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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 5 months

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Lapse in Memory

Megumi Fushiguro x Cursed!Reader

summary: y/n is cursed to forget for the rest of her life, but Megumi does his best to support her despite the futility of his efforts.

word count: 2,016

a/n: is this something I wrote bc I have my own issues w memory and find myself upset by how often I forget things? yes <3 I’m really proud of myself! hope I can keep this posting consistency up!

tw: she/her reader, injury resulting in memory loss, angst

masterlist

It all happened so quickly. Yuuji died, and the school sat in limbo, until a new student, y/n, arrived. Megumi, Nobara and y/n were sent on a mission together, and Megumi could tell right away that something was wrong — the same kind of wrong as before. They were in way over their heads. Why?

Megumi thought their target was Yuuji. If he was, then why would the elders still try to send students, especially when one of the students had no connection to the incident before, to their deaths? He decided their focus was to group up and escape — this curse was trying to isolate them, and Nobara was having a hard time.

Just as Megumi was going to shout for them to regroup, y/n hurtled toward Nobara, slicing the limb off of the curse that Nobara hadn’t noticed. Nobara and y/n shared a look of relief, but when Nobara’s face shifted as she started to call out to y/n, the newest addition to Jujutsu High was struck in the head by the curse, knocking her out cold.

Summoning all of his shikigami at once for protection, Megumi swooped in, grabbing y/n’s unconscious body before her head hit the ground, and peeling out of there with Nobara in tow.

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Now, he’s sitting at y/n’s bedside with Nobara, waiting for her to wake up. Her eyes barely crack open and Nobara sobs out, “Y/n! Don’t ever do that to me again, I can’t lose you yet! You just got here!” Pulling her frail body into a tight hug.

“Kugisaki! Calm down, she’s still injured.” Megumi chastises, and Nobara sheepishly lets go of their friend, muttering an apology and something about only being worried. “Y/n.” Megumi says, “How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?”

Y/n’s bright eyes are now fully open, but her brows are furrowed in confusion. “Who are you guys?” She looks around the room. “Where am I? Why am I dressed up like a patient in a hospital? This doesn’t look like a hospital…”

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It was a curse. That’s what they told Megumi and Nobara. Their new friend suffered psychological damage from a curse born out of humanity’s fear of memory loss, and forgot everything about her new life at Jujutsu High. Her memories from before seemed fine when she was evaluated.

Megumi and Nobara sat together, brainstorming ideas. “Is there a way to cure it? Like if we killed the curse, or something?” Nobara asked.

Megumi bit his lip. “I don’t think so. It doesn’t work that way with people who lose limbs to curses, so it probably is the same here.”

“Hmph.” Nobara sighed, crossing her arms in annoyance. Then, her eyes sparkled. “Why don’t we fill her in? It’s not like she’s forgotten a lot, we just need to give her a refresher course!”

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And that’s why the two of them are now in front of her bed side, a PowerPoint projected onto the walls of y/n’s dorm. “In summary, if you ever forget something, ask one of us for a refresher, or come back to this PowerPoint! We can store it on a flash drive for you!”

Y/n applauds. “That was a great presentation! I can see why I was friends with you guys before. You’re really nice.” She says, beaming at the two of them.

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Then Yuuji was revealed to be alive, and him and y/n got along swimmingly. But Megumi noticed some things. Every now and then, y/n would forget words for basic things, and would have to describe what it was she was forgetting the word for. Every now and then, she’s forget that Yuuji had died, or would forget that she’d gotten injured. Her forgetfulness seemed to be quite the plague.

Once, Yuuji farted, and when y/n heard how loud it was, she made a gagging noice. “That’s disgusting, Yuuji.” She lifted her shirt up to cover her nose, waving her hand in the air to ward off the fart smell. Five seconds later, she dropped her shirt collar, watching TV. Then, she sniffed the air. “Hey, did you fart?” Yuuji and Megumi shared a look of concern in the moment, but when y/n quickly remembered her previous comment, her and Yuuji both burst out in laughter. Maybe it was funny to them. Megumi wasn’t so sure.

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A year later, it happened again. They were second-years, and when y/n came down for breakfast one morning, she nervously walked up to Megumi. “Hi, um, I’m sorry to bother you. My name’s y/n. Can you please tell me where I am or direct me to whoever is in charge here? I don’t know what happened to me, but I’d like to go home.”

Again, they said it was the curse. Upon further inspection and based on testimony from Megumi, they were able to confirm the curse on y/n was a recurrent one. How often? They couldn’t tell. Not yet.

Nobara never thought they’d use the PowerPoint again, but they did, after refreshing it to keep up with all the memories of the entire year together.

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Y/n falls fast for Megumi after that happens. Nobara teases Megumi about it a lot, but he can tell she’s just happy for him. Happy for y/n, too.

The couple makes lots of new memories, and as they creep up on a year together, y/n comes to Megumi’s dorm one night, sniffling, tears streaking her face. Megumi gets up, hugging her and closing the door behind her before pulling her into his bed so they can cuddle.

Quietly, y/n confesses. “I don’t want to forget you, Megumi. I don’t want to forget that I love you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll remind you.”

“What if I don’t love you this time around?”

“Then I’ll love you until you love me, but I don’t think that’ll happen anyway. We confessed to each other last time, a few months before you forgot.”

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It was confirmed yesterday. Y/n was cursed to forget everything in her life, and revert to the person she was before coming to Jujutsu High. When Megumi told Nobara the news, she cried, and said she couldn’t come see y/n anymore, because it hurt too much. Megumi couldn’t blame her, but he thought it wasn’t fair to y/n. It’s not like she asked to forget.

When he sits next to her on the couch, she pauses her reading to say, “You know, to put a positive spin on all of this, the good thing about forgetting stuff, is every time I forget, I get to experience them for the first time all over again. I know it makes some people sad, but it makes me happy.”

“Like what?” Megumi asks her.

She smiles at him. “Like falling in love with you. I’m sure I’ve done that a million times over.”

Megumi blushes, but he returns the smile. “Yea, I guess you have. Putting it that way does make it seem better.”

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Four times in a row now, y/n’s forgotten at the end of every six months, and her day-to-day forgetfulness has gotten worse every time. “Megumi, I’m— I’m forgetting something really important right now, and I— and I just—“ Y/n’s eyes are red as tears spill down her cheeks. “I hate being such a burden like this. Nobody else has to have people remember things for them! It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not a burden.” Megumi says gently, taking her hand and flipping the remote around so it points the correct way.

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Two years after graduating from Jujutsu High, Megumi got an apartment for himself and y/n. Yuuji had asked him, “Are you really holding out hope? I don’t think she’s ever gonna get any better.”

Megumi lashed out at him, saying, “Does it look like I fucking care if she gets any better? She could lose her goddamn mind for all I care, that’s it gonna stop me from loving her.”

“Dude, I wasn’t saying that, I was just—“ Yuuji had sighed in frustration, standing up from their table at the cafe. “You know what, I’m gonna go. I get that you care about her, but you should care about yourself, too. You are psychologically self-harming by choosing to place yourself in a situation that only breaks your heart, over and over again. If you need me, you know where to find me. Say hi to y/n for me.”

Megumi didn’t reach out to Yuuji, and didn’t say hi to y/n for him. He thought that he didn’t deserve the favor. He also thought that maybe he overreacted to Yuuji’s concern, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone other than himself.

At dinner that night, y/n asked, “Hey, baby? Can you do me a favor?”

“Yea, what?” Megumi looked at her lovingly, patiently.

Slowly, y/n focused on each word of what she wanted to ask. “The next time I forget everything… maybe just don’t do the PowerPoint. I don’t really need to know much beyond who’s my friend and who’s not.”

“Okay… but why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I just… knowing that there’s so much I forgot made me feel… ashamed of myself. If this is… how I’ve felt every single time, I don’t know that I want to be reminded that I’ve missed out on so much.”

It was like a knife to his chest, but he contained himself until after dinner, when y/n said her head hurt and went to sleep early. That was the sign that she would wake up the next day not knowing anything.

When Megumi was sure she was asleep, he kissed her forehead, stepped out onto the deck, and double-checked that the sliding glass door was fully closed before breaking down, crying his heart out, snot dripping from his nose. Yuuji was right, but Megumi still didn’t want to call him.

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“Who are you?” Y/n asks while they’re on a picnic together.

Megumi frowns. She didn’t complain about a headache last night, so she shouldn’t have forgotten yet. “I’m your boyfriend, Megumi, and you’re cursed to lose your memory over and over again.”

“Have we… always been dating?”

“Pretty much, yea.”

“Why are you dating someone who forgets you all the time?”

“Because I love you.” He says, handing her a cracker with a yummy mixture of smoked salmon and cream cheese on top.

She jokes, “I must love you too, to be lucky enough to go on a date like this together.” She wears that familiar smile that always shines brighter than the sun, before taking a bite and closing her eyes. “Mmm, I love this. That’s something I haven’t forgotten.”

Megumi says, “I would hope so, considering we’ve lived together for three years already.” He stuffs his face with a similar cracker, his grin not quite mirroring hers with the smoked salmon stuck to his teeth.

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Six years later, Megumi had finally patched things up with Yuuji, and Nobara had come to visit again because Megumi had been desperate to try anything that would help y/n. When Nobara realized how bad it was, she ended up visiting anyways, even thought it was pointless. Every three months had turned into two, into one, into every three weeks, two weeks, one week, every six days, five, four, three, two, one…

Megumi realized he preferred it when she was asleep, because at least she wasn’t forgetting him every fifteen minutes then. Eventually, it became every five minutes, and eventually, it became every few moments.

“Who are you?” Y/n asked him.

“I’m your boyfriend, Megumi, but you can’t remember that because you’re cursed.”

“Oh, okay.” A few seconds of silence passed as the TV droned on in the background. Megumi played the reruns of her favorite show, hoping it would trigger something.

Megumi was grateful y/n couldn’t see the other side of his face. A tear dripped down onto his cheek as she asked again, “Who are you?”

taglist: if you’d like to be ok my JJK general taglist or my Megumi taglist comment below!

#outsider writes #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro x reader #sorcerer!reader #cursed!reader #jjk angst

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snowmist-hashira · 11 months

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Hiii! Love your stories so I'm very happy you take requests ^_^

What about a reader who has a not so happy past and major family issues but since reader is currently a demon slayer now (can be hashira or muichiro's tsuguko), she's no longer affiliated with them

Of course, it didn't mean she had gotten over it. So basically, a comfort fic where reader has a nightmare about her past and Muichiro just comforted her and reassured her she's safe and that everything will be okay <3

Take your time in writing! Have a good day/afternoon/evening <3

[Chapter title: Navigating Trauma]

[Requested] Muichiro Tokitou x Reader

Wattpad:(One shots) Tokito Muichiro x Reader Archive:Kimetsu No Yaiba: Tokitou Muichiro x Reader Master list:♠ Information ♠ Word count: 1,058

Artist: 🌺ノラ

Link; Pixiv

Hello~ It brings me great joy to hear that you are enjoying the stories, and of course, my request inbox will always be open, so feel free to reach out whenever you'd like. I hope you have a fantastic day/night as well!

Muichiro and Y/n engaged in their daily sparring training, the air around them was filled with the rhythmic sounds of their wooden swords clashing against each other. The Mist Pillar's estate provided a serene backdrop for their intense practice session.

However, as Muichiro assumed a particular stance, Y/n's eyes widened with fear and anguish. The memories of her traumatic past flooded her mind, and the image of her abusive father seemed to overlap with Muichiro's figure, triggering a visceral response. Frozen in place, Y/n was unable to defend against Muichiro's attack.

With a swift and powerful strike, Muichiro's wooden sword landed on Y/n, causing her to lose her balance and fall to the ground. The impact jarred her body, and a sharp pain shot through her limbs.

Immediately realizing what had transpired, Muichiro's expression shifted from focused determination to deep concern. He swiftly dropped his wooden sword and rushed to Y/n's side, kneeling beside her.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Muichiro asked, his voice filled with worry. He gently reached out a hand, hesitating to touch her, unsure of how to comfort or help.

Y/n struggled to catch her breath; her mind still clouded with the haunting memories that had just resurfaced. Tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to comprehend what had happened. It was an unexpected trigger, a painful reminder of the past she had been trying to overcome.

"I... I'm sorry," Y/n managed to say between gasps, her voice trembling. "It's... it's not your fault."

Muichiro's concern deepened, realizing the impact his unintentional action had on Y/n. He understood that she was struggling with her own demons, and his heart ached for her pain.

Gently, Muichiro extended his hand once more, this time offering it for support. "Y/n, let me help you up. Take your time, just breathe.”

Y/n nodded, accepting Muichiro's hand and allowing him to assist her in getting back on her feet. Muichiro gently guided Y/n to sit down on the porch of his estate, ensuring she was comfortable. Y/n took a sip, Muichiro observed her troubled expression, noticing the subtle signs of her distress—twitching brows and trembling hands.

His heart ached for Y/n so he knelt in front of her and spoke with a compassionate tone, "we can stop training for now, Y/n," Muichiro said softly.

"Take the time you need to rest and gather yourself.”

Y/n's body tensed as she realized that Muichiro was halting their session due to her father's memories resurfacing. She shook her head, determined to continue despite the emotional setback.

"It's alright, I can push through," she insisted.

Muichiro's gaze softened, and he gently intervened, "Don't be stubborn. As my tsugoku, your well-being is my priority."

Y/n's guilt and the lingering impact of her past experiences weighed heavily on her shoulders. She understood that she was no longer affiliated her family, yet the memories and trauma persisted, resurfacing at unexpected moments. The mere visual lapse, seeing the image of her abusive father, sent shivers down her spine.

Muichiro noticed the deep distress and pain etched on Y/n's face, he instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on her forehead.

"Get some rest in my estate, Y/n," Muichiro said in a soothing tone. "We can resume our training tomorrow."

Y/n initially felt the urge to argue and push through the discomfort, but Muichiro's firm yet gentle expression made her pause. She realized that her master had her best interests at heart, and continuing to train in her current state would not be beneficial, taking a deep breath, Y/n nodded.

Y/n entered the spare room within Muichiro's estate, feeling a mix of conflicting emotions. A sense of hesitation and self-doubt washed over her, questioning whether taking a break from training due to her past trauma was a sign of weakness. She couldn't help but feel frustrated that her father's influence still seemed to linger, even indirectly impacting her decisions.

Gently, Y/n laid down on the futon, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions. She couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy, as if her past continued to hold power over her. It was a painful reminder of the lingering scars left by her abusive father.

Y/n closed her eyes, seeking solace in sleep, she hoped that the resurfacing memories would fade away, even momentarily. However, her wish for respite proved to be futile, as the memories grew clearer and more vivid with each passing moment.

In her dreams, the pain she had long suppressed resurfaced, overwhelming her senses. The weight of past traumas became unbearable, and Y/n abruptly woke up, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face.

Sitting up in the stillness of the room, Y/n felt the heaviness of the memories clinging to her, as if it was etched into her very being. The pain she had endured in the past became tangible once again, tormenting her even in her sleep.

She clutched her chest, trying to calm her racing heartbeat and steady her breathing. The tears welled up in her eyes, a tangible manifestation of the anguish that still held a tight grip on her soul.

Hearing the soft sniffles from Y/n, Muichiro immediately felt a surge of concern and worry wash over him. Sliding open the door to the room where she had been resting, he entered to find her in a disheveled state, tears streaming down her face.

Without hesitation, Muichiro knelt down beside her, his heart aching at the sight of her pain. With a gentle yet protective embrace, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He wanted to offer her comfort and reassurance in that vulnerable moment.

Y/n's head found solace on Muichiro's chest; her sobs muffled against his uniform. He held her securely, his hand soothingly caressing the back of her head. His touch conveyed warmth, care, and a deep understanding of her pain.

"I'm here, Y/n," Muichiro whispered softly, his voice filled with compassion. "You're not alone in this. Let the tears flow."

The room was filled with Y/n’s sniffling and occasional sobbing, Muichiro held her close, refusing to let go of the embrace. He continued to stroke her head with a soothing touch, providing a sense of comfort and security.

"You're safe with me, Y/n," Muichiro murmured gently, his voice filled with tenderness. "I won't let anything harm you, everything's going to be alright."

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miscellaneous-obsession · 1 year

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Love Knows No Bounds

Request: @alwaysforladyesdeath 'Can you make one where Sarah gets her immortality and she finds her love from the past who is now an immortal witch like her (female reader pls).'

I adored this request, such a lovely ask!

Finally free of the shackles that once bound her to the black flame candle, the youngest Sanderson chose not to heed Winnie's trivial warnings of mankind, opting to take to the skies just as she once had three centuries prior. Unfamiliar terrain sprawled beneath her flight path, though undeterred Sarah glided through the air, eyes closed shut as she relished in the breeze that tickled her face. Tresses of blonde hair twisted behind her frame, warping with every shift in directionality she made at random.

After minutes of flying blind, cerulean orbs snapped open as Sarah's senses became overwhelmed by nostaligic scents reminscent of a past long forgotten. The heady smell of lavender wafted through the air, persuading her with ease to search for its place of origin. The closer the blonde became, the more prominent the undertones of sickly sweet honey emerged, leading her directly toward a cottage that once held significant meaning.

Landing safely, Sarah hastened her steps as the house materialised through the treeline, the wooden structure constructed deeper within the forbidden forest than most. Smoke plumed from the chimney column, a shade of ash grey, unnaturally tinted with tones of fushcia as the light hit it. Soon Sarah raised her fist to knock, though her efforts were in vain as the door swung open in haste, a stunned woman appearing on the other side.

Unchanged, despite the passage of time, was Y/N standing stock still in the doorway. The blonde felt her heart palpitate within her chest, threatening to escape the confines of her ribcage if it continued for a moment longer. A shaking hand was proffered, unsure of what it reached for, landing gently upon the blonde's cheek in an affectionate manner. Slowly, a thumb smoothed over Sarah's red-flushed skin, tracing nonsensical patterns as she ensured the woman before her was in fact real and very much alive.

"Please tell me that thine own eyes do not deceive me... Sarah, is it really thou?" Sarah's smile grew ten-fold in response, her head nodding furiously to wordlessly answer the question. Those lips then parted with a squeal as she found herself being spun in place, lithe arms holding her close and secure. Throughout which a flurry of kisses were then pressed across her face, the majority peppering the blonde's forehead and cheeks, leaving stains of lipstick in their wake.

"Pray tell how is it that you are here... for I recall your hanging so vividly?" The momentary pause and involuntary shudder that followed conveyed how traumatic the sight must have been. In an attempt to distract from horrid memories, Sarah clasped Y/N's hands within her own emphatically replying, "Oh but that matters not, Y/N for all I wish for is to be with you? Doth thou still feel the same?"

Abating the doubts that lingered within the blonde's head, Y/N replied with a question of her own, "My sweet Sarah, was that ever in question?"

Leaning forward in order to close the gap of mere inches that separated the pair, Y/N kissed Sarah passionately as though no time had lapsed at all. Reciprocating in kind, the blonde melted having sorely missed the intimacy so freely offered by the other woman. Willingly, Sarah allowed herself to be pulled across the threshold of the abode with a tantalising whisper, "I have missed thy immensely," all too eager to partake in their familiar game of cat and mouse once more.

#hocus pocus #hocus pocus 2 #hocus pocus sarah #sarah sanderson #sarah sanderson x female reader #sarah sanderson x reader #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #hocus pocus fanfic #my writing

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letsplayballet · 1 year

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so uh. this post didn't get a whole lot of attention but it did get just enough for me to start trying to write some other scenes. this piece is pretty different vibe-wise, and i'm pretty sure it's not done, but i'm tired of looking at it so!!

~*~

“Have I told you that my father was a cop?”

Akira stops, losing his mental grip on the rest of the sentence he’d been writing for his literature assignment for Kawakami. Glancing up from the paper, he sees Makoto sitting tense as a coiled spring on his perpetually dusty couch, knuckles white on her pen, staring through the textbook in front of her as if she could see into the café below their feet. If it weren’t for Morgana’s perked ears from where he’d been half asleep on the table, Akira could almost believe that she hadn’t said anything at all.

It had been a little strange, when Makoto had shown up hours early for their planned infiltration of Futaba’s palace. She’s his teammate, and he trusts her implicitly, is willing to put his life in her hands- if she’d shown up that morning asking him to go backpacking across China with her, he would only have asked if it could wait until after they’d dealt with Medjed. But despite all this, they haven’t had a lot of time to spend together individually, and Akira gets the sense that there’s still a lot he doesn’t know about her as Makoto, as opposed to Queen.

And she hadn’t asked to do anything drastic. Hadn’t asked anything at all, actually. Just stood in the entrance to Leblanc silently, exactly 15 minutes after opening, until Akira (remembering all I am is a burden to her, remembering the faintest gleam of guilty relief in her eyes when telling them I haven’t seen my sister in days) finishes brewing coffee for the both of them and just as silently brings her upstairs to his room.

They’ve been working on their summer homework for nearly an hour, quiet but not uncomfortably so. This is the first either of them has broken the silence, and it’s pretty clear that whatever is on Makoto’s mind has been weighing on her for a while.

Realizing she’s still sitting there, tense and unmoving, Akira clears his throat a little. “Once, I think? You said he’d worked the beat in Shinjuku.”

Makoto lets out a long, measured breath through her nose, and her jaw unclenches ever so slightly. It’s another few moments before she speaks again.

“He was. He was actually a really instrumental part of the Shinjuku Cleanup Operation.”

She stops again. Bites her lip. Her pen shifts slightly in her grasp.

“I… Growing up, I thought of him as a hero, you know? Idolized him, even. I didn’t know much about his job, not really, but between the few things he shared and what I would always see on shows, I definitely had this golden, untouchable image of what he did. Hunting down criminals, bringing justice to the world… I wanted so badly to be just like him.”

There’s a faint, fond wistfulness to her tone that makes Akira intensely grateful for her still-distant gaze, forcing his breathing to remain calm and even as he gently sets his own pen down and hides his shaking hands in his lap. For a moment he’s overwhelmed –

that dark, ugly fury rising up in him, blinding, screaming see, you can’t trust anyone, as if anyone would give a fuck about you when you’re nothing –

the sense memories of hands too-tight grabbing pulling and concrete hard and cold against his face –

until his battle instincts kick in and he’s able to bring his mind back to his body in the (conditional, relative) safety of his attic room. This is Makoto. She’s not an idiot, and she’s not frivolous with her words, still learning she can say more than the bare minimum she absolutely needs to. If she’s saying all this, to him of all people, then there’s something important in there.

Thankfully, Makoto has lapsed into silence again, too lost in organizing her thoughts to notice his slip. He can feel Morgana’s eyes on him, though, and makes a mental note to block out his evening for that conversation just as Makoto continues.

“When he-” she pauses once more, swallows. “When he died on the job, a few years ago, I only became more motivated to follow in his footsteps. I was… so convinced that there was some nigh-unstoppable tide of evil out in the world, that the police were gallant figures holding the line, and if I joined the police I could…”

“You wanted to help people,” Akira says quietly, filling in as Makoto trails off. Like you needed to be helped, he doesn’t continue, because maybe he’s projecting, though the resonance of his bond with her makes him think he probably isn’t.

Makoto gives a little self-deprecating scoff, turning to look at him for the first time. “I’m sure I sound like some naive idiot, don’t I? I even-” she barrels forward, frustration entering her voice, before Akira can even think to say anything in response, “- I would see stories of corrupt officers, mistreatment, false convictions, and every time I would write it off, or come up with excuses. But then I met you, and none of my excuses sat right even before I tried to blackmail you about dealing with Kaneshiro, and when his men grabbed me off the street the cops at the corner just watched as they forced me into the car and -”

The pen in Makoto’s hand snaps loudly, causing all three of them to jump as shards of plastic clatter across the table.

There is a long, frozen moment where everyone stares at her still-clenched fist and the crooked end of the pen barely kept in place by her grip. It’s broken only when Makoto lets out a loud, shuddering breath and drops the ruined remains of the pen to the table. Morgana makes a quiet noise and stands, crossing the table and sliding into her lap as Makoto presses her own hands to her face in an attempt to compose herself.

Akira gives her a minute, gathering and tossing the pen in the trash and wiping up the few stray drops of splattered ink before sitting next to her on the sofa. He leaves a little space, just in case – but it’s quickly closed, Makoto pressing her shoulder against his, Morgana’s purrs loud and soothing between them.

#tbh this comes from a place of wanting to love makoto again #bc i do! i think she's got some great character to her #but she's also... kinda become a microcosm of my frustrations with p5 #(characters making poor decisions for the sake of plot; refusing to acknowledge problems as systemic instead of blaming individuals)#which is unfair to makoto #so the makoto in my p5 def ain't becoming a cop #this explores some of that and touches on some other things that i've already mentally changed but haven't written yet #and yeah. def not done but i need to sleep and it's done enough lol #my fic #persona 5 #akira kurusu #persona 5 protagonist #makoto niijima #morgana #(adding like. real tags this time. just for fun.)#p5 #p5r

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streakyglasses · 4 months

Text

to have it in your hands (the one thing you wanted all your life)

After meeting Vivienne, Chris and Street have the kids talk.

No warnings apply. 2200ish words. Set post-season 5.

Read on ao3 or ffn, or below the cut

Chris’s apartment is dim but cozy when she and Street return just shy of 11PM. Street’s hand rests warm on her lower back, and when she glances behind her, he’s still smiling with the new memories of Hondo and Nichelle’s baby girl. It makes her heart soft but her stomach sinks.

Excusing herself, Chris heads to the bedroom to change into pajamas and take her makeup off. She hears Street follow once she’s in the bathroom, the noise of running water not enough to mask how he rifles through his drawer in search of something. He looks up at Chris when she’s back in the bedroom, smirking and rolling his eyes.

“That’s my shirt, you know. It’s the one I was looking for.”

Chris looks down at the outdated SWAT shirt and shrugs.

“Last time I wore it, you said it looked better on me.” She says, eyes sparkling, stepping up to Street and kissing his jaw. He shivers underneath her lips, his hands coming to hold her.

“It does,” he murmurs. “And I think it would look best on the floor, but I’m starving. And I know you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Disappointment flashes across Chris’s face but she doesn’t put up a fight when her stomach grumbles.

“I’ll order a pizza. Anything extra?”

Focus back on his shirts, Street shakes his head.

“Just the regular, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Chris nods, takes a deep breath as she goes to the kitchen and hears the shower start. When she opens her phone, it shows her one of the pictures Hondo took of Street with Vivienne, and Chris swallows back her anxiety. She closes the photo to dial the pizza place, but Street’s bright eyes as they gazed down at the baby girl are stuck in her head.

Her thoughts continue to spiral once the food’s been ordered and she’s left alone. A random house remodeling show does nothing to break them up, even as someone asks for an orange kitchen, which would normally be enough to bring Chris out of any spiral. Somewhere in her haze, she ends up on the couch with a blanket thrown over her legs, too in her head to recognize the shower stopping or Street’s footsteps down the hallway.

“Chris?” Street sings with a smile, muscles finally relaxed from the day. It widens when he catches her on the couch, his eyes following over her form to the TV, wincing at the paint color. Looking back at her, his brows furrow at how distracted she is. He repeats her name to no avail.

Approaching softly so he doesn’t startle her, Street sits down and the shift of the couch is enough for Chris to shake out of her thoughts. He’s looking at her worried, a way that she tries to reassure him with a smile but can tell doesn’t work.

“What’s on your mind?”

Chris checks her phone to see how long this conversation will reasonably last before they’re interrupted by a delivery driver. It’s long enough that she can’t ignore the question or change the subject, and she sighs.

“Do you want kids?”

Freezing at her question, Street blinks away his shock though he can feel his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find an answer. His guts twist into knots, years of thoughts rushing back to him. Finally, he chokes out a scratchy, uncertain,

“Why?”

Chris averts her gaze to her hands, squeezing them until her knuckles turn white to dispel her nerves. Her voice is quiet when she speaks, like she’s afraid, and Street makes himself not interrupt despite how much he wants to comfort her.

“You’ve always loved kids, you’re good with them. I thought we were going to be there all night with Vivienne and how happy you were when you held her. We’ve never talked about it.”

Lapsing into silence, unsure of how to say what she really means, Chris’s deep eyes flit to Street’s. He takes her hands as soon as they do, thumbs running over her knuckles.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Do you? You seemed happy, too, singing to Vivienne, and being Victoria’s godmother. You’re amazing with all your nieces and nephews. Do you want kids?”

The question steals Chris’s breath. The moment feels like a piece of stained-glass sitting dangerously close to a ledge, and Chris isn’t sure if there’s anything waiting on the floor to soften the landing if her answer pushes them over. Street’s hands are warm in hers, steady, and she looks at them so she doesn’t have to see how her answer affects him.

“No,” Chris whispers with a small shake of her head.

The pain in her voice is a knife through his heart. Carefully disentangling their hands, Street cradles her face instead, swallowing back his uncertainty when she still doesn’t look at him.

“Okay. That’s okay, Chris.”

Her hair falls over her face, but Street can see how her eyes narrow when he speaks. A small voice in Chris’s ear tells her that he’s lying for her sake, and it’s hard not to listen despite knowing how his tone shifts when he lies, and how that hasn’t happened. Biting her lip, she risks looking at him.

“You’re sure?”

Street’s chest aches with how doubtful Chris sounds and he nods, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, and tries to instill as much confidence in his words as he can.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Do you want to tell me why, though? Not that you need to convince me of anything,” Street adds, “I just hate seeing you like this.”

“My mom.” Chris says, voice lined with a thin layer of shame. “I see more of her in myself than I like to admit. I love kids, I love being an aunt and a godmother, but I’m not giving all of my issues to a kid that didn’t ask for it and doesn’t deserve it.”

Lips pressed together and eyes sad, Street says he gets it.

“You know my parents were real pieces of work. Sometimes I like the thought of having a kid or two of my own, but I can’t shake the fear that I’d hurt them like I was hurt. ‘Give them something better’ is a nice sentiment if someone’s sure how to do it, but I have no idea.”

“Yeah,” Chris agrees on a shallow breath. Unable to stand the space between them, she maneuvers until she’s on his lap, one arm around his shoulders and the other hand resting on his chest, her forehead light against his chin.

“I’m sorry for all you went through. Some days I think I’m lucky that I never knew my father. My mom did enough of a number on me all by herself.”

“Like you told me once, Chris,” Street says, eyes on the top of her head, “maybe, maybe not. But if you had known him, then you never would’ve met me.”

Street feels a quick puff of hot air on his neck and can just see Chris smile as she remembers.

“And from my experience, it doesn’t matter how many parents a kid has, they always end up with scars from ‘em.”

Chris nods, her hair tickling Street’s skin as she takes in his words. He puts a hand on top of hers, brings it to his lips to kiss her fingers before lying it back where it was.

“I don’t think you’re capable of doing to a kid what was done to you.” Chris says, Street’s eyebrows raise as his heartbeat calms. “You’re too good. I don’t want to deprive you of being a dad if that’s something you want.”

Laughing softly, Street says she isn’t depriving him of anything. He hooks a finger under her chin so he can see her face.

“You are what I want. You, SWAT, the Team. I love my life as it is. And, it took me a long time to get it here, so I want to enjoy it.”

He leans down to kiss her tenderly, features soft when he pulls back.

“And if you change your mind?” Chris searches his eyes. He shrugs.

“Then we talk about it again down the line and we figure it out, like we figured out where to go for dinner last week.”

Chris rolls her eyes, but Street sees the tension drain from her, his shoulders relaxing, too.

“Kids are a bigger decision than Thai or Italian.”

“I know,” Street says, nodding. “They’re a bigger responsibility, too, which is how I know that I’m perfectly content with how we are right now.”

“Okay,” Chris says, finally feeling the full impact of relief. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad we talked about it.” Street says and kisses her again.

“Besides,” he mutters against her lips, shifting their bodies around until she’s straddling him. “If we had a kid, I couldn’t do this.”

The words on Chris’s tongue fall into nothingness as Street’s mouth makes a home on her neck. One of her hands holds the back of his head, nails scratching his scalp, while the other rests over his shoulder.

His lips move north to the pressure point at Chris’s jaw, spurred on by her moans as the sensation deepens and her hips roll in response to him.

Chris is just about to fulfill his wish of his shirt on the floor when they’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

Head falling back in disappointment, Chris pats Street’s shoulders twice as she lifts herself off him to answer. She grabs cash from her wallet as she goes, pressing a hand to where his lips were in hopes there’s not a hickey blooming.

“Hi, thanks,” Chris says, transaction quick when she doesn’t ask for change. Bumping the door closed with her foot, Street’s already in the kitchen pouring them drinks and getting a stack of napkins. Chris clears everything off to set the pizza box on the coffee table. Street puts the drinks on coasters before sitting down next to her, the TV starting a new episode of the same show.

“For what it’s worth,” he says after a bite of cheese and peppers, “I think all the kids that are in your life are the better for it. I see how much your nieces and nephews look up to you, how lucky Victoria is to have you.”

A light pink blushes over Chris, who takes a slow bite of her pizza and chews carefully until it starts to subside.

“Thank you. I meant it when I said you’re good with them. Which is nice because there are so many in the family.” Chris looks over and gives Street a small smile, bumping him with her elbow.

“I love watching you with them.”

Street grins and says he loves it, too.

“I also love getting to give them back and not having every surface in our apartment be sticky all the time.”

Covering her mouth, full of food, Chris laughs.

“Our house was always a mess growing up. It drove me crazy.”

Street downs his water and says he can imagine from some of the foster homes he stayed in.

“You remember that time Samuel’s shirt ended up in Deac’s backpack instead of his?”

Eyes widening, the memory comes back to Chris in perfect clarity.

“Yes! That’s another thing, our jobs. It’s not like the hours line up well with taking care of a kid, SWAT or the Safe House. Not to mention pregnancy,” A shiver runs through Chris as she settles back into the couch. Street pulls her under his arm.

“Our miracle of life is in saving them, not making them.” Street agrees. “And we can always volunteer for babysitting duty if we want to flex the parental instincts, or if we need the reminder to keep them part-time.”

Watching workers on the TV glue something down, he shifts his focus.

“That backsplash is disgusting.”

Burying her head in his shoulder, Street feels Chris’s laugh vibrate against him, smiling down at her when she’s done.

“Glad we’re on the same page about that, too. I like the idea of babysitting together now and then.”

The episode plays on, both Street and Chris passing barbs about the design choices and the couple responsible, until the credits start to roll. Standing, Chris closes the near-empty pizza box to stick in the fridge while Street collects their glasses and trash.

“I do have one more question,” Chris says when she closes the fridge door.

“What’s that?” Street asks, eyes glued on Chris’s long legs as she returns to her spot on the couch and swats at him for being distracted.

“One of my old K9 friends has a 6-year-old Shepherd, Lady. She was injured in the line of duty and retired, but he can’t keep her and train a new partner with the space he’s got. He asked if I’d take her, but we haven’t talked about pets, either.”

There’s cautious excitement on Chris’s face that reads like a book, and Street memorizes how she shines in it. Smiling, he runs a hand down Chris’s arm.

“I loved having Duke, I know how much you love your dogs. She’s potty-trained?” He asks with a lilt in his voice that fills Chris with loving annoyance.

“She’s a trained police dog, Street.”

“Potty trained, won’t need a babysitter if we’re gone for the day, not sticky,” Street feigns weighing his options. “Sounds like the perfect addition to our family.”

#chris alonso #jim street #stris #swat #swat cbs #s.w.a.t cbs #cbs swat #street x chris #chris x street #my writing #s.w.a.t.#notes on ao3/ffn <3

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makutaibo · 5 months

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Lhikamyr hesitantly walked up to the silhouette of Valat're'da, haloed as he was by the setting sun. The rise they stood on gave a fantastic view of what was left of Saanabon'ra. The ground, blackened and bare of all plants, was slowly being swallowed by seawater. Some of the towers had crumbled in the blasts, but others still stood, despite it all.

The god stood with his flaming wings burning gently in the face of the wind. His posture indicated he was calm, and his spear was stuck in the ground beside him. He did not speak as Lhikamyr stepped up beside him, but he did smile. It was a perturbing sight to Lhikamyr. He was new to experiencing emotion, but he swore that while the smile seemed genuine, it did not seem happy.

The smile did not remain for long, and silence stretched as the god looked out over Saanabon'ra's corpse. Lhikamyr knew that no city can technically die, but he felt like it had. His memories from before he was more than a construct spoke of a city teeming with life and energy, a bloodstream of people moving with the heartbeat of life. Now, it lay still, and empty. Lhikamyr felt the absence of a heartbeat ache in his chest. Life had left the city, and all of Silme, with the starrakers. Only dead things and gods remained now.

When he could bear the silent vigil over the city no longer, Lhikamyr spoke, albeit hesitantly: "Re'vakoyn Valat're'da? The Toathan'mor are ready to move on at your command."

The god turned to look at him, and Lhikamyr saw his bright blue eyes spark with irritation. "I swear, I'll fecking kill Ra'kimuh when I next see him. Don't call yourselves that, Lhikamyr! It's a misnomer, and no mistake."

"It is what we are, Re'vakoyn." Lhikamyr had feared this argument would come. Ever since they had viewed the message left for them by their creator, Those Obligated To Die had accepted what they had been created to do.

The god shook his head, and Lhikamyr swore he heard him mutter: "Those Obligated not to listen to a depressed fecking idiot, more like," before he adjusted his voice to a more audible level. "You are not obligated to die. Not while I'm around. That attitude is not what Ra'naghul would have wanted from you."

Lhikamyr opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated. The god caught his lapse in judgement and raised an eyebrow. "Out with it, Lhikamyr." When he hesitated, Valat're'da spoke again: "You clearly have something to say, so spit it out."

"Why does it matter what Ra'naghul wanted of us?" Lhikamyr could not keep the frustration from his voice. Why was the god intent on contradicting the clear goal behind their creation? Why was he refusing them the kindness of accepting their purpose?

"It matters because I'm its older brother, Lhikamyr." Valat're'da's voice held no anger, and his eyes looked into the distance as if they beheld something Lhikamyr could not. "And when I see it again, I won't have it tell me I fucked up my part in all this."

Something about the god's demeanour resonated within Lhikamyr. He found himself asking: "You're so sure you will see it again?"

Valat're'da smiled, and the absence within Lhikamyr ached at the expression. "I am. I don't know if it will remember me immediately when I do, but..." The god trailed off for a moment, closing his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice shook slightly. "When I see Ra'kimuh again, I will have many, many things to say, but for Ra'naghul? For it, I will have an embrace first and foremost, and an apology for not realising how much I would miss it."

Turning, Valat're'da placed a hand on Lhikamyr's shoulder. "Cherish your family, Lhikamyr. Especially in times like this, you do not know when you will find yourself without them by your side. Make sure they know how much they mean to you before that happens."

As Lhikamyr descended from the rise, he found that, after that conversation, it was just a little harder to believe that he was Toathan'mor.

#Saanabon'ra archive

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silvermillenniumqueenneptune · 2 years

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Personal vent [please do not reblog, although I would love some advice in the comments].

About five years ago, I met a neurodivergent man I’ll call Nick (portion of his real name that he uses as a nickname/online persona when he doesn’t want to use his real name) through a mutual friend of ours. He’s a very sweet man, early 30’s, bisexual and allegedly on his second civil union (he’s supposedly been married twice, both times to same sex partners). He also suffers from a condition called Reactive Attachment Disorder. Nick has told me a variety of colorful stories throughout my friendship with him.

Nick claims to work for a major technology company [not naming the company for privacy reasons] and once was able to get me a deal on a laptop from said company at a heavy discount. Ever since getting me the laptop, Nick frequently claims that he has obtained access to my laptop through the Get Help app on Windows. I’ve given him permission to do this once when I needed a quick tech support consult and didn’t have time to sit through a chat with Dell or Windows.

Recently, Nick has claimed to have “given” me several upgrades to my laptop, but now, I’m suspicious because a. I can see no proof that he’s accessing my computer when he claims to be, and b. I’ve found that most of what he’s asking is seemingly random, single keystrokes (usually the x or ; ) and I can see no evidence that he’s changed anything on my laptop.

I know that some of these keystrokes open certain things, such as device manager, but he claims he’s making all these changes to my computer. He also claims to be “an engineer who works on Windows updates for Dell” and often tells me not to install new Windows updates right away because he’s “still finalizing them” [but why would it be available to me from Windows if it was still being finalized? Also, why can’t I see any evidence of the updates being made?] Unfortunately, however, Nick is not my only issue.

I have another friend tied to Nick, Mandy, [portion of real name] who is always role playing with me to entertain Nick as he “works”. I would be fine with this, if it weren’t for the fact that Mandy has a seizure disorder, and her seizures often cause her to lose significant parts of her memory, which means that we end up, role-playing the same things over and over and over again. Mandy claims that she wants to post the role-plays as a story on the archive of our own website, but she refuses to write any of the scenes down, and she goes so quickly through them, often out of order because she wants to see how a particular scene will play out. This makes it impossible for me to write them down either. Even when I get to a point where we could write them down, she keeps flip-flopping on parts of the story and insisting we play them out again to change it.

Mandy has a host of mental and physical conditions, one of them being maladaptive daydreaming. So, we can be in the middle of a conversation about something totally unrelated to the role-play, and she will say “why can I see…” , And begin role-playing without even asking me. I’ve told her repeatedly that this is something that bothers me, and that she needs to ask me before role-playing, but it never seems to stick. She claims she does this to entertain Nick, who struggles to read in English because it’s not his first language. If we’re not role-playing a fanfiction, she will lapse into wanting to role-play the story of a novel that she is allegedly, been working on since long before she met me. She made me a character in the novel, despite knowing that I hate the novel concept. She’s flip-flopped from claiming that she wants to publish the novel, despite believing that it will “get her killed because people are not ready for the diversity put into it” and wanting to burn it because her obsession with it upsets me. I try to change the subject when she does this, but it briefly gets her back on track before she slips into it again. She claims that this is because she has a condition called maladaptive daydreaming.

Recently, we have been creating an In the Heights fanfiction together. In an attempt to get over her dislike of Latin men, due to mistreatment by her Latin father, Mandy paired herself with the main character , and changed his heritage to Afro-Latin to make him “more interesting”. This would be fine, if Mandy [who was raised by a white mother and barely has any connection to her Latin roots] was willing to do any kind of research. She claims she has, but a lot of what she’s coming up with does not make sense. I am fairly familiar with Latin culture, as I have a college degree in Spanish. I’ve actually called her out on several inaccuracies. I noticed this is a habit she makes with her fan fictions, which is irritating, because most of her favorites are related to historical fiction [The Tudors, etc]!

As if that wasn’t enough of a problem, Mandy gets so into her characters that she has been posting on Reddit, pretending to be one of her characters from one of our role-plays. People became so incensed by her posts that they believed the story was real, and Mandy gleefully claims her Reddit account was banned from the r/aita forum.

It has now reached a point where neither Mandy nor Nick will allow me to hang up on our Skype calls without protest. I can barely even go to the bathroom without leaving them on a call, which is difficult for me as I have a disability that makes simple, everyday tasks take much longer. (a disability that Mandy also shares, so she should understand). I’ve tried speaking to both Mandy and Nick about this, and it always gets better for a little while, but then gets worse again. I really don’t want to walk away from the friendship but I would love advice.

Is there any way that I can get through to them? I tried avoiding them, but it always seems that Nick manages to find some way to contact me or make Mandy do it for him.

#personal vent #friendship issues #don't repost #don't reblog #would love some feedback

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fussyalma · 2 years

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𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 · 𝘈 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺

The heat in the city is oppressive. Somehow worse than Miami. At least there I had the beach. The sun warming my skin had been pleasant with the ocean air wafting in over heated sand. The smell of salt and steak sizzling on the grill of the nearest taco truck.

Here the sun is… sharper. It beams in harsh shafts through the high rises and blinds you while reflecting off of the endless windows of the neverending 20 story buildings. It heats the asphalt beneath you, toasting you from below and above and every skyscraper side that mirrors it’s rays.

And then there’s the people. Hoardes of humans moving in waves, brushing you, touching you, coughing, smelling, shoving. Both the garbage in the streets and the body odor of your fellow man intensified in the summer weather.

Summer had always been my favorite season, but maybe not here. Not in New York City.

My face is shining with sweat, perspiration beading down my temple as I climb the stairs towards my apartment. Pulling out my keys when I notice my door is… not fully latched.

It’s not technically cracked, but with the slightest sliver of doorjam showing, I can tell it wasn’t pulled shut all the way the last time it was attempted closed. Had I left my apartment open all day while I was at work? What the fuck, Fern? Again?

Of course there is the possibility of a break in, but I knew better. This was the third time this week that this had happened. I had already asked my landlord to check the cameras in the building’s hallway and had been abnormally unsettled to see that on the cameras, the only one that had been coming and going from my apartment was me. The deep-seated sinking in my gut knew what had happened. What had been happening. I was losing time. I was making mistakes. I was forgetting things. My mind is deteriorating.

Stepping into my apartment I first check to make sure Salem and Petra are still inside. Petra lifts her fluffy head from where she is sprawled on the couch and Salem trots in with his tail held high from the bedroom. Relief soothes my bones at the confirmed safety of my pets. But after I shut and lock my front door, it’s the other things that make the sourness in my stomach grow worse.

When I look back on my morning, the memories that I can collect from my mind are almond butter toast, a half eaten banana, and a four homemade espresso shots over ice to go. But the evidence on my kitchen counter suggests a very different morning than the one I remember. Splayed out on the worktop is a discarded tea bag, a half drank mug of Earl Grey, an apple with two bites out of it and a bowl of cereal milk with two soggy mini wheats squares floating.

I can feel the panic that brews like acid inside me. My own memory, my own mind isn’t reliable. Isn’t trustworthy. I can’t trust anyone. Not even myself.

Web MD and extensive googling had told me the most likely issues and none were good. Early Onset Alzheimers. A brain tumor. A mental disorder that would most likely land me in an institution.

Setting my purse and work bag down next to the couch, I make my way to the bedroom to change. Another lapse. My bed is a mess. Despite my knowledge that I make my bed every day. I always have. The first part of my morning routine. Contrary to this near lifelong habit though, are my mussed sheets and bunched up duvet.

But that’s not the thing that worries me most. What worries me most, is sitting on my nightstand.

A chess piece. A black queen.

No. Oh god no.

The room is spinning, shifting, tilting, and the sudden ringing in my ears is interrupted only by the shrill ringtone of my cellphone a room away.

In the living room with my purse in my hands, I rummage through the disorganized contents until I find my iPhone, screen lit up with ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ But I know who it is. Even before I answer the phone.

When I hear the voice on the other end of the line, the realization is awash upon me that I don’t know if this is real. Can I really trust what I’m seeing, feeling, hearing? I don’t know.

Is the familiar voice echoing in my ear real? Or is it simply yet another hallucination created by backfiring neurons in a decomposing brain? Is it coming from a pay phone, a burner, a mobile held in someone’s hand, or is it an auditory creation pulled from the dark recesses of my mind? Who’s to say? I can’t.

𝙃𝙞 𝙉𝙞𝙣𝙖. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜. 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙪𝙥, 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙮𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙮?

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lex-the-flex · 3 years

Text

Only a Myth

Paul Atreides x reader

Summary: To some, the planet of Arrakis is nothing but a catastrophic death trap. However, the vast desert begins to manipulate your memories of the youngest member of House Atreides.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warning(s): Fluff, angst, memory lapse, action and violence, descriptions of injuries, and slight sadness. Memories are in italics!

A/N: We’re finally getting more Dune content and it makes me so excited for the movie! Special gift for my girl @visionsofsweettea who I basically sucked into the Dune fandom. (lol)

A/N PT 2: Contains SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE & BOOK, so I’ll do my best not to give too much away. (Since I’ve read the book and seen the original movie multiple times)

10191 A.G.

That was the last time you saw the adored members of House Atreides. From the moment their departure was announced in stone castle walls, the lush green environment of Caladan seemed to change as you began to worry for the family. Despite reading the travel manifestations over a thousand times, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around why the Duke made this choice. Even on the day of the flight, you stood beside the various other maidens who served Lady Jessica, distraught at the events taking place in front of you.

Over the next few months, life in Caladan seemed to vanish, and your happiness with it. You seemed to be the only one loyal to the Atreides family who remained the same. Each day, you fell into a trance as all your memories of Duke Leto’s and Lady Jessica’s only son infinitely filled your mind.

Your memories of Paul Atreides.

The cool weather brought on by the cliffside was refreshing with every wave that crashed on the rocks. Climbing higher, you followed Paul’s lead as he kept boasting that he had a surprise for you. No matter how much you wanted him to spoil it, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You really want to ruin your surprise now?” He asks for the second time.

“At this point, I don’t even care what it is. You’re a pain, Atreides. You know that right?” You reply, taking Paul’s hand.

Pulling you up higher, Paul keeps a steady grip on your left forearm, making sure you both don’t trip and fall.

“Trust me, I know.” Paul replies, giving you a subtle wink.

Reaching inside his uniform’s pocket, Paul takes out a small box, and places it in your palm. Opening the box, a necklace tied with black cord and a silver emblem of the House Atreides symbol lies inside. A small silver hawk shines in the bright sunlight, beaming back at you.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you Paul.” You respond.

“Of course, it’s for you to remember me. I won’t be returning to Caladan and you’re all I have left of this place.” Paul admits, taking your shoulders in his hands.

Responding to his gentle touch, you bite your lip and smile. Gazing at your lips, Paul takes your chin in his grasp and gives you both your first and last kiss on Caladan. If only that moment could’ve lasted forever. After all, he was the first boy you ever loved.

*****

The hot sun of Arrakis beats down on the glittering golden sand as you pant for breath. Even behind your suit’s mask, you rip the carbon fiber mask away from your face, leaving only the nostril plugs intact. Tugging at the bag wrapped around your shoulder for what felt like the millionth time, the very stillsuit that armored your body continued to slowly fail.

The suit seemed to no longer perform its mandatory functions of filtering the toxins in your body and transforming them into viable drinking water.

You were dying.

Having been stranded in the vast Arrakian desert for four weeks, the suit was reaching its intended lifespan, making you stuck. If anyone were to find you, they’d discover nothing but a broken stillsuit that might have some salvageable parts, and a pile of bones.

Continuing further into the unending void of the desert, you glance at the glistening sand, while it mocks you - torments you. Even on the planet’s surface, Spice was everywhere. No one could escape it, not even the Atreides’, the Harkonnen’s, or you. Harking back to the Baron’s recorded message, they seemed true to nature.

“He who controls the Spice controls the Universe.”

The phrase rang from ear to ear inside your mind as you collapsed before a clearing of dark-colored mountains. As your vision began to fade to blackness, you reached toward the rocks, in an attempt to temporarily cover the vibrations of your suit from any patrolling Sandworm lurking underneath the dunes.

“I’m …sorry.” You uttered through your chapped lips, dreaming of Paul once more.

*****

The distant sound of unknown voices flowed through the air just as you slowly opened your eyes to the sight of the bright sun. Secluded from the unbearable weather, you gazed around the hollowed out part of the mountain, and watched the heat waves dance above the sand. Realizing the area is clear, you crawl out from underneath the sanctuary, and begin to ascend the small mountain toward the voices.

Coming to a clearing in the rock, your dry e/c eyes witness a rare sight: a miniscule group of Fremen.

“That’s impossible.” You whisper to yourself.

From childhood you were always told the various myths and legends surrounding the Fremen. While they were secretive people, they never showed themselves in the open. It was too dangerous for their species, and while they were still human, they had their reasons for staying in the shadows.

Watching from afar, you could barely make out the four or five men and women were training with blades and a staff. But before you move to get a closer look, you were caught off guard when something grabbed both your wrists. Pulling you out from the visible crevice, a Fremen man forces you out from your hiding stop, causing you to slide down the perfectly curved mountainous interior.

Rolling on the hard red and white sandstone, the padding from the suit protected you from taking any serious damage, that is - until an extensive force slammed against your left ankle, causing you to cry out in pain. Kicking the man away, you start to scramble away, unfortunately you don’t get very far as the man closes his hand around your now broken appendage and squeezes.

Gritting though your teeth, you thrust your good foot into the man’s face once again, but he releases his grip by the sound of a high-pitched whistle.

“Brutus! That’s enough!” A deep male voice calls out from a singular boulder in the middle of the open alcove.

The soldier named Brutus lets go and leaves you be. He backs up to the unknown man on the boulder. Stepping down from the rock, the Fremen casually approaches you, and removes the mask from his own stillsuit.

“Tell me, girl. How do we know you’re not a spy for the Second Republic, or worse, the Harkonnens?” He asks.

Balancing on your elbows, Brutus unsheathes a blade from his belt, and inches closer.

“Stilgar, we’ve wasted too much time out here. She’s a filthy spy. They all are.” Brutus exclaims.

“Wait, wait! What is the current year?” You ask, moving your arm between Brutus and Stilgar.

“The current year? 10191 A.G.” Stilgar responds, leaning over to your level.

“She’s lying.” Brutus says.

Raising his weapon, you take out the gift given to you by Paul and display it to the Fremen leader.

“Don’t-- I am a loyal member to the Atreides family! Please!” You nearly beg, holding out the hawk charm from the necklace underneath your suit.

“Enough!” A second voice calls out from the boulder.

Jumping down from the boulder, the various Fremen gracefully move out of the way and bow their heads to this man, this boy as he walks to Brutus. A collective whisper of prays and holy phrases echo throughout the alcove.

“Protect us, Usul.” “The Preacher has come to save us.” “Only he can make Arrakis mighty once more.”

Equipping his blade, the boy places it before Brutus’ neck, and his hazel eyes fill with rage.

“Touch her again, and I will make sure the worms eat you for breakfast.” He spews, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand.

“Yes Muad’Dib. I will unsheathe this blade by your command.” Brutus prays, bowing his head while folding his hands.

Removing the tip of the blade from Brutus’ neck, the boy glances your way, and his face changes within a second.

“...Paul?” You ask, struggling to stand.

Wasting no time, Paul rushes to your side and attacks you with a long awaited embrace. Surrendering to each other’s touch, your fingers clutch around his dark hair. Stroking your back, Paul holds you tightly.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he quietly admits.

Releasing his embrace, Stilgar announces that everyone must return to the Fremen home world before dark. Wrapping your arms around their shoulders, both Paul and Stilgar help you to their haven, where a brand new life awaits you.

Tagging ~

@visionsofsweettea

@dreamliners

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#timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee fanfic #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet x you #dune #dune film #dune 2021 #dune remake #denis villeneuve #paul atreides #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #house atreides #arrakis #dune worm

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crankynewt · 3 years

Text

Back to the Future - Chapter Three

Live in Living Colour Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Summary: As you begin to remember who you and Peter really are, the truth of WestView is revealed as you attempt to break free from the endless mind games.

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Major WandaVision Episode Seven spoilers!

A/N: Here’s the much anticipated continuation of Be Okay and Life Could Be a Dream! I had to take more creative liberties than I had intended since we got so little Peter last episode (which is even more of a crime than that beanie), but I hope you guys enjoy anyways!

The hard ground was cold and damp beneath your cheek. Slowly opening your eyes, darkness was only met with more darkness. After your sight had adjusted to the gloom, you could make out a faint purple glowing coming from the walls. It was almost as if it was omitting from the tangled branches warping across the stone surface.

Pushing yourself off the ground, your bones ached as you used what little energy you had left to sit yourself up. There were no windows in the tiny room and the wooden door across from you was more than likely locked. It’s not like you even had enough power to move over there anyways.

With a sigh, you rubbed your palm against your forehead as you tried to figure out how you’d gotten there. The last thing you remembered was asking Wanda why Peter couldn’t remember you as your real memories came flooding back to your conscious mind.

You didn’t know how long you were falling when you landed on the cold evening grass. There was still just enough adrenaline left in your system for you to immediately jump to your feet, eyes glowing yellow as you raised your fists raised as you took in your surroundings.

You were on the lawn of some mansion, the towering stone structure dimly illuminated by the lights left on in a few of the windows. Your heart raced as you turned around quickly, seeing nothing but hedges and grass on the massive lawn.

Although your mind was still racing, you eventually reached the conclusion that knocking on the door was the best option. With your cape trailing behind you, you strode across the grass and up the driveway as you made your way to the front entrance. Despite how intimidating the massive oak doors would normally have seemed, you bravely reached up to the heavy knocker and slammed it down thrice.

Rather than feeling anxious, you felt annoyed more than anything. Of course Thanos would send you somewhere far away from where you needed to be. You only hoped that this really was Earth and you weren’t stranded on some random planet.

You weren’t sure exactly how long it had been when a timid looking man with glasses finally opened the door.

“Can I help you with something?” He asked, furrowing his brow as he took in your super-suited form. A little part of you was almost embarrassed at your appearance, but there were more important things to worry about.

“Yeah, where am I?” You asked, crossing your arms and pursing your lips.

“Uh, Charles Xavier’s School for the Gifted… I’m sorry, who are you?” He replied, opening the door slightly wider as his confusion intensified.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N). And where is this school?” You said, pushing the topic even more. “We are on Earth, right?”

“Are we on Earth?! Why wouldn’t you be on Earth? That’s not just something you don’t know.” He retorted, and you could see the veins on his hand growing a startling shade of blue. You decided to ignore it, if this stereotypical scientist guy wanted to fight then you could easily take him out.

“Okay, so the titan behind the attack on New York a couple years ago, Thanos, is trying to gather these things called infinity stones to wipe out half the universe. Some of his goons were just trying to get the time stone from this wizard in New York, and Iron Man, Spider-Man and I wound up having to save him, which led to us winding up on Thanos’ home planet, Titan.” You explained, making gestures with your hands as you spoke. “Long story short we were there fighting and he opened some portal and dropped me through it and now I’m here.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Bye!” He began closing the door in your face until something, or rather someone, stopped him.

“Wait!” A British voice called from inside the school, prompting the glasses-clad man to open the door even wider than before. This new figure was bald and seated in a wheelchair, rolling closer to you with a curious gaze. “They’re not crazy Hank.” He addressed the man, who quickly stepped out of the way so that you could enter the building and closing the door behind you.

“Professor Charles Xavier.” He introduced himself, reaching out to shake your hand with a knowing gaze. “You are a long way from home, aren’t you. The reality you remember is much farther away and about thirty years in the future.”

“Wait, what?! Thanos yeeted me back to the eighties?!” You exclaimed, shock and terror flowing through your veins as a gust of air blew past you.

“What’s a ‘yeeted’?” A new voice asked and you suddenly noticed a silver haired boy leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “Are you some Marty McFly Back to the Future-character or something?”

You glared in response as you felt annoyed with this stranger and his childish antics. This was going to be a long night.

The memory of your first meeting with your beloved Peter was enough motivation for you to push yourself off the ground, wobbling on unsteady legs as you rushed to the door. Wiggling the knob to no avail, you took a few steps back and raised your hand in an attempt to blow it off it’s hinges.

“That’s not going to work, you know.” A familiar voice behind you spoke. Whipping around, you saw Agnes, except now her hair was tangled and her eyes were glowing purple.

“So you’re the one doing this. Not Wanda…” You said, sizing her up as the woman stroked the rabbit in her arms.

“Oh no, Wanda is doing this, but I’m the one behind the wheel.” She bitterly smiled. “Agatha Harkness, dear. You see, I needed a Pietro for Wanda but the real one’s been dead just a little too long. Your ‘Peter’ was the perfect replacement, but unfortunately you tagged along when I ripped him from your reality.”

“Peter and Pietro are completely different, Wanda’s eventually gonna figure that out.” You snapped, growing more and more furious with each syllable passing through her lips.

“Peter’s playing his part like a champ! He won’t be missing you anytime soon.” Each word was nails on a chalkboard to your ears. “But don’t worry about being lonely, you won’t be alone down here much longer.” With a swish and a flick of her fingers, Agnes disappeared into a swirl of purple and Tommy and Billy took her place.

“(Aunt/Uncle) (Y/N)!” They shouted, terrified and immediately running over to where you stood. You met them with open arms, holding the twins close in a hug as you whispered that everything was going to be okay in a failed attempt to comfort them.

“Mom said Pietro isn’t really our uncle… Who is he?” Tommy questioned as you let go of the duo.

“He’s not… His name is Peter, and he’s from another reality. Your Mom’s brother died a long time ago, but Agatha brought him over because technically they are the same person? I think? I’m not sure how it works, but they are both Maximoffs and Peter has a little sister named Wanda, too. It’s complicated, but that witch is controlling him.” You explained, answering questions that you didn’t really understand yourself.

“You’re thinking really loud…” Billy commented, holding his head in his hands as he attempted to block out the noise of your mind rushing a hundred miles an hour.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could talk you felt a gentle tap in your mind. Then another, this prod slightly stronger. And again, the poking becoming quite the nuisance.

“Billy, please don’t try to read my mind.” You said, staring into space as you attempted to keep the child out of your thoughts.

“I’m not.” He replied, dropping his hands to his sides as me met your eyes with a look of confusion.

You matched his puzzlement, the poking continuing and becoming even harder to ignore. Maybe it was a lapse in judgement or your exhaustion catching up to you, but you decided to drop your defences and let this strange presence into your head.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N), can you hear me?” A voice in your head asked.

“Charles!”

Taglist:

@cspr-2 @lam-ila @sarcasticbitchs-things @calaryssia @ashleysimmons

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Title: Rose Tinted.

Pairing: Yandere!Kuroo/Reader, Yandere!Kenma/Reader, Yandere!Akaashi/Reader & Yandere!Bokuto/Reader.

Word Count: 3.9k.

Synopsis: Life is stressful. It was stressful when you were your own person, when you were free, and it is now, when you’re relegated to a captivity spent in the arms of your four captors. It’s only natural that you adapt to your current life by modifying the details of your old one.

TW: Prolonged Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationships, and Implied Non-Con.

Kuroo reminds you of your old roommate, sometimes.

It’s a sickening comparison to draw, but you can’t help yourself, not when you’re with him, not when he’s acts so much like her. Kuroo’s a morning person, and with his busy schedule and all the time he spends traveling, he tries to steal every minute he can with you, every second you’re not wrapped in Bokuto’s arms or sitting on Kozume’s lap or doing whatever Akaashi does, after he forces those little white pills down your throat and your mind gets too fuzzy to form memories, even if that means he has to fish you out of bed before sunrise, deposit you on the countertop, and mutter one of his favorite threats in your ear, just to ensure you won’t make another lunge at the knife block. You’re almost grateful for that last step. It gives you an excuse not to strain yourself, so early in the day.

It’s a vague link, but it’s there. In the way he hums to himself as he cooks, how absent-mindedly he moves around the kitchen as he puts together the meal you’ve watched him make a thousand times. He’s more rushed than she used to be, though. Whereas your roommate would still have one eye shut as she cracked an egg over a sizzling pan, Kuroo’s already fully dressed, even if his shirt’s slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened and his blazer draped over your shoulders despite your attempts to subtly shrug it off. That was something she’d done, too, but differently, more innocently. She’d ruffle your hair as you collapsed on the kitchen island, commenting on ‘another late night’ or how helpless you’d be without her help. Kuroo doesn’t have to ask. He knows where you are, where you were, all the time, every day, and if there’s a lapse in your schedule he isn’t sure how to fill in, then you wouldn’t be watching him cook.

You’d be locked in a closet, left without food or water or warmth for however long it took for you to swallow your pride and admit that you’d spent two hours trying to break the deadbolt on your bedroom’s window yesterday, all while Kuroo sat on the other side of the door and congratulated you on finally being honest.

You almost don’t notice when the humming stops, Kuroo turning the stove off before he shifts, his eyes flickering in your direction while a soft grin tugs at the corner of his lips, more patronizing than endearing. You can almost bring yourself to hate him for it. In the moment, you think you do. “You’ve been awful quiet,” He starts, once you fail to say anything on your own. “Something on your mind?”

Lying to Kuroo is useless. Bokuto never catches it and Kozume doesn’t care, but Kuroo doesn’t allow it. He thinks it’s a sign of disobedience. He thinks it means you’re falling into old habits. “Just my roommate,” You mutter, hoping you sound disinterested enough for Kuroo to drop the topic. “She used to cook a lot, too.”

There’s a hum of acknowledgement, a collision of wood on wood as he opens the nearest drawer. Idly, you wonder if Kuroo can do anything without making noise. “Blonde hair, brown eyes? The same girl who always skipped out on rent?”

“She couldn’t keep a job.” You almost glance towards him, if only to smirk and tell him that, whatever he’s making, she would’ve made it better, but you stop yourself before you can. He wouldn’t like that, and as bland as Kuroo’s cooking is, your roommate probably would’ve burnt the pan beyond repair and left the mess for you to find, hours later. “It wasn’t her fault. She always got stuck with strict bosses, and she wasn’t good with schedules. She was really nice, though.”

Kuroo chuckles, taking a second to prod at your side. “C’mon, sweetheart, nicer than me?”

You don’t answer, but Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind. There’s another laugh, another prod, and he steps in front of you, positioning himself between your open legs and supporting himself against the cabinets lining the wall, caging you in. It’s probably supposed to be a playful gesture. It’s probably supposed to be, he probably wants it to be, but somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to feel so light-hearted.

When he raises a hand, you don’t flinch, but you have to fight the urge to recoil as he cups your jaw, tracing his thumb over your cheek. You don’t want him to touch you, but you know better than to push him away. “We’re in a good mood today, alright?” The question is soft, well-meaning, but you frown regardless, tightening your grip on the edge of the countertop. “No fighting, no tantrums, and no trying to get away while I’m gone. I know the others go easy on you, but when I come home, I don’t want to hear a word about your behavior.”

They don’t go easy on you. No one goes easy on you. Kuroo’s just too harsh.

Kuroo’s strict, but… he makes good on his promises. If there’s anything about him you like, it’s that.

Apparently, you take a little too long to respond. Again, you're forced to think about your roommate when he sighs, the same way she used to when you had to tell her you wouldn't be able to pick her up from that bar or go to this party, that you were too tired, that you didn’t want to see her face after working yourself to the bone so the two of you could afford to feed yourselves. Like she was disappointed. Like she had the right to be disappointed.

“I know you’re still getting used to this, but try to give it time. The guys and me, all of us love you, and none of us want to see you sulk. I’m not asking you to cheer every time I walk through the door, just…” There’s a pause, another sigh. Kuroo straightens his back, pressing a long, lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Just try to smile a little more, alright? I promise, I’ll make it worth the effort.”

Your answer is short, but you can still feel Kuroo’s smile against your skin. And, just for a moment, you think you might be grateful he bothered to ask.

“I’ll try.”

Bokuto reminds you of your boyfriend, in a certain way.

Out of all of your captors, his intentions are the most unquestionably romantic. Akaashi and Kuroo seem to think of you as more of a pet than a partner, and you’ve never been able to figure out what Kozume wants from you, but Bokuto’s straight-forward, Bokuto doesn’t feel the need to hide his intentions behind pretty words and selfish gifts and mantras about how much he loves you, even if the last still comes naturally. You don’t appreciate him for it. You don’t like him for it, but it makes Bokuto bearable. If you had the luxury of choosing a favorite, he’d probably be your first pick.

It helps that he’s still so convinced your relationship is normal. When he’s the one to wake you up, he lets you decide what you want to wear, and when he kisses you, you don't have to kiss back. You’re allowed to say no, with Bokuto. You’re allowed to refuse, and he won’t push you to change your mind.

Tonight’s an exception to that rule, obviously.

You think you’re in Akaashi’s bed. The sheets are white, tucked in a little too tightly at the corners, and the lighting is dimmer than it would be, if Bokuto’d had the patience to carry you somewhere more private. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you don’t have time to forget waking up. The jarring dip of the mattress, the strong hand on your shoulder, barely bothering to shake for a second before pushing you onto your back and pinning you down, thighs straddling your waist and his chest pressing against yours before you can do so much as open your eyes. You only realize it’s him, realize that it’s Bokuto when he kisses you, taking advantage of your stupor in that messy, clumsy way that always leaves you breathless and gagging. That leaves you hurt, more so than you would be if any of the others treated you so roughly.

He’s smiling, when he pulls away. It’s not soft and it’s not subtle, and it hasn’t faded by the time he finds your neck, latching onto the sensitive spot just above your jugular. If he had been your boyfriend, you might’ve laughed as his teeth graze against your skin, you might’ve found it exciting when he bite down. But, it isn’t. Your boyfriend would’ve asked, and Bokuto isn’t your boyfriend.

“I asked,” He cuts in, not waiting for you to finish. That’s fine. It’s expected, honestly. Bokuto’s like a puppy, too eager for his own good, a trait that borders on endearing at times, but only manages to come off as frustrating, now. “He’s always really busy, and you just looked so sweet, I didn’t know of I could leave you all alone.” There’s a laugh, abrupt and bright, the sound soon muffled against the crook of your shoulder. “Just an hour, alright? Then you can go back to sleep.”

“Kotaro,” You try, pushing lightly on his chest. It’s a futile effort, one that only results in a groan against your skin and an arm around your waist, but you try regardless. You’re not sure you’d be able to forgive yourself if you stopped. “It’s supposed to be Keiji’s turn and… I don’t know if he’d be alright with--”

That sounds like something your boyfriend would’ve said, too. Just an hour. Just an hour, then you’d be able to go back to sleep, or back to work, or back to whatever you did to pass time when you didn’t have any time to pass. And when you didn’t have an hour, when you tried to explain that, you two would spend an hour fighting, instead. At least you didn’t have to fight with Bokuto. He made that part easy, with his willingness to pout and cry and fuck you into the mattress with tears in his eyes because, although you could say no, he doesn’t care if you do. It just makes things easier when you don’t.

“I-” Again, you’re interrupted, the words fading into a small, high-pitched shriek as his canines sink into your shoulder. And you’d just gotten your hopes up that he might let his last set of love-bites heal without interruption. “I don’t want to do this.”

Now, that makes him pull away. It’s almost surprising, how little relief there is to accompany the gesture, how much guilt comes with having to meet those wide, glassy eyes and swallow the apology playing on your tongue. You didn't apologize to your boyfriend, not the last time, not the most important time. Or, your ex-boyfriend, you guess. You’re pretty sure you broke up with him, or he broke up with you, or someone said something that made you angry enough to storm out of his apartment and into Bokuto’s waiting arms, Akaashi beside him with a length of rope and a needle full of sedatives.

His voice shakes when he speaks. ”Are you… Are you mad at me, again?”

You aren’t. It’s hard to be mad at Bokuto, and you’re so tired of always doing the hard thing.

“Wouldn it matter if I was?” You mumble, falling back onto Akaashi’s bed. “It’s not like you’d listen to me.”

You’re looking at the ceiling, now, but there’s a shift, a slight change. Soon, you can’t feel his weight on your chest, and you have to suppress the urge to mourn his stifling presense. “I’d try to.”

You almost wish it was Akaashi on top of you. At least then, you might be able to believe he knows he’s lying. “You wouldn’t,” You sigh, trying to sound exasperated. Trying to sound genuine. “If you listened to me, you would’ve let me go, by now. If you really loved me, I wouldn’t still have to tell you how much I hate it here.”

Less than a month ago, you’d yelled the same words. Screamed them, repeated them, told Bokuto how much you hated him and his friends and everything they’d forced onto you. Now, it’s all you can do to say them with enough strength not to crack under the pressure, not to give into the temptation to throw yourself at his chest and claw until he’s the villain again and you’re helpless, just an uninvolved bystander in your own suffering.

To your credit, it’s a fleeting urge, one that’s gone by the time you roll onto your side, away from Bokuto, curling into yourself as he settles against your back. There’s a heavy sigh, another gentle kiss to the nape of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist, but there’s no attempt to drag you closer, no attempt to go any further. You almost wish he would.

It’d be easier to cry yourself to sleep, if you could blame him for forcing you to.

Akaashi reminds you of your co-workers, all the time.

He spends so much time working, it’d be impossible not to draw the connection. He smells like an office, like ink and metal and more chemicals than an editor should use, and he feels like one, too, his skin always cold and his hands always quick to clamp down around anything warm and kicking and alive. It reminds you of the receptionist who used to give you a hug every morning, a sourceless gesture that was always a little too tight to be comfortable. Of Kuroo’s handshake, when you were first called back after your initial interview. You suppose he has more right to the position than Akaashi, you must’ve worked under him for months, but Kuroo invited you out for drinks, he made small talk, he could take off his suit and defrost when he wanted to.

Akaashi couldn’t. Akaashi can’t.

That, or he won’t, and you don’t know which option scares you more.

It doesn’t help that he works so often, either, even when he’s home. You can try to block it out, try to ignore the constant click of his keyboard, the occasional creak of his chair whenever Akaashi tries to reposition himself, but there’s only so much you can do on his lap, your arms strung over his shoulders and your face buried in his chest, your sleep-deprived mind momentarily forgetting its distaste in favor of seeking out as much comfort as it could.

That might be what drives you to speak, to break the silence as Akaashi bows his head, his lips brushing against the dip of your shoulder while his hands fall from his laptop to your hips. As always, his touch is cold, unnerving, the shirt he’d forced you to borrow doing little to protect you from the chill. “I hate you.”

There’s a tap to your side, a noise of acknowledgement. “I know, angel. You’ve mentioned it before.”

“So much,” You go on, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt. “More than the others. Every night I fantasize about slitting your throat and stuffing one of your stupid toys in the wound. I still have a scar from that fucking collar.”

This time, you get a hum, low and absent-minded. “A small one,” He adds. “Kenma’s done worse, and I’ve already apologized.”

He has. This is an old argument, one you’re still mad about, but one you know you’ll never resolve, not with someone so apathetic. So, you try a different approach. Not something more honorable, but something different. Something that wouldn’t leave a coat of ash on your tongue, hopefully. “My friends probably think I’m dead by now, my family too.” It feels good to say, but it feels awful, at the same time. Like you’re admitting defeat. Like you’re submitting to the same man who's been whispering those very same words to you since your first night spent in his loving care. “Even if I get out, you’ve already ruined my life. I won’t have anywhere to go back to, not a job, no place to--”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It’s an innocent question, judging by his tone. You try not to take it as one. “You always hated your job.”

It’s almost a reflex to defend yourself. “I never--”

“Yes, you did.” If it was Bokuto, you could’ve told yourself he’d been fed a lie, or pushed into a delusion that featured you as a damsel in distress and him as your big, strong, brave hero. If it was Kuroo, you could’ve told yourself that he wanted you to believe you hated your job, your old life, everything he was kind enough to rip you away from. Kozume would’ve been uninterested enough to stop the conversation before you started to spiral, but you’re not talking to Kozume, or Kuroo, or Bokuto. You’re talking to Akaashi, and Akaashi doesn’t care whether or not you’re happy. He doesn’t have a reason to lie to you, not about something so mundane. “That’s why we had to take you home. You were too stressed, I was getting worried.” He pauses, his hands moving to your sides, pulling you away from his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look up, either, not until he cups your cheeks in his palms, his voice suddenly going from sterile to soft in the space between one breath and another. “It was painful to watch, it was painful for all of us. I know it’s hard to see from your perspective, but you used to cry so much, and you were so close to falling apart. We just did what we thought would help.”

“So you decided to kidnap me?” It’s the harshest you’ve been in weeks, even if you barely manage to raise your voice. You grab his wrists, but you don’t try to jerk him away. Instead, you settle on digging your nails into his skin, and in return, Akaashi ignores your minor show of rebellion. “You’re not doing me a favor. You’ll never convince me I want this, because I don’t. If you have to tell me I’m happy, it’s only because you know I’m not.”

“You’re not happy, but you’re happier than you used to be.” He doesn’t try to make light of the revelation, but his neutral expression still cracks, leaving the smallest smile in its place. Not amused, but not sympathetic, either. Not malicious, but certainly not kind enough to spare your feelings. “It’s easier, and I think you know that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You just couldn’t handle life without a little help.”

You pull away, jerking your head out of his hands and crossing your arms in front of you, putting as much distance between you and Akaashi as you can. “You’re lying. You’re lying, and you’re not even doing it well.”

You can feel him let out a breath of a laugh, leaning forward just enough to push a kiss into your temple before drawing back, content to admire the long-awaited results of his work.

“Of course I am, angel.”

Kozume doesn’t remind you of anything, and it’s unbearable.

You’d worked with Kuroo, intimately. He’d introduced you to Bokuto, and you’d met Akaashi at his games, even if the two of you never shared more than a few polite niceties about the match at-hand. Kozume’s the only one who’s new to you, he’s the only one who’s just your kidnapper, even if he fit the role well. You can’t sympathize with him, because there’s nothing to sympathize with. You can’t understand his irrational connection with you, because he’s never bothered to offer an explanation. It shouldn’t upset you as much as it does. It shouldn’t be as awful as it is. He shouldn’t make you feel as disgusting as you do, but he does. You don’t know why, but he does, and you can’t forgive him because of it.

It’s almost a relief when you wake up alone on the edge of Kozume’s bed, tucked under heavy black sheets with sunlight already spilling through the open window. You consider rolling over, trying to go back to sleep, but you can already hear a lock clicking in the distance, light footsteps moving over wood as Kozume steps in, leaning against the doorway as he watches you start to stir. You’re purposefully lethargic, taking the time to sit up and rub your eyes until it doesn’t hurt to blink, but Kozume’s content to stare on. Part of you hopes you’ll get used to it, soon. The rest of you tries to smother the idea before it can spread.

“Mornin’,” He calls, when you make it clear you’re awake. He’s dressed, not formally, just jeans and a hoodie, but it’s more than you’ve come to expect from Kozume. Somehow, it only makes him seem more alien. “I’ve got few meetings today, Tetsuro’s out of town, Bokuto’s training, and Akaashi doesn’t get off until this afternoon, so you should have the house to yourself until sunset, at least.” There’s a glance to the floor, a quiet laugh. Despite everything, he can still seem shy when he wants to. “If you promise not to break anything, I could forget to lock you up before I leave. It’s not like you’d try to get out, anyway.”

“I would.” It’d be a damning confession with anyone else, but Kozume doesn’t blink twice. He’s already made up his mind, which means nothing you say matters. “I hate it here, and all of you know that.”

“Maybe, but you wouldn’t leave.” His voice is calm, his tone playful, but Kozume’s eyes narrow as he steps forward, and you square your shoulders, trying to glaring at the sheets rather than him. Still, you can feel him hovering over you, making you squirm as he goes on. “I mean, why would you want to? It’s not like have anything to go back to. Hell, from the way it looks, we might’ve been the only ones who stil pretend to miss you.”

“Of course I’d want to,” You snap, trying not to ball his sheets in your fists, trying not to acknowledge how reasonable he sounds, trying to ignore the part of your brain screaming for you to calm down before you make things worse for yourself. “I have a family. I have friends. I have a life outside of lying down, closing my eyes, and letting you live out whatever sick, perverted fantasy you’re trying to--”

“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t try to talk over you. He doesn’t have to, not when there’s already so little strength behind your argument. “You should want to escape, but…” Finally, his smile falters, but the unbothered frown that takes its place is no less comforting. He shrugs as he speaks, and you have to fight the urge to shrink into yourself. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. You open your mouth, then you close it again, then you close your eyes and drag your knees up to your chest, glaring childishly at the mattress, behaving exactly how they want you to. Kozume doesn’t try to push you any further. He doesn’t ask another question, he doesn’t force you to anwer, only sighing as he drapes an arm over your shoulder, slotting himself against your side, holding you. It’s cruel of him to do. It’s a small mercy. It’s nothing, it means nothing, but he’s mocking you, at the same time, belittling you, humiliating you. You hate him for it, but at the same time, you’re not sure you can. You’re so tired. You’re so, so tired, and you’re not sure you can be anything else, anymore.

You’re not sure you know if he’s wrong, anymore.

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n00dl3gal · 3 years

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Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click.

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.”

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.”

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian.

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t-

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English.

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.”

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa.

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.”

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off.

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.”

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-”

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.”

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.”

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.”

“Yeah, probably not…”

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians.

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually.

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.”

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them.

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed-

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time.

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him.

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.”

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered.

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said.

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-”

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right.

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!”

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.”

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?”

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased.

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained.

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.”

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly.

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered.

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies.

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room.

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all.

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life.

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket.

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over.

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant.

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest.

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!”

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.”

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy.

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.”

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.”

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.”

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren.

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor.

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering.

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?”

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key.

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother.

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.”

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.”

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.”

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?”

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony.

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though.

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly.

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming.

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close.

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time.

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas?

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…”

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.”

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!”

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time.

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel.

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested.

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.”

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.”

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.”

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!”

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?”

#father-son bonding au #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scout's mom #dad spy #thetriggeredhappy #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes

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http-skzhyuns · 3 years

Text

apologies | changbin - angst

requested, changbin x y/n [angst + fluff]

word count: 1.8k+ warnings: explicit description of anxiety, breakdowns — please tell me if i forgot to add anything in the warnings. a/n: to the one who requested, i’m not sure how long ago you made the request bec i rarely check my tumblr. i’m so sorry but here it is. :) i haven’t written in so long. thank you for making the request. also, i think i got carried away with the angst, i hope the short fluff at the end was what you’re looking for. :< i didn’t proofread this and before we start, just wanna thank u all for the 100 followers!! stay safe :) start.

you could see the stars shining from where you are sat, moving in a new country with an entirely different culture has made you anxious. but this, the view in your apartment is your favorite. it’s enough to take away the need to fiddle with your hands and to unconsciously tap your feet whenever you get the chance. the autumn breeze is cold but it’s bearable, nonetheless, you find yourself wrapping your cardigan tightly around your torso, trying to soak in the extra warmth that the fabric can provide. a sudden shrill of ringtone startled you away from your lingering thoughts. smiling at the nickname displayed in your screen, you swiped to answer the call. “y/n! hello baby,” changbin’s face appeared in your screen, smiling widely at you. you chuckled at his overt enthusiasm, “hello there, love.” “are you settled in? do you need anything?” your smile faltered for a few seconds but changbin didn’t seem to notice. “nothing, love. i’m all good. don’t worry.” “i’m sorry i can’t drop by there tonight,” you can hear the rustle on his end and the muted screams of jisung in the background. “got stuck on a melody?” you asked softly. there’s a long sigh on his end before he answered, “yeah. it’s not working out as smoothly as we expected.” “don’t worry about it, bin. i’m fine here, i’m good for a few days so you don’t need to worry about me. just do your thing, it’ll come to you, guys. give it time, i just know it’s going to be a great song once it’s done,” you attempted to lift his spirits up, but you genuinely believe it’s going to work out in the end. your words were met with silence, concern started to grow until you hear him clear his throat.

“... i love you,” he whispered. you smiled, “i love you too, now, go back there. don’t forget to get some rest even just for a bit, tell the boys the same thing too, okay? have a good night, binnie.” you saw him nod, a sign that he heard you, he waved and you waved goodnight. the screen turned black signaling that the call ended. you sighed, putting your phone down beside you before pulling your legs up to your chest before resting your arms around them. “it’s okay, he’ll be home soon.”

day four, no signs of activity. you begrudgingly dragged yourself out of the bed. another work day, another day to make sure you don’t get in other people’s way. you sipped from your cup of coffee while checking your phone for any message from changbin.

“good morning, y/n.”

it was simple, straightforward and you shook off the crawling feeling on your skin. it’s okay.

you texted back a good morning before picking your things up to actually get ready for the day.

“y/n! come over here,” your supervisor called. you resisted the urge to curl your fingers into your palm, digging into the skin as you nervously walked over to her desk.

“y/n, did you check this over before you submitted?” she started and you can feel a thousand scenarios running through your head and you find yourself picking it all apart, wondering if you really did check it over or there’s a lapse in your memory.

after careful consideration, you answered, “yes, ma’am.” she sighed, before carefully pulling you over. she showed her file before patiently pointing out the mistakes in the report you turned over.

there’s a momentary relief that coursed through you after you closed the door to her office. you find yourself dragging your feet as you walk back to your desk.

“tough day?” your co-worker asked when he noticed the sluggish movement you’ve been making.

you sheepishly shook your head, “i’m alright.” he looked at you for a second longer before nodding to himself.

when the night time comes, you absentmindedly hid your shoes inside the cabinet by the door of your apartment. you briefly glanced at your window to see that the sky is pitch dark and devoid of the shining stars you love so much.

another sigh. 10PM. a groan left your mouth.

you covered your face with your hands, roughly running them through your hair out of frustration.

the sound of keys started growing louder before your door opened. in comes, seo changbin, walking in with his backpack, clad in a black hoodie and a sweatpants. however, you remained seated in the small couch.

“y/n? are you home?” he asked. you grunted in reply but you doubt he would have heard it.

“there you are, i missed you,” he went for a hug but you narrowly dodged his attempt.

his brows furrowed in confusion, “hey? you’re okay?”

you nodded, looking down before standing up and going straight to the bathroom.

there’s a heaviness in the air, changbin isn’t sure what it is and what’s wrong. he was so sure you were okay. you were okay through your messages for the past few days.

whatever it is, he’ll let you come to him when you’re ready. and so, he got started on making dinner. he was about to put the food into a plate and set the table when he heard a hard thud from the bathroom, followed by clanking of several things — what he assumed to be toiletries on your counter.

rushing over, he quickly turned off the stove and went to knock on your door.

“y/n? baby?” nobody answered. he knocked for the second time, more insistent.

“y/n? is everything okay?” silence filled the space… until he heard a faint rustling on the other side and the soft click of the door met his ears.

the sight of you nearly broke him to pieces. for some reason, he didn’t notice how off you’ve been feeling the last few days because you were so good at maintaining your composure in front of other people.

but, you, standing there in front of him. your shoulders hunched while you’re covered by your bathrobe— there’s a sense of emptiness in your eyes. his eyes flicked back in forth between you and the mess behind you— just as he guessed, your toiletries clattered on the floor.

“i’m sorry,” you apologized, looking at him straight in the eye.

changbin inhaled sharply, wondering what’s the reason for your apologies. “what happened? were you hurt?” he asked, gently coaxing you into his arms.

you buried your head in his chest, tightly clinging onto his shirt as the first sob tore through your throat. changbin can feel the rising panic in him because he can’t still pinpoint the reason and the situation that just took place in the bathroom. despite all this, he tightened his arms around you, keeping you enclosed in his body as he run his hands through your damp hair.

“what’s wrong? why are you sorry?” he asked, calmly. the second sob came followed by a third, until you’re full-on weeping in his arms, softly muttering a series of “i’m sorry”.

after a while, you whispered,“i’ll clean it up, i’m fine now. thank you.” you loosened your grip on his hoodie but he tightened his hold on you. “come here,” he said and pulled you to the adjacent kitchen area. he made you sit on a stool before looking straight in your eye.

“you’re not okay…” he whispered. “i can see that you’re not okay. so please, quit telling yourself that you are. i’m here, aren’t i? what’s wrong?” there’s warmth in his eyes and you feel an onslaught of tears for the second time today, just by the sight of it.

“i-“ you stuttered. “i’m s—“ changbin held his finger up, shushing you. “don’t apologize. if you’re apologizing for not being okay. please, i don’t want to hear it, love. you don’t have to apologize for that.” you fiddled with your hands in nervousness.

“…there’s a lot…” you breathed in, trying to work through the tears and the anxiety, “there’s so many things happening, so many people to get accustomed to…” you faltered, trying to smile at him to ease the heaviness of your words. “it’s so hard,” you looked down, finally allowing the tears to copiously fall.

in the years you’ve been together, changbin have always admired you for being able to hold down your fort. you were calm and grounded, even at the most toughest times. but he knows, deep down the ‘strength’ was something that you developed because of expectation. because people expected you to be strong and they needed you to be.

changbin placed his hands on your cheeks, making you lift your head up to him before placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

“stop,” he smiled at you. “it’s okay to stop being strong, you know? it’s okay to stop taking the weight of everything and telling yourself that you can take it.” you shook your head, ready to disagree.

“it wasn’t a good week, there’s a lot of things going wrong, i wasn’t adjusting as well as i thought i would. i turned in an incorrect report today,” you babbled, spilling everything that happened for the past few days you didn’t get to see him.

“…i’m just so tired,” you looked at him, frowning from the heaviness in your chest.

“… and that’s okay,” he whispered. “baby, it’s okay to let things go. there’s nothing wrong with admitting that you can’t take it, that you’re not okay.”

“but, i didn’t want to be a burden…” you whispered. and for the second time that night, changbin felt his heart constrict at the words that left your mouth.

“baby, you’re not a burden. don’t ever think that you are,” he firmly replied, prompting you to look him in the eye, making sure you understand what he’s saying. you nodded and he smiled, satisfied before peppering your face with kisses.

“the next time you start feeling like this, can you please tell me? i want to know so i can help, in whatever way i can, okay? don’t take it on to yourself and try to sweep it under a rug.” you nodded and he went for another hug before letting you go, “go and get changed. you’re practically dry now. i’ll pick up your things in the bathroom,” you looked at him grateful for his help and comfort.

“have i ever told you how much i love you?” you softly asked. he smiled, “not enough times today, i think.”

“we have to rectify that, don’t we?” you joked.

“yeah, because i need my love to be reciprocated or else, i won’t give you the food i cooked,” he let out a boisterous laugh.

“… binnie, i love you. thank you,” you walked over to his place, pulling him for a kiss.

“always here for you, baby. i love you too. now go get changed, the food’s cold,” he went for another chaste kiss before waving you away.

#stray kids #stray kids au #stray kids angst #changbin #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #stray kids changbin au #changbin angst #imagine getting a hug from binnie

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smellsfaintlyofvanilla · 3 years

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I love ur fics ahhhh 😭💕 I saw ur requests were open so I couldn't resist. Can you do a Hanji x reader one shot where it's Hanji's and the reader's anniversary but Hanji ends up forgetting about the date they planned bc they're busy with their experiments and stuff. An argument ends up happening but Hanji feels guilty so she ends up forcing Erwin to let them have a day off where they have a date with their s/o. Maybe Levi and Erwin help too? Thank you sm sorry this is so specific!

HANGE NOOOO oml they would though

Anniversary

(Zoe Hange x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff

Summary: Too busy with work, Hange forgets about their three year anniversary, and an argument ensues. Upset about this, they gets Levi and Erwin’s help to make it up to their s/o.

Words: 2.4K

Beams of light shone through the window—blinds doing little to stop it. The sporadic rays of the sun warmed your skin, your body stirring you awake at the detection of sunlight.

You slowly open your eyes to say good morning to your lover, but you sighed in disappointment at the empty space next to you, a small dip in the bed where they always slept.

You sit up and look at the calendar. There it was, circled in bright red ink, March 7th. Your two year anniversary of dating the scientist.

You knew of their habits; staying up late working on experiments, and waking up extra early to begin again. You understood the importance of their work, but you couldn’t help but be saddened by their frequent absences. You wished, at the very least, they could find time in their day to spend with you, especially on your anniversary of all days.

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed and to the closet, ready to get dressed and face yet another long, busy day.

---

You knocked on the door again—the third time since you had showed up to the commander’s door. After another moment of no response, you pushed the door open wordlessly, they wouldn’t care if you walked right in anyway. It was a privilege only their lover had; being able to walk in while they were working and talk to them. It was a small gesture of affection between the two of you, but a silent one. Still, you appreciated the gesture.

You stepped into the room, and the sight of Hange hunched over the desk and too dissolved in their work to notice you ignited a twinge of sympathy in you. A single, tall candle on the desk provided what little light there was in the room, and you wondered why they hadn’t even bothered to open the blinds. How long have they been awake?

“Hange?” You chirped quietly, and you saw the scientist jump at the sound of their name, turning to face you curiously. They smiled at you the second they recognized you, a satisfied hum leaving their lips. As soon as you had walked close enough to Hange’s desk, they snaked a hand around your neck, pulling you down to plant a soft kiss to your jawline, before returning their attention to the various papers on their desk.

“Good morning, love.” They greeted quietly, and the tiredness was evident in their voice—they made no attempt to hide it.

You blushed at the affectionate greeting, and made yourself comfortable, leaning against one of the many wooden bookshelves that lined the walls of their office.

“G’morning Hange.” You yawned. You thought out your next sentence carefully before you spoke it. “What are you doing up so early? We have a relaxing day ahead of us.”

Hange bore a confused look, turning to you in unfiltered curiosity. “We do?”

Now it was your turn to be confused. How did they not plan for the date the two of you had planned?

“Yeah...” You deadpanned. “We do.”

They made no verbal response, only exasperating their confused look as if to beckon a further explanation.

“Do you not realize what today is...?” You tilted to the side, perhaps testing the waters for a prank, or a temporary lapse in memory. You waited for their head to perk up and chirp out an affirmation about the date, but they did no such thing.

“...What today is?” They echoed, clearly not understanding what you were talking about.

You sighed annoyingly, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “Our anniversary, Hange. It’s our anniversary.”

You watched their face sink in realization.

“That’s today...?” They asked meekly. It’s almost as if they could sense the incoming anger and frustration coming from you.

You groaned loudly, pulling your body away from the bookshelf and taking a few steps towards them. “Yes, Hange. It’s today.” Their face strained and they turned to look down at the stack of papers and materials on their desk, a look of ‘Oh shit’ being plastered all over their face.

“Geez, Hange!” You half shouted, causing your already exhausted partner to shrink further into their chair. “You bury yourself in your work so often, but I didn’t think you would forget our anniversary of all things! Am I seriously such a low priority to you?!”

They straightened their back suddenly, and you were reminded of how defensive they got when they felt their work was being insulted. “I have an important job, Y/N! I can’t forfeit everything to spend time with you, I have to keep working!”

You wanted nothing of their excuses, and you turned your back to them, balling up your fists as you headed towards the door, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“Fine,” you shuddered, “If you want to spend our anniversary alone, then be my guest!”

---

“Shit,” they paced back and forth on the wooden floor, subconsciously biting their fingernails out of stress. “Shit shit shit...”

Erwin raised an eyebrow at this, watching Hange with a stern, but amused expression. “Are you done?” His voice echoed in the small office.

“Well, four eyes,” Levi spoke, using his favorite nickname for them nonchalantly, “The first step would be to not yell at her.” He answered bluntly.

Hange threw their arms up in frustration. “Yeah, well it’s too late for that!” They grumbled. “I didn’t mean to yell at them... I was just...”

“Cranky?” Levi raised an eyebrow.

They glared at Levi with a relatively displeased expression. “You didn’t have to put it that way...”

A comfortable silence passed the room, and Hange continued to pace the room nervously as Erwin and Levi silently contemplated the estranged person’s query.

“If you really want to make it up to them,” Levi piped up once again, drawing the scientist’s attention away from their thoughts and towards the black haired man sat on the table in front of them. “Then I may have an idea.”

“YES!” Hange shouted, perhaps a little too loud as the two men in the room cringed. “Uh, I mean...” They cleared their throat. “What is it, Levi?”

“Well, first, Erwin.” Levi turned his head to face the blonde man, and Erwin matched his gaze intently. “You’re going to need to give Hange the day off, first.”

Erwin turned his head to the side, folding his arms and sighing, “Use it responsibly.”

“Thank you Erwin!” They flung their arms around the man’s broad shoulders, squeezing him happily in a hug.

They let go after a few seconds, turning to face Levi with and excited expression. “What now Levi?!”

“First,” he deadpanned, “Take a nap. You look miserable.”

---

You strode down the hallways of the barracks, a stern expression still planted on your face from the day’s earlier events.

You decided to play it just like Hange, so you deliberately avoided them in hopes to get them to understand. Was it petty? A little bit. Were you just petty enough to do it anyway? Yeah.

Still, when Erwin pulled you aside out of nowhere and said he needed you urgently, you couldn’t disobey your superior. Not that you had any indication this had to do with Hange, anyway.

“Y/N.” He spoke, boring a serious expression, despite the wildly unprofessional nature of the meeting. “You’re needed somewhere.”

“Wha...” You stumbled over your words for a moment, before asking the first question that came to mind. “Me? Why not someone else?”

He dodged the question effortlessly, continuing right where he left off. “It has to be you. And you have to go alone.” He slid a paper across your desk, but you hesitated to pick it up so quickly.

“Just go to the location I’ve marked here.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, signifying that he had finished speaking. “You’ll understand when you get there. Go.”

You nodded fiercely, saluting him before you turned to leave, picking up the paper as you went.

“And Y/N?” You turned to face him. “Take off your ODM gear. Wear something formal.

---

You went to the location Erwin had specified, and you were only left with more confusion. You had put on something somewhat nice, with a white button up shirt, black dress pants, and shiny black dress shoes. Still, their was no sign of any sort of “mission” that Erwin apparently needed from you.

You had found yourself in an open field, specifically the one behind the Scout regiment building. The tall grass swayed in the wind, and you noted the fact that the usual soldiers sparring in the fields were strangely absent.

But, as the sun began to set, a small light peered it’s way into your vision. You squinted, focuses your eyes on what appeared to be... a candle...?

You stuffed the map into your back pocket carelessly, speed-walking to the light out of curiosity.

You made it towards the source of the light, and it was, indeed, a candle. Of course, there was more than that. It was set on a small circular table draped in a white tablecloth, one chair on either side of it. Two empty wine glasses as well as a few pairs of utensils on each side.

You studied the sight curiously, and you pulled out a chair without thinking. As soon as you did though, you felt a hand on your shoulder, making you jump and squeak out in surprise.

You heard a hearty chuckle behind you, and you turned to face the source of the noise, but your eyes widened in surprise at the sight.

Hange stood tall in a jet black suit, smiling down at you warmly. They had their hair tied in a ponytail, and had ditched their work goggles for more formal rectangular glasses. “Sorry, Y/N.” They rubbed the back of their neck nervously. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You took a step back, shamelessly eyeing down Hange’s attire, a pink blush creeping up on your cheeks. You meant to stay angry, but you honestly had forgotten all of your gripes upon seeing Hange dressed in such a nice outfit.

“Hange?” You sputtered, trying to hide your fluster. “What’s going on?”

They walked over to you, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you down to sit in one of the chairs.

“I felt a little bad about forgetting our anniversary,” They chuckled nervously, “So I set this up!” They smiled proudly.

“A candlelit dinner?” You mused, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “How original.” Despite your outwardly unamused reaction, you were pleasantly surprised with the display of affection.

They sat down across from you, tucking a strand of hair behind their ear.

“It’s well thought out.” You raised an eyebrow in doubt. “For the time we had...” They smiled nervously.

“I’m sure.” You chuckled. You relaxed into your chair before holding up your empty wine glass. “Did you bring anything other than empty dishes?”

Hange nodded quickly, reaching down under their table to grab something, and you quickly realized that it was the neck of a wine bottle. They popped the cork effortlessly, and poured the two of you a glass each.

You took a sip from your glass, the taste of alcohol relaxing you further into your environment.

Hange put two of theirs fingers in the their mouth and whistled loudly, causing you to wince and cover you ears.

“What was that??” You sputtered.

“Just calling over the cook.”

You nodded, taking another long sip from your wine glass. The suddenness of the situation died down, and you peered up at Hange, who seemed to be staring at you nervously. They seemed to be trying to gauge your reaction, but you weren’t giving them anything to work with, so you decided to start speaking.

“You went out of your way to do this?” You sighed, staring at them curiously.

“Yeah...” They trailed off, “I had to make it up y’know. It really wasn’t my intention to ignore you...”

They looked back up at you, and you tilted your head, prompting them to continue.

“I got consumed in my work, and completely forgot about something so important to you. It’s my mistake.” They bowed their head in apology. “So I set this up. I even got Erwin and Levi to help. I just wanted to make it up to you. I just wanted...” They looked to the side with a blush on their face. “...to make you happy.”

You smiled softly at them, understanding their apology.

“It’s fine, Hange.” You laughed out loud, causing Hange to blush at your beautiful face in the candlelight. “I forgive you.”

They smiled, relief washing over her face as the weight lifted off of their shoulders. “Thank god...” They muttered, leaning back in their chair. “I was afraid I fucked up...” They giggled.

Their face in the yellow hue of the candle make them look ethereal, and you couldn’t help your heart from fluttering as the overwhelming urge to kiss them overtook you.

You peered up through shy eyes and met their bright ones. You didn’t explain at all, but they seemed to understand as you scooted your chair closer and leaned forward. They leaned towards you as well, as your lips connected delicately. You felt their hands go up to cup your cheeks gently as you rested your own hands on the table.

You stayed like that, silently enjoying the moment for what felt like ages, until you heard a small sound to your side.

“Ahem,” The noise startled you to lean back a little bit, and Hange did the same. A man, donned in a formal outfit holding a tray of luxurious looking food.

“Ah, sorry, sorry...” Hange trailed over, slinking back into their chair quickly, their demeanor and posture not at all aligning with the formal connotations of their attire and the setting before them. You had straightened in your chair almost immediately, blushing at the fact that someone had witnessed you sharing a somewhat intimate moment with Hange.

The waiter said nothing, only rolling his eyes as he set the tray down upon the table, before turning around to walk away silently.

You scooped some food onto your plate, watching admirably as Hange did the same. Once they had finished, they turned their head up to meet your gaze before smiling.

“Happy anniversary, love.”

This feels bad but oh well lol.

Also sorry this took so long lol I’ve been busy :|

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot #snk #aot x reader #snk x reader #zoe hange #hange zoe #zoe hanji #hanji zoe #zoe hange x reader #zoe hanji x reader #hange zoe x reader #hanji zoe x reader #hange x reader #fluff

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