

“I haven’t found too much that’s new yet, but some ways of improving already existing measures and some good leads on new measures but I don’t rush to using those until understand them, better to not risk it with that sort of magic.” Faith’s hand hovered over parts of the shelf until it stopped over a potion bottle, inside was a mist like subtense .

“Do you think you can take this right now? It should make you a bit more stable till I can properly fix you up- So it should make you feel a bit more comfortable.” It’d take an hour or two to get Polly back to where she was before, and if she felt up for trying to improve already existing measures it’d take even more time out of the evening, so might as well try and make sure she could be a bit more comfortable till at least the patch up job was done.

#prankmasterz #Faith {Faith In Magic} {IC}#Faith {You’ll Never Be For Me My Hallelujah} {Main Verse}#lmk if you need me to change anything #body horror #medical

1 note · View note

onlyswan · 3 years

Text

love rush | jjk

→ pairing: jungkook x f!reader

→ genre: fluff, smut

→ warnings: unprotected sex (plz wrap it up cmon), they fuck against the wall, soft!dom jk ? hairpulling, spitting . . . also if you hate cats ?

→ word count: 2.3k

↳ gold rush | love rush | sugar rush | adrenaline rush | zest rush

can be stand alone but to understand their relationship more read gold rush first <3

summary: jungkook will do anything to keep you safe and happy. also, he’s a needy fucker.

note: i jus looove this couple sm and ideas have been ~forming~ in my head for the past few days. felt like writing some fluff for them,,, for now LOL another part is sitting in my drafts looks around

~*~

jungkook’s pouts go unnoticed by you as an avengers movie plays in the television. suffice to say, you aren’t really paying attention. last night, you found a really adorable game while scrolling through indie games in the app store. those are the kind of games you like, really. they’re fairly easy, has simple yet pleasing graphics, and didn’t involve cursing out other people through a microphone like your boyfriend does during his free time. you get why people enjoy that though, having gone through a phase as well years ago. but these days you just want peace and quiet. with your town of little, needy cats.

you claimed to be feeling under the weather yesterday. fatigue was eating away at your bones and you could really use a back massage and some hot chocolate. and so, he went over to stay for the rest of week wanting to tend to you. the first time he stayed over at your place, you made it clear that you will never cook and slave away at the kitchen for a man, to which he countered with an ‘are you sure you’re not just using that to cover for your poor cooking skills?’ but there was no skills to be covered as you never took the liberty to learn anyway. you don’t like cleaning very much, but the satisfaction with how your place looked after makes up for it. therefore, you don’t have any problems with having jungkook stay for however long he wants.

“how is your shelf almost full already?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he situated himself on the couch about two hours ago.

“i found two books in my closet. i also bought two a few days ago.” you answered, pulling your knees to your chest and leaning on his side. he chuckled and put an arm around you, kissing your temple.

“have you even read the one from last week?”

“which one?” you wondered out loud.

well, shit.

“what do you mean which one?”

you let out a nervous laugh and made a very sad attempt. “oh, yes. the romance-fantasy. i ended up liking the villain a little too much. 7/10.”

he pulled away a little to look at your evidently perfidious expression. “baby, the book i bought you was about outer space.”

his eyebrows raised, poking at your cheek with his index finger. you instantly felt your face become warm. so dumb. of course, he remembers.

you avoided his eyes and said quietly, “okay, fine. i haven’t read it yet. it’s so pretty, i feel like i’m bound to ruin it.”

she is so adorable. jungkook’s heart swelled with affection. he smiled sweetly, showing off his perfect teeth before planting a kiss on your cheek.

“don’t worry about that. just don’t leave it on the floor, baby. it’s hardbound, isn’t it? i don’t want you breaking your ankle or hitting your pretty head.”

you winced at the memories of you tripping over your books. you expected him to laugh before helping. like that time you landed on your ass at the ice rink, but he got genuinely scared and worried and he has never let go of it since.

“okay, i love you.” you made sure to look into his eyes while saying it. each time, you just have to.

most days, you can’t believe you’re with such a wonderful person. you finally found someone who loved you and respected you at the same time. it’s the little things he does, the thoughtful and loving words that come out of his mouth without hesitation. you have never felt safety and reassurance in a relationship. not like this. it was never like this. it made you want to beat yourself up for ever settling for less, but then you realize your past mistakes have led you to find the last train and ultimately, jungkook. what’s done is done, you decided. all that matters is that you are happy now.

back to the present. you two finished dinner the first twenty minutes of thor ragnarok. he searched up a new pasta recipe and was excited to cook it for you. it was delicious, to no surprise. the man made it his mission to appeal to your tastebuds, and that he did. he pays attention to things you like and dislike, knowledge proving itself useful during times like this. it’s the least i can do, he thinks to himself. you really don’t give yourself enough credit, he would often say to you. there’s nothing he can do to change your past, but he will damn sure do everything he can to make you happy in the now. he can’t take your pain away, but if there’s anything he can do to alleviate it to the slightest, he will make it happen.

he wants your attention. desperately. during movie nights, you are usually cuddled very close to him and making silly little comments on what’s happening in the screen whether it be a psychological thriller or romance film. but not today. your head is leaning on his shoulder and your arm is around his, his hand settled on your exposed thigh, but you are focused on building your silly little town of silly little cats.

“hello, my baby, my everything.” he tries to get your attention, pulling away to slightly shake you. “why aren’t you watching? do you wanna watch something else?”

“huh? why? i like this one.” you briefly look at him before paying attention to your phone again, clicking on fishes that will buy you another cat.

you heave a sigh when mimi asks to play hide-and-seek again. my eyesight is bad, mimi. this is rude. you dart around your screen for a few seconds until you notice its tail peeking out of one of the trees. nuri, then, wants to play rock-paper-scissors. you both pick paper.

“i said you’re not watching. what even is this game?” he places his chin on top of your shoulder, observing your screen.

he lets out a scoff.

“baby, they won’t die if you leave them alone for the rest of the night.” he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls on his lap. “pleaseee,”

you roll your eyes at your needy boyfriend. “and what? you will die if i leave you alone for the rest of the night?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

he eagerly nods at your question.

“never leave me alone. i’ll miss you and i will die.”

how he can manage to keep a serious expression while saying such ridiculous words is beyond you.

“jeon jungkook, you are the most dramatic person ever.” you cry out, slapping his chest. he finally cracks up, his laughter vibrating off his body. his breath tickles your neck, making you squirm away.

since you feel bad for ignoring him and the movie for the past hour, you decide to give up on your game for tonight. “alright, i’m sorry, baby. i’ll just go pee and after this you pick another movie, okay?” you kiss his cheek.

he flashes you his beautiful smile and nods, seeming to like the idea of getting to pick the next movie. you toss your phone to the side and head for the bathroom.

meanwhile, jungkook takes your phone in curiosity before grabbing a pack of gummy bears from the table and popping a few in his mouth. he explores what you have made so far. he finds a brown cat named stella all laid out on top of some observatory, which he thinks is adorable. he also plays hide-and-seek with pepper. he had a bit of a hard time, darting all over the screen until he notices its head peaking out with twenty seven seconds left in the timer. he also unconsciously smiles triumphantly when he wins rock against scissors with sniffy.

he quickly turns it off when he hears the bathroom door close, reverting his eyes back to the television. you sit beside him and place your legs over his lap, snuggling close to his chest. he smells like fresh laundry and vanilla and the watermelon shampoo you own. and you’re grateful for tranquil moments like this, when having one person by your side feels as if you can never ask for anything more from the universe because it finally led you to what you’ve always longed for, but thought was greedy and impossible. happiness and contentment.

~*~

“oh my god,” your eyes roll to the back of your head, holding on to your boyfriend for dear life as he fucks into you as if he’s getting paid for it and the rent is due tomorrow moaning. you moan his name like a broken mantra. you are sensitive as hell. he made you cum twice on the couch and then carried you to the bedroom, and you were hoping to finally at least lay down on your soft matress. on your silk pillowcases. but no, your questionable boyfriend decided to do a questionable thing and is now pounding you against your bedroom wall. concerned for my health, my ass.

“i fucking hate you,” you cry out, his pelvis grinding against your clit making you tense up and your toes curl. “god! fucking hell, so good. so good.”

he is bouncing you up and down like you weighed nothing, even having the audacity to suck all over your neck and chest. you grab a handful of his hair, tugging his head towards you before smashing your lips against his. your tongues chase one another, making for a sloppy kiss. you bite his bottom lip and slightly tug on it before having to let go to moan.

“oh, shut up. you fucking love me,” he smirks against your mouth, moving his hips harder as if to prove his point. the lewd sounds of your wetness and his balls slapping against your ass only drive him further. he looks down at where the two of you are connected. if it is impossible, he just became hornier. the sight is majestic to him, watching you take all of his dick, completely covered in your juices. on the other hand, you notice where his gaze went. that further spurs your arousal and your walls flutter around his big cock, making him choke out a series of curses. “holy fucking shit, baby. so fucking tight. don’t want to let me go, huh?”

“no, don’t want to,” you answer incoherently, wrapping your arms around his neck. you whimper pathetically, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you tremble in pleasure in his arms.

he presses kisses on your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. you are hyperaware of every sensation in your body, your mind in a haze.

“i’m gonna cum. fuck, so close. please.” you whine, tears of euphoria spilling.

“yeah, baby? gonna cum for me again?” he eggs you on, adjusting the way he’s holding you before he’s pounding into you roughly against the wall, just the way you like it. you scream, your fear of falling from before melting away as you near your climax.

he tugs at your hair and levels your face to him.

“ah!” you exclaim at the unexpected pain.

“look at me,” upon hearing his domineering voice, you force your heavy lids to open. he is glistening with sweat, toned chest rising up and down. his lips look swollen and red from all the kissing and biting. his damp hair makes him look sexier in your eyes. “open your mouth,”

you are dazed and confused but you obey right away. your eyes widen as he spits in your mouth, feeling the glob of saliva fall on your tongue.

“swallow, baby.”

as if hypnotized, you swallow. you feel your body burn up. you are unbelievably turned on, your brain is unable to form any words. oh my fucking god. this man.

“hmm, fuck. that’s my girl. you’re so fucking hot. are you gonna cum for me?” his words of praises drive you towards the edge. your ears are ringing as you reach the peak of euphoria. jungkook continues to fuck you through your orgasm, soon after he’s coating your walls with his cum. you fall limp into his arms.

“you’re crazy. you’re fucking crazy.” you mutter tiredly against his shoulder, sniffling.

“well, did you like it though?” he brings you over to the bed, collapsing beside you. “liked it a lot,” you admit sheepishly, hiding into your pillow.

“don’t hide from me!” he exlaims with a laugh. he snakes his arm under your neck and pulls your head over his chest. “liked it, too. a lot. you know you can tell me if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, right?”

he presses a kiss to your temple and looks you in the eyes. he then frowns and wipes away the tears from under your eyes and your cheeks.

“i know, baby. thank you,” you yawn sleepily. “i’m tired now. this is all your fault.”

jungkook snorts at your snappy after sex complaints. nonetheless, he pulls away to do aftercare, which he genuinely enjoys doing.

after cleaning you up, he massages your sore legs. “what’s the name of the game you’re playing?” he asks all of the sudden. his sparkly curious eyes look at you expectantly.

you chuckle at the man before you. asking for the name of a cat game as if he didn’t fuck you against the wall and spit in your mouth not even half an hour ago.

“and why are you asking?”

“i just happened to glance at your phone and thought stella was cute.” jungkook shrugs his shoulders. his hands continue to work on your calves.

“okay, liar. it’s called cats are cute.” you reach over to the nightstand and take his phone.

“what are you doing?”

“i’m downloading the game on your phone.” you answer while typing on the search bar.

“oh, okay.”

~*~

they’re so cute i’m so fucking sad ok gnnn

#jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts jk #jungkook scenario #bts smut #jungkook oneshot #jeon jungkook

2K notes · View notes

duino · 3 years

Text

"MEMORABILIA" Pairing: Sakusa x Fem!Reader

Rating/Warnings: T for Teen, we behaved ourselves on this one

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: People can exist in places after they've packed up and left. Sakusa learns this the hard way.

Note: Angst, with a happy ending (thank god)

It’s incredible how new meaning can be given to previously trivial things. It happens when you’re in love; the sidewalk is not just a sidewalk, but the street that the two of you share. That new fusion place down the street becomes your favourite restaurant – because you ate there together, and you both laughed so much sake came out of your nose. You’ll always smile when you see a bottle of sake. All this newfound beauty in what was old, ignored, forgotten. Bedsheets, books, bubble baths…these things don’t just exist in your own internal world anymore. These experiences belong to someone else too, forever imbued with the memory of them.

It happens when you’re heartbroken.

The Chapstick forgotten in the back of the cabinet mirror. The old library book you never returned that sits on his bedside. The bobby pins he’s still finding everywhere. Sakusa used to grumble about them, how carelessly you would toss them aside when you unpinned your hair. He would find them under the couch, in the bedsheets, by the coatrack. The vacuum cleaner would suck one up at least twice a week, and he would sigh and kneel to unclog the machine. You would watch him with an innocent smile, and his mock scowl would melt and he would kiss you until you were both giggling, hands in your undone hair.

He’s holding one now. It’s been a while since he’s picked one up. He had found it in the kitchen of all places, kicked into a shaded corner. Sakusa stares at it for a moment, contains himself somehow, and then walks over and into the bathroom.

Alone on the highest shelf of the mirror cupboard is a small, clear jar. He grabs it, unscrews the top, and plops the bobby pin in with the five or so others that are already in there. The glass refracts the bathroom lighting, throwing specks of gold onto the cool white walls. You had wanted to paint them –bathroom, kitchen, bedroom. Always his little mistress of colour and lighting. He hadn’t let you. White walls were fine, he thought. Minimal and clean. You had given him a look when he had told you that, all those months ago. He hadn’t placed what the look meant then, but he can place it now.

Sakusa puts the jar back on the empty shelf (it didn’t used to be empty) and starts to walk through the once-shared apartment that now only contains apparitions of you. The bedsheets in the hamper that he can’t toss out and can’t sleep in. A woefully lone coat hanger on your side of the closet. He stops in the middle of the living room and closes his eyes. He can picture all the pieces of you in all their hidden corners. Memorabilia, both cursed and divine. Sakusa can’t bear to look at them but throwing them away is equally impossible. The blue vase without flowers on the bookshelf. An earring without its matching pair, sitting on a windowsill.

Sakusa doesn’t know how there can be more of you now. You had left almost a month ago. He had spent the entire time living with you fighting any change, fighting against those coloured walls. That shared grocery list. Those framed photos. (“I feel like I don’t even belong here, sometimes.” He’s lost sleep over those words.)

But you were everywhere. In all the absent spaces that you used to fill with laughter, you now haunted. Sometimes he can’t sleep in the bed, heartache like a feverish sickness that keeps him up. When does a bed become just a bed again? He’s afraid of the answer.

Sakusa slumps onto the couch, trying to ease that anxious pain that lives in his chest. He moves a hand over his heart, tears at his eyes that never fall. He still hasn’t cried. He desperately wants to --anything, anything to ease this pressure in his throat— but his body won’t let him. The first night he had spent alone, Sakusa had shook for an hour, dry-eyed, heaving chest, restless grip on his pillow. The tears refused to come. Astoundingly, he had felt heartbreak cleave through him, like an actual physical wound, knocking him breathless.

He’s starting to feel that way now. His hands are fists in his lap. It’s his day off and he hates it, all the quiet moments in between his life. He used to relish in silence and solitude. But now, not coming home to you…

He wants so badly to tell you about his day again. All the dumb shit his teammates do that make him laugh, the way he’s discovered a slightly different footing that lets him jump higher, hit harder, do better. All he can ever think about is doing better. It’s killing him that, with you, he didn’t do enough.

He wants your gentle hands again, carding through his curls, soothing him. He wants to keep finding those pins, those fucking bobby pins—

Sakusa stands abruptly. If he plays this line of thought out any more, it’s going to drag him to misery. He’s been miserable long enough, waiting and hoping and replaying events over and over again like it would change anything, or make it hurt less. It doesn’t, it doesn’t. He’s a man of deliberation, every avenue explored, every possibility, all the outcomes. But he can’t deliberate forever, especially if that means losing you forever. He doesn’t make the same mistake twice.

Jumping into his sneakers, Sakusa starts to plan. It’s one of the things he does best. He grabs his windbreaker and keys, slipping on his face mask, and practically bolts to the hardware store.

____

You dressed up for this without admitting to yourself why. Black dress, pinned hair, sandals to downplay how much effort you put in. You’re wearing earrings and a dainty gold necklace. Your nails are painted. Sakusa has seen you at your worst states, all your sickly, angry, heartbroken states, but you wouldn’t allow him the privilege of that now. Your armour is your beauty and composure (never mind that this is one of his favourite dresses), and you’ll be damned if you let your ex see you at anything but your best.

Sakusa doesn’t have the same concerns, apparently. He answers your apartment door –his apartment door—in old sweatpants and a white tee. He is covered in splatters of paint, orange, yellow, blue. There’s a streak of still-wet red in his hair and you long to wipe it away. You don’t. You hope time lets you grow out of that longing.

You’re both frozen for a moment, seeing each other again. The sun is setting through the window behind him and it casts its halo around his head. It’s unfair, really. You straighten your back and watch Sakusa’s chest struggle for a silent breath as he takes you in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, before he can stop himself. He sounds surprised, or remembering.

You blink and have to look away from his eyes. “You said you found some of my stuff?” Your voice doesn’t shake and you take it as a win. Sakusa seems to collect himself slightly.

“Yeah,” he begins. His own voice doesn’t share your composure. “Thanks for coming.”

You swallow. You’ve never seen him in such a disarray, smeared paint, wrinkled clothes. You can’t help but ask. “What are you painting?”

In answer, Sakusa pushes back against his front door, inviting you in. His hands are clasped in front of him, but you can still see them tremble slightly. He’s nervous, you think, and you touch his arm as you walk past him. Just fingertips on elbow, a small peace offering. Sakusa’s eyes flutter at the contact and you want to say something to ease him somehow, and ease yourself, but then you look up and gasp.

The living room walls of the apartment are terracotta, the kitchen to your left a golden yellow. On the floor, an ornate rug of mixed blues. There are large-leafed plants in a corner, waiting for their placement. Large sheets of plastic are rolled over the couch and kitchen counters. There are framed pieces of art leaning safely to the side. Your eyes widen and your head turns to look at Sakusa in disbelief.

“Are you moving?” You blurt out. You don’t know why. There are pieces floating around your head and they can’t come together fast enough to make you understand why meticulous, exacting Sakusa is standing there with paint crusted underneath the nails of his beautiful hands.

He almost laughs, watching you do a full spin around, dress twisting around you with the momentum. The evening light catches at your blurring motions, like paint strokes against a multi-coloured canvas. “No, I’m not moving.” He’s closes the door behind him and is leaning against a covered counter. His voice is very soft, hesitant. “Did I overdo it with the yellow?”

You shake your head slowly, still in disbelief. “No, not at all,” you start to say, and then catch yourself. “I mean, well. Do you think you did? Do you like it?”

“Do you like it?” He counters. You stare at him, his endless eyes.

Your reply is faint. “Yes,” you say, because it’s your first instinct. It’s a dangerous word, it opens things up, and you had come here in your perfect dress with your perfect hair, to close things. Not to let yourself get hurt again. Sakusa’s eyes fill with tentative hope and you have to look away from them to steel yourself. You need something to say, something to turn this meeting back to safer grounds. “Atsumu told me about your practise game last week. I’m sorry you lost.”

He frowns, reading your change. And for the first time in his life, Sakusa says, “I don’t care about the game.” You raise a brow and he shakes his head, insistent. “Not right now. Do you like the art?”

You glance back at the pieces resting against the wall. “I love them,” you admit. You notice that one of them is from a local artist you love. You had dragged him to the small art show and lamented that you couldn’t afford to take the piece home.

Sakusa sees the memory of it in your eyes and says, “I remember.” He takes a breath. “Do you like the plants? You always wanted plants.”

Your brows furrow. “What are you…” Your voice gets thick. “Yes, but,” you falter. “But it doesn’t matter, anymore, what I think.”

Sakusa is growing desperate. He needs to make you understand. “Nothing matters more. My love, I’m—” He breaks off at your shuttered gaze. The term of endearment hangs between the both of you and it almost breaks you, it does. You know what he’s trying to do and you want desperately to give in to him. Every part of you wants to hold him again, just his hand or face, the most humble of affections.

But you had left for a reason, and that reason is not easily forgotten. Tears come to your eyes and Sakusa sees them, face turning anguished at the sight of them. Somehow, you manage to purse your lips together and cross your arms. Sakusa notices the shift, he knows you so well, and takes a stumbling step towards you.

“Sakusa,” you start. The formality of his name stutters him to a stop. “I came for my things.” You say the words so kindly Sakusa has to close his eyes for a moment.

“Don’t—” He fumbles, gritting down on his teeth. “Yeah. Okay. Your things.”

You watch him move through the newly painted apartment into the bedroom. The absence of him gives you a chance to breathe, to take a thorough look of the home you both used to share. There’s a stack of paint cans and folded drop sheets to the side. More colours than you had even dreamed of. It softens you a little. How could it not?

Sakusa comes out of the bedroom carrying a box. He places it at your feet like an offering and then backs up to give you room. You can see him visibly fighting his emotions, his body shaking with repressing it. You kneel down and begin to look through the contents and when you reach out to grab the first item, you realize you’re shaking too.

There’s not much. It’s pretty empty, really. A coat hanger, a single earring (you’ve already thrown out its counterpart). A blue vase you had bought at a street market in Mexico for pennies, one summer. An old book, yellowed at the edges. And a jar with exactly six bobby pins.

The items themselves are virtually meaningless to you. You hadn’t even realized you left them behind. And you knew they were just an excuse so that he could ask you to come over and see you again. You knew this.

But he had saved them. You can’t look away from the box. The tears you had been fighting spill over your eyes as your hands numbly moved through the objects, lifting them, placing them back in. He had wrapped all of them like they were precious artifacts being transported to a gallery. The vase is bubble wrapped and taped neatly. The earing is in a small, cellophane bag. The jar of hair pins…You lift it up and see a sticky note stuck to the side.

I’m sorry. It’s not home without you, penned in his looped scrawl.

You cover your mouth with a hand to stop the sob that wants to fall out of you. You glance up. Sakusa is looking at you with so much regret and love it pulls the heartache out of you, pulls those tears out until you’re crying in earnest, blurring the shape of him.

You murmur, with a crackling voice, “Why did you paint the walls?”

Sakusa smiles, just barely. His brows raise, his eyes are sad. “Don’t you know?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, Kiyoomi. I don’t. You have to tell me—”

“I’m in love with you,” he rushes out, then stops. This is hard for him, so hard, but he’s spent your entire relationship being afraid of being open and that had driven you away. You watch him reach for the words. “I’m…There’s no one else. I fucked up and I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can ever love anybody else. You’re,” he says, voice wretched, hand gripping at his chest. “You’re a part of me.” He swallows a breath, pleading. “You’re a part of me.”

Your mind feels heady and heavy and spinning. You want him, you’re mad at him. You love him, you’re scared. The twin knife of hope is always distrust, and as much as you want to be hopeful, “I felt like I was always fighting for a place in your life,” you whisper.

Sakusa’s face crumples with your words but he is determined, more determined than he’s ever been in his life. You know that look in his eyes now, the fierceness, the belief. “You’ll never have to fight for a place in my life again,” he says, voice so, so sure. “Just let me fight to keep you in it. Please,” he adds. “If you’ll let me.”

All Sakusa has ever wanted was to be better. It’s all he thinks about. And you know this, how he runs plays through his mind when he should be sleeping, how he stays late at the gym and practices until he gets it right every single time. He doesn’t say or do anything without careful consideration. You used to think that amount of care was only reserved for his volleyball career – it was something you loved, and then something you mourned when you realized he might never show that amount of care and consideration for you. It had pushed you to leave.

But here he was now. Your things wrapped so preciously. The walls painted all your favourite hues. And his eyes, his eyes. His eyes.

You make the decision of your heart, the one you secretly knew you would always make. It was why you had worn his favourite dress. It was why you had come at all. Slowly, you lift the vase out of the box and hand it to him. He takes it immediately, reflexively.

At his confused look, you say, “It would look good with the new carpet.”

Sakusa stares and then starts shaking his head, uncomprehending. “No, love, it’s yours, I—”

But you silence him by handing him the used book. “I told you I’d lend it to you after I finished.” Sakusa quickly places the vase down to take the paperback from you, brows furrowed. Then you take out the jar and start pulling pins out of your hair and he understands. A disbelieving breath huffs out of him and you plop the pins one by one into the jar. Then you hold it out to him, the light flashing through the glass and speckling your face with its glow. You hair is waved and framing your tentative smile and he drops to his knees in front of you. He clutches the book to his chest like a talisman or a life raft. You watch a sob roll out of him with surprised eyes. You have never seen him cry.

“Omi,” you say, kind and wondering and it only makes him cry harder, real deep cries from his stomach. He tries to say something but he chokes on his own words, bowing his head, letting his tears fall.

You move to him, hands on his arms at first, rubbing them, before you move your fingers to his hair and Sakusa lets out a small sound from the back of his throat as he bends into you, into your embrace. You feel his cries shake him, but you also feel his shoulders sag in desperate relief. All the heartbreak and regret and self-hate he had bundled within unfurls with your touch. It pours out of him in waves, and you feel it and feel the same inside of you. He’s opening and you are open and though there is hurt, there is also love.

You two stay like that, bowed into one another, until the sun has fallen and the golden glow of your home turns to the delicate, secret silver of the moon. When you are have both calmed enough to speak you say, into his ear, “What do you think of blue, for the bedroom?”

Sakusa smiles, in a living dream. “I think that sounds perfect.”

#haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu scenarios #sakusa kiyoomi #msby sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa x you #sakusa x y/n #hq x reader #hq imagines

713 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

a promise of forever

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: really just a big ball of fluff, a very brief mention of spencer's time in prison word count: 1.8k prompt: "i'm not very good with words..." summary: a rather unusual and a slightly delayed exchange of vows.

a/n: this is a my one shot submission for @ellesgreenaway 1k milestone celebration! india, a huge huge congratulations to you again 🎉 you're so incredibly talented and you deserve every single one of those follower, if not a million more! 🥳🧡 now, this is my first fic in a couple of weeks, and i think it's quite fitting that i wrote this instead of working on my own vows oops

A faint shine coming from the side lamp hit against the gold band on your finger, the glimmer instantly catching your eye. The book you were reading, was now closed in your lap and your gaze travelled to the ring, a smile creeping up on your features.

The item, however simple and dainty, carried with it so much meaning. Not only was it a symbol of undying everlasting love, showcasing to the world you were married to the person of your dreams. It was also a constant reminder of what you and Spencer overcame to get here. How far the two of you have come.

To say the last year was tough would be an understatement.

Spencer wasn’t the same after his release from prison. Often distant and quite reserved. His true self hidden from the rest of the world, afraid of getting so deeply hurt again. You of course didn’t put any blame on him for acting differently or resent him for it. What he went through was challenging enough, and you loved him more with each day regardless because he was still Spencer. Your Spencer.

And he adored your patience and your understanding. He adored the kindness you showed him while he regained control over his life. Simply, he adored you and he counted his blessings every day he spent with you.

One faithfull Saturday morning, Spencer asked you to marry him.

Completely out of the blue, while you were tangled together in the cotton bedsheets with morning breath and ruffled hair. He said he didn’t want to wait any longer because if his time in prison taught him anything, it would be not to waste moments with the people you cared about the most.

You cried. Tears of happiness, pure unfiltered joy.

Later, the very same day, the two of you stopped by a jeweler to invest in simple yellow-gold wedding bands before heading hand in hand to the court house. No muss, no fuss. No guests, no flowers, no cake, no vows. Nothing but unconditional love and a large order of chocolate chip pancakes afterwards, to celebrate.

It was the perfect day and you wouldn’t do it any differently.

You didn’t need anything else, neither did he. The memory along with the wedding ring was a promise in itself. A lifetime together. A lifetime of happiness. However, as you watched the band glisten on your finger, you couldn’t help but wonder what else Spencer would have promised you in his vows if he ever got a chance to say them.

And that’s how the brunette doctor found you - lost too deep in thought, attention solely focused on your wedding ring.

You, of course, didn’t hear him come in.

Spencer smiled to himself, quietly closing the door behind him so as not to startle you. He placed his bag down before ambling towards the back of the couch. His hands landed on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze to grab your attention, and you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Hi, my love.”

“Hello, beautiful.” Spencer bent over slightly, his lips catching yours in a tender welcoming kiss. “Let me go wash up quickly and you can tell me all about your day,” he added and you nodded, following him with your eyes until he disappeared into the bedroom.

While he cleaned himself up after an undeniably hectic workday, you sprung up on your feet and headed to the kitchen to cook up a late dinner for the two of you.

Spencer rejoined you shortly and immediately began playing sous chef, assisting you with preparing the meal. While the two of you worked over the various pots and pans, you exchanged with one another stories of how your days went. Listening attentively, joking together. Then you ate together before reconvening back to the couch.

A typical, and honestly, an ideal evening together when he wasn’t travelling.

“What were you thinking about earlier, when I got home?” Spencer asked, making himself comfortable next to you. You draped your legs over his lap with ease and his hands instantly made home on your thigh.

“Do you ever wonder what I would say to you in my vows if our wedding day looked any different?” you asked straight out, because there was no secrets between the two of you.

Spencer pondered the question for a moment before shaking his head. “No,” he answered honestly, “Do you?”

You briefly chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Sometimes,” you confessed, a hint of guilt and hesitance detectable in the tone of your voice.

He hummed softly at your response and proceeded to place a tender kiss on your temple. “I could tell you,” he murmured into your hair before pulling away, “If you’d like that is.”

His eyes found yours and a timid smile circled your lips at his offer.

“You don’t have to, Spence, I’m honestly happy not knowing and letting my imagination run free. Plus, I wouldn’t want to put you on the spot—”

“Y/N,” he politely cut in, “I’ve known what I would say to you in my vows ever since our first date.”

The sentence caused you to playfully roll your eyes, as the butterflies in your stomach fluttered free. “Hmm…” you smacked your lips together, “I don’t think I believe you,” you teased him with a chuckle.

Spencer pressed his tongue to his lips as he smirked at your comment. He took your innocent joke as a sort of challenge however, because in one swift motion, before you got a chance to react or say anything else, he pulled you in closer by your legs before taking your hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“I can recite the entirety of the English dictionary off by heart, but ironically I'm not very good with words—” Spencer began, his hazel gaze locking with yours, “—because when I think how to express how I truly feel about you, and how incredibly lucky I am to have you by my side, my mind goes completely blank and my eidetic memory is no longer of use.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, and you could just imagine the whole crowd laughing because whether Spencer liked to admit it or not, he was incredibly funny without even trying.

“However, as I sit here before you tonight, I will give my all to make the most sincere promise one heart can make to another. Y/N, I have waited a long time for you, and I promise from this day on until forever to be your constant love, your shoulder to cry on, your partner for life. I vow to give you the best of myself and not ask for anything in return. I vow to respect you. Respect your desires, your interests and needs.”

You could feel your eyes gloss over, as Spencer inhaled before continuing, "I promise to keep myself open to you and share with you my deepest feelings, thoughts, and dreams. I promise to continuously surprise you in hopes of bringing you joy and seeing you smile, because you have the most beautiful smile.”

Spencer gently rubbed circles into your hand with his thumb as he spoke, and the amiable loving look in his eyes made you think he didn’t really have these vows prepared beforehand, like he said he did.

He was speaking purely from the heart.

“I promise to love you through thick and thin. The good times and the bad. In sickness and in health. I promise to love you with every fibre of my being, until the end of time.” He paused, by that point salty wet droplets were slowly trailing down your jawline.

Spencer continued, “Now, I have been called many things in my life and gone by many different titles. From this day on however, the most important title I’ll hold is husband. Your husband.”

Silence filled the room once he concluded. A benevolent and earnest silence.

Nothing could have prepared you for what he said, and how his words would make you feel. How you thought it wasn’t possible to love him anymore than you already did, yet here the two of you sat and your heart swelled inside of your chest.

Spencer’s hand travelled to your cheek. He cupped it gently, wiping away any lone tears that escaped.

“You know—” you murmured, leaning into his touch and placing a kiss on the palm of his hand, “— for someone who claims they’re not good with words, you just strummed all the right heartstrings. I therefore dumb thee— a liar...”

The brunette doctor let out a soft chuckle at your comment and then proceeded to scoop you into his lap, completely effortlessly. He held you close by the waist while your fingers played with his brunette curls.

“And it’s a good thing you have an eidetic memory, my love, because I will ask you to recite those promises to me over and over and oveerrr again,” you added and Spencer threw his head back in a smooth laugh.

“How about I type them up and we can frame them instead?” he suggested, arching a brow. You licked your lips, considering the question for a moment, however before you got a chance to reply, Spencer added, “It would however, be nice to have both of our vows up...”

It was your turn to laugh, “I have nothing prepared, Spence. Not to mention, yours were so heartfelt and honest, I don’t think I can compete.”

The smile on Spencer’s face grew a little wider and he leaned in to peck your lips, “Say whatever that comes to mind, beautiful.”

“You’re not going to let this go now, are you?” you enquired and Spencer shook his head in response, a goofy grin plastered across his features.

“I really have my mind set on those frames now. Maybe we can hang them over our bed, or maybe we can dedicate a shelf to them in the bookcase.”

You raised a brow, “You’d give those frames a whole shelf?”

He nodded, “A whole shelf.”

The thought of your promises to one another typed up and on view for everyone that came to visit the apartment made you smile.

Glancing briefly at your wedding ring, looped among Spencer’s brunette curls, you nervously chewed on the inside of your cheek before glancing back into his hazel eyes. “I’m not very good with words—” you began with a modest tese, “—Therefore, I hope you don’t mind that I’m going to borrow someone else's.”

You paused, letting out a delicate shaky breath. “Atticus wrote, ‘I lost my way all the way to you and in you I found my way’. You are my everything, Dr. Spencer Reid. Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, for making me feel safe, for making me laugh, and for making my life a million times richer.”

Spencer’s lips found yours the second you finished, wrapping them in a gentle yet passionate kiss. A desirable sensation instantly spread through you, because when he kissed you like this, it was as if he was kissing you for the very first time.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered after slowly pulling away, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I love you too,” you expressed with a genuine smile.

masterlist

#ellesgreenawaybookclub #eek i hope you like this india #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

458 notes · View notes