#but finally pulled this idea that has been staying in the darkest void of my mind for a very good while | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jalapeno-princess · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4: Rest Of My Life

Mark Tuan X Reader

Part 4 of the “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” series

Genre: THE SAPPIEST AND CUTEST OF FLUFF (tiniest hints of angst) (horny ass Mark)

Word Count: 14K (Honestly it felt so much longer)

Summary: In every relationship, there are ups and downs. However, after every rainstorm, there is a rainbow. (I fucking hated how cheesy that was I just don’t want to give anything away LOL)

A/N: Finally I am done with this chapter UGH this one took longer to write but yet I feel like it’s the most rushed and repetitive one yet I’m actually not at all happy with how this turned out and there was a lot of fillers in some parts and literally nothing in other parts I just wanted to finish it I’m sorry if it didn’t turn out the way you all would have hoped. By the way, all of your comments on chapter three about who is behind the door made me laugh your minds are so creative I hope you all are happy with who is actually behind the door. I’m both happy and sad that this story is coming to an end (happy because there are so many other stories I can’t wait to write but sad af because I genuinely love this story it’s my first series and I just love how I wrote about Mark in here and the relationship between him and the reader is all I could ever dream about having in a relationship UGH) I don’t know when I’ll get around to writing the fifth chapter but I’m sure it’ll be within the next couple of weeks. With that being said, happy reading!

“Jackson? What are you doing here?”

The last time you saw the older boy was the summer before both him and Mark went off to college. It felt like ages ago—but you were shocked after coming to the realization that it has only been a year. A lot has happened since their graduation; the last thing you heard from Mark was that Jackson was planning on studying abroad in China.

Out of Mark’s entire group of friends, you found yourself gravitating towards him the most. Although, he gave you no choice to do otherwise. Jackson Wang was a golden retriever in human form. Anyone and everyone who entered his path, whether it was accidentally or on purpose would become extremely close with him—and it was usually because of his persistence to make and maintain as many friendships as possible. You were shocked to say the least as your eyes landed on his broadened figure.

Puberty just so happened to favor Mark and his friends—they were all so good looking and very much in amazing shape. Jackson was currently shirtless and if it were anyone else in your shoes, their cheeks probably would’ve turned pink at the sight of his bare chest. You however, were pretty much used to being comfortable around him, Yugyeom, BamBam and Jinyoung.

When it came to their group of friends, you were pretty much desensitized with any of their antics; not wearing clothing was one of them. It came to the point where Mark never allowed you around them if there was a chance they would remove any item of their clothing—but it was not as much because of jealousy; it was more so because the guys would purposely try to get on Mark’s nerves as much as possible.

Most of your best times in high school were because of the wild and rowdy group of guys and you didn’t realize just how much you’ve missed all of them until they all went their separate ways. Honestly, it’s been a while since you’ve heard from any of the guys—but college took up more time than high school did and the four of them, along with your ex-boyfriend all decided to go to school out of state.

They were all so excited when it was time to start filling out applications to all the different universities around the world; Yugyeom and BamBam shocked you the most when you found out that they actually got accepted to what you considered were elite colleges. If those two could get in to college, anybody could. As much as you wanted to laugh at the many memories of how both boys would never fail to get in trouble for either being late to class, or for getting caught with stealing a bunch of condoms from behind your teacher’s desk, it only occurred to you that you just referred to Mark as your ex-boyfriend.

Not once was there ever a time in the duration of your relationship where you would have ever put Mark in the same sentence as the term “ex”. Even when the two of you had your disagreements or unnecessary arguments, there was nothing that would have caused you think like that. Was he really your ex-boyfriend? The two of you were on a break; or so you believed. You explained the difference between a break up and just taking a break.

You didn’t want to break up with Mark; he was your person—your soulmate, your best friend. He was in your life for more than half of it, you weren’t going to give up on him that easily. Both you and your relationship needed time to heal in order for you to be able to continue loving Mark in the ways that you used to. There was not a doubt in your mind that you still loved Mark.

No matter what were to happen down the road, your heart would always belong to him. He was still the only man you wanted to settle down, start a family and spend the rest of your life together with. But you couldn’t help to think negative thoughts like Mark finding solace in someone else. What if this break took a toll on his mental health and he felt the need to confide in another girl? What if he felt that the only way he could stop crying over you was for him to move on and start seeing someone else?

Deep down, you knew Mark would never do anything that would purposely make you sad or go against you in any way. He was the type to talk things out before making any rash decisions. However, it was only human of you to feel as if he was so frustrated with you to the point where he wanted to do something to hurt you just as much as he claimed you were doing to him. Did he consider you his ex-girlfriend?

Was there someone who caught his eye in the last month who made him realize there were many other girls out there? That, instead of moping around and waiting for you to be ready to come back to him, someone else could help fill the void? You didn’t know how to describe the pain you were now feeling at the thought of Mark no longer being in love with you; you’ve been worrying and overthinking about this weeks before initiating the break, and he was never around to make you feel or think otherwise.

Why did your relationship have to become so complicated? Why couldn’t things just have stayed the way they were before Mark left? Why did his efforts lessen knowing that it was going to take twice the amount of time and patience from both of you to continue and maintain a healthy relationship? When did he come to the realization that you were no longer a priority he considered all that important?

“I should be asking you the same thing—although, it’s nice seeing you again. You look seemingly beautiful as always. Albeit a bit messy with more dark circles than the last time we saw each other. It’s a given, but trust me—he looks even more terrible.”

You looked up at him in curiosity of his confession, but you were well aware that Mark probably told him everything. Mark and Jackson were practically brothers. The only person Mark would confide in and admit all his deepest, darkest secrets to other than you was the charming boy standing in front of you. He looked as though he wanted to pull you in for a hug, but he was also pretty hesitant not knowing what you were feeling or thinking. Jackson gave you a knowing look before letting a small smirk rise upon his face.

“Your lover boy is the definition of a lightweight. Mark can’t drink for shit. It only took two beers for him to spill everything to me after he came back from his trip—don’t look at me like that. Yes, we drink. It’s all apart of the college experience y/n. Anyways, I know it’s not my place to meddle in your relationship, but I have never seen Mark so depressed in my many years of knowing him for. It’s obvious this “break” you asked him for is slowly killing him. The love he has for you is something people can only dream about ever experiencing in their lifetime. I caught him going through a photo album that he made of pictures and videos of you and he wouldn’t stop crying until I forcefully took away his phone. Look, I’m not trying to guilt trip you or anything and I’m not making up any excuses for him. I’m sure being away from each other is already hard as it is—even worse since you barely get to hear from him but he does have his reasons for being so absent these days. He said he told you he got a job in order to surprise you that week but you didn’t allow him to finish explaining himself.”

Jackson allowed you inside of the dorm room and you were actually pretty surprised at how clean it was. Sure, Mark was always very tidy and liked to keep his space neat; but witnessing Jackson’s tendencies of picking food from up off the ground and eating it right after, you just assumed he wasn’t the type to care about cleanliness and hygiene.

“Wow—nice place. Mark showed me a couple of times over Skype but it’s different actually being here.” He gave you his signature cheeky smile before motioning for you to sit down on the couch.

“Thanks. It was actually his idea to be roommates. I guess he wasn’t all too fond of his previous one and when I decided to transfer over to New York, he offered to let me move in with him. Now, back to what I was saying. For months, Mark kept sulking over how much he missed you and how he was going to do whatever he could to see you again sooner rather than later; so he got a job at this coffee shop right across of campus. Everyone knows Mark hates coffee—but it was the only place that was 24 hours and would work alongside his schedule. Poor guy was barely getting any sleep for the few months leading up to his trip but it didn’t seem to bother him. He was just so stoked to reunite with his “favorite person in the entire world” that he didn’t care how exhausted he was from juggling school, work and his athletics. Our baseball coach even pulled him aside and told him that he needed to get better with managing his priorities or he would kick him off the team. I swear, the night he returned from California, my heart broke for him. He looked so wrecked y/n—but he didn’t say a word. We all know how much of a crybaby he can be, but it was a different kind of sadness. His eyes were so bloodshot and puffy yet they held no emotion in them. He also had no appetite at all and that’s obviously not like him. Boy can eat. I’m not saying you should completely forget how he’s been treating you, but please forgive him. I know he has your best interest at heart. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, anyone with eyes can see just how much you mean to him. Ah—I didn’t mean to make you cry; honestly you and Mark are perfect for each other. I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t even feel tears fall down your cheeks, but it was inevitable. Every single thing that he said tugged on your heartstrings.

Did you get lonely while I was away—working my fucking ass off at a job I hate in order to save enough money so I could come and see you?

For the entire month, Mark’s anger-filled speech from that night replayed over and over in your mind and you felt like such a terrible person now that you understood why he’s been so distant. He tried to tell you, but you just wouldn’t listen. You were so frustrated—so heartbroken in that moment and you wanted him to know the damage that was done to your relationship because he wasn’t as involved in your life as he used to.

Hearing that he was barely getting any sleep nor having any legitimate free time to himself just so that he could save up money to visit you made your stomach sink. You couldn’t even imagine how hard it must’ve been for him. He flew all the way to California to surprise you, only to be met with the idea of a break. It was probably very heartbreaking for him. He worked all those hours—probably put up with a lot of assholes and having to be on his feet for long periods of the day only to find out that his girlfriend needed time to heal from the pain he’s been causing her.

You never felt so angry with yourself—but at the same time, you wouldn’t have known. He never said anything. If things were going to end the way you were hoping they would today, then you would make sure the two of you worked on your communication. Jackson returned back with a box of tissues and a bottle of water to which you thanked him politely and wiped away a few stray tears. As much as you were enjoying his presence, you were there for a reason and Jackson could tell with the way you were looking around the room as if you were expecting someone—Mark—to come out from one of the rooms.

“He’s at work. Don’t worry, he cut back his hours so that he could put more effort in his studies, but he should be done here pretty soon. I better go—I’m going to need some time to find someone who will let me crash on their couch for tonight—or however long you plan on staying here.”

“Why would you need somewhere else to sleep—“ he gave you an incredulous look while playfully raising his brows.

“Oh trust me, we all know what is going to happen between you and Mark once you both kiss and make up. The next thing I need is not being able to get any sleep because of how loud I know it’s going to be—ow! What? Naughty, kinky make up sex is the best! I mean, I’ll stay if I get to join in on the night’s festivities; but we all know how extremely territorial and overprotective Mark is when it comes to you so I’ll let you both have your fun. But don’t have too much fun—we already got noise complaints two months ago when Yugyeom and BamBam came down for spring break and we all got drunk while playing Mario kart. I’ll take my leave, I actually have some assignments I need to work on. Feel free to make yourself at home—oh, and please—no sex on the couch. This is where I take most of my naps, so keep all the raunchiness in the bedroom. I’ll see you later y/n. There’s some pizza in the oven, my room is down the hall on the left, Mark’s is on the right and we actually both have our own bathrooms in our rooms. You’re better off using his, I wasn’t expecting any guests so—yeah. Good luck!”

He pulled you in to a quick hug before grabbing his keys and making his way out the door. Although you couldn’t wait to finally see Mark again, you would have rather Jackson had stayed with you until he did arrive home. You swore your heart was about ready to jump out of your chest while waiting for him. There were so many different scenarios—more negative ones than positive running through your mind about how things were going to play out. If what Jackson said about Mark was true, you were confident that he would take you back with open arms.

However, you were afraid that he was no longer as adamant on fixing things. You were afraid that with your situation with Mark—no matter how many memories the two of you had together, no matter how many years you’ve spent together, no matter how much history the two of you shared—if his heart was no longer in it, there was nothing you could do. Instead of mending your relationship, what if this break only made Mark realize that he didn’t want to put up with your brash and cold exterior?

People change; sometimes they grow apart—what if it was too late to come back together again? Although Jackson did tell you to relax and unwind, you didn’t feel like you had the right to. You’ve never been here before and you were never the type of person to just roam around someone else’s personal area, even if the person was someone you’ve spent over a decade of your life with. A part of you couldn’t help but grow curious as to what Mark’s bedroom looked like.

Did he style it the way he did at his last dorm? Did it look like his room back in California that you’d spent many hours playing video games and doing your homework in? It felt extremely awkward just sitting there waiting for him to walk through the door. You should’ve asked Jackson exactly what time Mark planned on arriving home so you could have better prepared yourself for when he were to finally walk through the doors. Instead of waiting on the couch in agony and doing nothing, you got up and began the search for Mark’s room. You intended on going in to his bathroom and making sure it wasn’t obvious that you had previously cried.

When you first walked in to his room, you immediately took in how clean it was. His walls were white, but you assumed they were already like that before he even moved in. His bed sheets were navy blue and so were his curtains. There was a tv hung up on the wall with a PlayStation and a couple of games set up right under. You decided to take a quick peek around before finally going in to his bathroom to freshen up. As you continued to browse throughout his room, you saw something in the corner of your eye.

Right above his bed frame was a picture board. You absentmindedly found yourself crawling on to his bed to get a better look at all the photos; there were a couple with his family, some with his teammates, a few with his friends back in high school—but most of the photos were with, or of you. There was even a photo of the two of you sitting on his nightstand. This photo however, had a note attached to it. It was always and will forever be you. This time, you allowed the tears to fall freely—you couldn’t give less of a shit about what you looked like anymore.

Always.

You were and would forever be his always. You didn’t care that you had to stay up late just to hear from him—you didn’t care that you only ever saw him physically during the summertime or during the holidays. You didn’t care that all the friends you had made in the last year would brag about the many dates their boyfriends have been taking them on. None of that mattered. Mark loved you—even after all the heartbreak he suffered in the last month because of you, it just proved that he was willing to do anything and everything for you.

“Can I help you find something?”

The sudden interruption caused you to let out a muffled scream. When you turned around to look at him, you had to force yourself not to practically jump at him now that you were fully aware of the many sacrifices he had made just to make you happy. However, you didn’t want to startle him if you were to throw your arms around him. For the first time—Jackson was right. Well, sort of. Mark looked devastatingly handsome; but it was something you were used to. God obviously had his favorites and Mark Tuan was one of them. He did however, look as though he’s been crying for days. He also looked tired beyond belief. You heart was begging for you to go up to him and pull him in to your embrace while leaving as many kisses all along his jaw and neck—but your affection and the need to touch him was just going to have to wait.

“Hey. Sorry, I—I came in here to use the bathroom and I—I didn’t mean to intrude or anything—I can go back outside—“

“No, no. You’re totally fine. I um—I’m sorry if I scared you. How—how have you been? You look great by the way. You haven’t been waiting long have you?”

The laugh of disbelief was at the back of your throat. Standing in front of you was the boy you’ve been in love with for more years than you could count on both of your hands yet—it felt as though you were talking to a stranger. You could tell by his body language and the way he was scratching the back of his neck that he was flustered.

Whenever Mark would get shy around you, it was always a sight to behold. His cheeks would turn the brightest of pinks, he would gnaw on his bottom lip and rock himself back and forth on the heels of his feet. Normally, he would act this way after a passionate night of love making or simply when you would introduce him as the love of your life to one of your family members. In other situations, you would have found his timid exterior to have been extremely adorable, but as of right now, it was suffocating you. You knew you were the reason why he was acting so nervous; so cautious because you were sure he was afraid of saying the wrong thing and scaring you away.

“Jackson let me in about half an hour ago, but it’s okay. He was quite the host until he left to go “study”. I’m surprised at how tidy you’ve been able to maintain this place; or should I say—I’m surprised Jackson has been doing his share and cleaning up. I really like it.”

He thanked you softly before bringing his attention to the floor. Mark was always very confident whenever he spoke; so seeing him uncertain and unsure about how to approach you wasn’t a sight you were quite used to. Nor was it one you ever wanted to get used to. The atmosphere was filled with uncomfortable tension that you wanted so badly to disappear. Whether it was because you missed him more than you wanted to admit out loud, or because it was evident that he wanted to make his way toward you but didn’t know if he was allowed to; you found yourself taking the initiative in getting up from his bed and wasted no time cupping both of his cheeks with your hands and kissing him as if your life depended on it.

You wanted him to know just how sorry you were for everything he had to go through in the last month because of how stubborn you’ve been. As soon as he felt your lips smash against his own, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist and pulled you as close to his body that was physically possible. His kisses were rough as his hands roamed your body. God, how did you go so long without the beautiful boy in front of you? Everything in your life felt right again. Being in Mark’s arms while his tongue mapped his trace along your neck was an otherworldly sensation. You were thousands of miles away from California, but you’ve never felt more at home than you did right now. Mark was your home—your favorite place to escape; a breath of fresh air. You were right where you needed to be.

“Mmm—Mark—I’m so sorry baby. Jackson told me everything. I should have listened to you—I should’ve allowed you to explain yourself. If I knew the actual reason why you weren’t communicating with me as often, I wouldn’t have been so hard on you. I would’ve been more understanding—“

“Nope—I won’t be having any of that. No apologies baby. Yes, I was exhausted beyond belief, but I should have tried harder for us—for you. I was working hard in order to finally be with you again, but I completely pushed back the purpose of why I was doing all of this; why I was practically going days with only five hours of sleep in total. Why I was typing out essays while on my breaks at work. Why I was taking down espresso shots like they were vodka shots—both of which are completely nasty by the way. You are my purpose baby. Everything I do is with your happiness in mind. I know how much my absence has been affecting you because waking up every morning without you next to me was like a fucking chore. It was just as bad for me as it was for you. God, if there’s anything I hate more than college-level calculus, it’s having to live without you—the reason for my existence. Give me your hand.” You did as you were told; placing your hand in his all the while blushing when he brought it up to his chest.

“Feel that? It’s racing—I haven’t felt my heartbeat this fast since the night you told me you wanted to take a break. That had to be the worst night of my entire life baby. I couldn’t stop beating myself up about your disheartened facial expression when you told me I needed to get my act together. I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I cried every single fucking day because I couldn’t stop thinking this was the end between us. I never ever want to go one day without you. I know—I’ve been a terrible boyfriend to you and I hope you know you didn’t deserve it at all y/n. There were days I wanted to quit my job because I hated it so much and because I’m so exhausted, but then I’d take a look at my phone screen with the picture I took of you that one morning when we had a food fight in the kitchen and you got peanut butter in your hair and all over your face and I just—it made me remember what I was doing it all for. It felt like forever that we got to do something fun like that—it’s been forever since I truly felt any ounce of happiness. I feel like I’m living, but not at all existing whenever I’m away from you. I know you told me not to regret my decision in choosing to go away for college, but I do. I regret choosing to ever be where you aren’t. Fuck, you don’t understand just how hard it was for me having to go back home that night thinking that you no longer wanted anything to do with me; and even if you said he was just a friend—that guy, whatever his stupid name is—“

“His name is Jaebeom—

“Yeah yeah—whatever. That obviously doesn’t matter. It’s my last name that you’re taking one day so I don’t care what his name or anybody else’s name is. I know you would never cheat on me or do anything to jeopardize our relationship, but seeing the two of you together really struck a nerve with me. I don’t know what he is to you, but I’m sure he must be someone meaningful to you for you to go to prom with him. I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky he is to be around you all the time, how he gets to hear that vibrant and contagious laughter of yours, how he gets to see your radiant and breathtaking smile and how that should have been me being all cute and matching with you. How I should have been there, flaunting you off to everyone. God, you looked so beautiful that night y/n—but you looked so fucking sad when you looked at me. When I came back to New York, I didn’t want to do anything. At all. I called in sick from work, I took a break from baseball and I even missed a couple of classes but I couldn’t give less of a shit. I felt so empty—physically and mentally I felt numb. I wanted to call you; trust me when I say I found my fingers hovering over your contact many times. I continuously checked up on your social media to see how you were doing—if you were okay, if you were eating all your meals and getting some rest. If—if you were suffering without me the way I was with you. I’m nothing without you. Absolutely nothing.”

He brought his thumb up to your cheek and gently brushed away a tear you didn’t even notice fall from your eyelids. You were well aware that Mark loved you more than you could even accept that you deserved. There were a couple of times you question his love for you; not hearing from him made you feel as though you weren’t as important to him and just that thought alone made you feel as if his love for you faltered. Hearing him confess to you what this past month has been like for him just confirmed that you meant a lot more to him than you felt you did. This break only made you realize that you could no longer be without him—you no longer wanted to put him through any more stress or sadness.

“Damnit Mark—how do you—fuck—you have such a way with words. You’ve always have. I love you so, so much. More than I ever get around to telling you. I’m so sorry—don’t give me that look babe let me apologize. I should have tried harder to see how you were doing. I know being a student athlete is already so frustrating and I just felt like you didn’t need something else to worry about. I know you’re probably going to disagree and get mad at me for feeling this way, but I just felt like such a burden to you. You already have so many responsibilities, your relationship should be the least of your worries. As much as I love surprises, please Mark—I want you to be honest with me next time. We need to work on our communication. Don’t get me wrong, I am honestly so grateful that you got a job in order to make money to come and visit me and I apologize if you feel like it was a waste—if my reaction that night wasn’t the one you were expecting, but I just didn’t know how to react. I was genuinely happy to see you—or at least deep down I knew I was. My facial expression was the complete opposite—but it’s because I felt as though you were just so far away. You were right in front of me, yet I couldn’t recognize you. My mind couldn’t process that you were real—that you were actually there and not a figment of my silly imagination. Deciding to take a break took weeks to come to that decision. I couldn’t stop thinking that I was no longer a priority to you, so I just stopped trying entirely.”

You found yourself wrapping your arms around his waist and released a soft sigh before smashing your cheek up against his chest. This was the first time in a long time that you actually felt genuinely content. Mark’s arms always made you feel so safe; so secure and so at ease. He didn’t hesitate to place his chin on the top of your head while tightening his already unyielding hold around your hips.

“I missed you more than I can explain in words. I meant what I said Mark—I’ve loved you since I was eight years old. I’ve loved you before I even knew what love was and I’m going to love you, for as long as time permits me to. Forever, hopefully. You’re my best friend Mark. I don’t care what happens to me or where I end up in the future. As long as you’re right by my side, I’ll be living a life that I’ve always wanted—that people can only dream of experiencing. We’re going to be just fine my love.” He brought his hand down to your jaw and lifted up your chin so that you were making direct eye contact with him. “You got that right baby. How long do I have you for?”

“A little over a week.” He gave you a knowing look; his eyes were filled with mischief. You were well aware most of your time in New York was going to be spent showing him just how much you loved him and the idea sent warmth to both your chest and in between your thighs.

“Stay right here, I’m going to have to text Jackson about finding a place to stay—“

“He’s already on it. He wants to give us our time to enjoy one another, just the two of us. In his words, he doesn’t want to miss out on his sleep because apparently you and I are going to be “too loud”. I have no idea what he’s talking about though. I have no intention on being noisy while I’m here—“

Mark was quick to lift you up and hoisted you on top of his left thigh; his movements were quick. Soon you were being thrown on top of his bed as he began leaving sloppy and all but gentle kisses all around your bare skin. He lowered himself on top of you, pressing his pelvis right on top of yours in attempts to let you know what he had planned for the both of you in just a few moments.

“I went four months without making love to my beautiful baby. You know how many times I’ve found myself jacking off to photos of you? I miss when we used to have cyber sex—fuck why did we ever stop? I can still picturing you fingering yourself, pretending it was me. You looked so fucking sexy and although it wasn’t the same as when you suck me off or ride my cock like the professional cowgirl you are, I came in less than five minutes just hearing your breathless moans as you tried to get yourself off. Trust me when I say this, you won’t be getting any sightseeing completed at all while you’re here. I’m going to make sure your legs are practically jello once I show you just how much I’ve missed this perfect body of yours. I don’t know if Jackson told you, but we’re actually on probation for being loud because of BamBam and Yugyeom. I’m confident I’m going to get kicked out here with how loud I’m going to make you sing for me. I can’t wait to rail the shit out of you baby. This pussy is mine. You are mine. Now, sit back y/n and enjoy the ride.”

Mark wasn’t lying when he said he had every intention on making sure you were immobile. The two of you relished in your love for hours; once you both came down from your highs after one round, the hunger and desire for one another was too strong to quit. You don’t think you’d be able to look in his fridge without remembering how he had you pressed right up against the cool metal, ramming himself inside of you from behind. Four hours later, you both decided to take a break. You had almost two weeks together; you didn’t want to practically be bedridden before you actually got the chance to really spend time exploring New York City together.

“You never cease to amaze me you know that? Fuck, I could love on your body for the entire day if you’d let me. I guess not having me inside of you for so long made you even more tight. I think your boobies got bigger too—ow! Why do you always get so abusive every single time I appreciate these beautiful breasts of yours? If you’re going to be like this about your mounds, you should hear how obsessed I am with your vagina—“

“Say that word one more time and you won’t get anywhere near it for the rest of my stay.”

He gave you the most adorable pout before pulling you on top of him. Even if the two of you had just finished having passionate and steamy sex, you could feel your cheeks warm up being pressed up against his bare and sweaty body. He left a wet kiss on the juncture of your neck and looked at you with so much love and adoration in his eyes.

“I don’t know babe, i could’ve sworn you were begging me to bury my cock deeper inside of you and to eat you out like I mean it less than an hour ago. You’re just as much a nymphomaniac as I am. I honestly can just stay in bed with you for the rest of the evening and just do nothing if that’s alright with you. We could get cleaned up and order some take out. Or if you have even just a tiny bit of energy, we can go out for an hour or so and just enjoy each other’s company.”

As much as you wanted to go exploring, it was just going to have to wait till tomorrow. You hid your face in the crook of his neck; trying to absorb as much of his warmth as possible before humming softly against his jaw.

“Let’s stay in. I just want to enjoy this intimate moment with you as much as I can.” He smiled at you lovingly while he brought his fingers in to your hair.

“I was hoping you’d say that. I want to take advantage of every moment you are naked—as much as I missed you, I don’t miss the hitting. Did you get stronger since the last time I saw you? You’re like bionic now.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at his sarcasm and propped yourself on your elbows so that you could get a better look at him. Every time you would look at Mark, it amazed you just how much he changed physically since you first met him yet his childlike personality never faltered. If anything, he became more and more like a child as he got older.

“Mark.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to marry you one day.”

Knowing that he was the type to joke around a lot, you were expecting a “matter of a fact” kind of response. However, you weren’t expecting for him to pull you down and reconnect your lips together. Right as you could feel the fire building up in your bones with his feather like yet protective touch, he leaned away and looked up with you with a glint in his eye.

“Hey—I’m the one supposed to be telling you that!”

You yelped when he all but gently squeezed your butt. The thought of marrying the beautiful boy underneath you has been on your mind since the day he told you he had his mom take out the raisins from her oatmeal cookies because you weren’t a fan of them. Sometimes, your relationship felt too good to be true. Even if you hit a bump in the road, it only made you realize that no matter what were to happen between the two of you, your love for Mark and his love for you would never falter. He was everything in a significant other most girls could only dream about having in theirs. Mark Tuan was an ethereal being; his name was forever engraved on to your heart.

“I don’t know when exactly—maybe when we’re just a little bit older, but I can’t wait to marry you y/n. You’ve had my heart for over a decade now—it’s yours for the next ten decades.”

“That’s a hundred years Mark. I don’t think either of us are going to live that long—“

“You always seem ruin such romantic moments. I’m telling you that I plan on loving you for the rest of my life. I said what I said my silly girl. You’re stuck with me forever.”

You beamed up at his words and the two of you continued to lie there in silence; just basking in each other’s presence. To your dismay, Mark flipped your bodies so now he was on top of you but before you could say anything about this new position, you quickly picked up on his now furrowed brows and the way he looked as if he was deep in thought.

“Hey, everything okay?”

He gave you a sad smile and nodded hesitantly but you could tell something was obviously bothering him. Just a few moments ago, he was nipping at your jaw while grazing all too close to your core—and now he looked as if he was on the verge of breaking down. What exactly just so happened to pop in to his mind that was causing him so much distress.

“Mark—we said we would work on our communication. I know something is bothering you. Talk to me baby.”

“It’s nothing really—well—God, I feel so stupid for having to ask you this. That Jaebeom kid, he uh—I wouldn’t be surprised if he did I mean look at you—but, he didn’t happen to have a crush on you did he?”

Talking about Jaebeom was bound to happen sooner or later. Images of his angry expression when he saw the younger boy walk outside in attempts to look for you came rushing back like the night of prom was just yesterday. There was no doubt your boyfriend was a jealous person. You never understood where his jealousy came from; you never gave him a reason to be jealous nor did you think that you attracted anyone other than him until Jaebeom confessed his feelings for you.

He would get extremely territorial whenever you would hang out with him and his friends. BamBam and Jackson were notorious for being a little too touchy for Mark’s liking when it came to you. Sometimes they would reach for your hand or interlock your arms together in order to get under his skin, but Mark never let them get away with it. You could still remember the way your heart soared when he told you that he was only jealous of other guys because he had a fear that one day, someone might walk in to your life and make you realize that there are more people in this world other than Mark that could get you feeling the way he thought only he was capable of. Your boyfriend was well aware that he was the one that you loved more than anyone else in your life—but it was only natural for his curiosity to get the best of him.

“He did—he confessed to me right after he asked me to prom. I was quick to tell him I was in a relationship and he was very understanding about it.”

Mark took in a deep breath and waited a couple of seconds before asking you the question that he’s been dying to know the answer to for the last month.

“You uh—did you ever have feelings for him at one point? I won’t be mad; I mean, I’ve been absent. I’m sure spending time with someone and getting their attention could cause some feelings to develop. This question has been on my mind since that night. It’s not that I’m questioning your feelings for me—I know in my heart that you love me but I couldn’t find it in myself to stop thinking negatively.”

A part of you wanted to lie in order to spare his feelings. He may have said he wouldn’t be mad if you were to tell him that yes—you had feelings for Jaebeom at one point or at least felt like you did; but this was Mark you were talking about. He would be devastated to hear that your heart wavered even just for a split second and you didn’t want to do that to him. The idea of hurting him sent a painful sensation to your chest. Mark was nothing less than perfect to you in all your years of knowing him for.

These last few months might not have been ideal and honestly you could do without them, but at the same time—the turmoil was a blessing in disguise. Maybe the two of you needed this distance; this break in order to come to the acceptance that neither of you were going anywhere. However, the realist in you was well aware that there was no point in lying.

For all you knew, Mark probably felt it in either his heart or his mind that you could have at least felt something towards Jaebeom. It wasn’t impossible; it was common for people in relationships to harbor feelings for someone else. Especially someone they’re close to and spend most of their time with. He hated the thought that you began liking Jaebeom more and more every day considering that your communication levels weren’t all that good. What person in their right mind would genuinely be okay with knowing that their significant other had someone else on their mind—someone that they saw almost every single day? Mark wasn’t too sure just how close the two of you were and he wasn’t too sure if he wanted to know.

“At one point, yes. I did. But let me start off by saying this; just because I felt like I had some kind of feelings for him at one point doesn’t mean I loved you any less. Like you said, it could have been because he was giving me the attention I wasn’t receiving from you. He was taking care of me; he held me on the days that I cried because of school and our failing relationship. He’d buy me pastries if he saw that I wasn’t eating and he’d buy me coffee now and then—but I don’t have any romantic feelings for him. I guess I just really missed you; I missed you like fucking crazy Mark and for the time being, Jaebeom was helping me take my mind off of your absence. I will admit, I felt terrible when I told him I didn’t reciprocate his feelings only because he’s such an amazing friend, but no matter how kind he is, how much he cares for me or how attractive he is—“

“He wasn’t all that good looking honestly he was a solid three on a scale from one to ten you’re just saying that to make me jealous—“ You brought your hand up to his mouth in order to silence him but he licked a stripe along your skin.

“Will you stop interrupting me? I’m trying to tell you that there’s nobody else for me but you asshole. I’m too blinded by the love I have for you to even look or think about anybody else. Jaebeom is an amazing friend, but that is all he’s ever going to be to me. You consumed every single part of me; like the ocean. I feel like I’m drowning in your love, but I never want to be saved. I just want to keep losing myself in you and the love you have for me. I’m honestly so glad Jackson is a very considerate friend—I got horny just thinking about how much I love you.”

His laughter immediately filled up the room; a sound you were going to take advantage of for the next week and a half. It wasn’t the same hearing it through a screen—it was much more vibrant and full of excitement and it made your tummy swarm with butterflies.

“You’re insatiable, what am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want to.”

When the two of you were finally done making up for lost time up against almost every surface in his dorm, you finally gave in and tapped out. You could feel your eyes closing and sleep was right around the corner ready to take over you completely.

“Should I start ordering us some food?” You slowly shook your head and made yourself comfortable pressed up against his chest. He began leaving soft kisses in your hair while dragging his fingers along the expanse of your back.

“I’m so tired. I think the jet lag is catching up to me.”

“No, I think it’s the six hours of nonstop sex we just accomplished. But that’s fine—maybe I’ll wake up earlier and prepare you some breakfast in bed. Or, I can have you for breakfast in bed—almost ten years of this abuse you would think I would know when to prepare myself. Mmm—I love you y/n, I’m so fucking happy you’re here. Thank you for coming back to me.”

In the two weeks that you were in New York for, Mark took you to almost every single place you’ve been wanting to go to. You didn’t think you were capable of walking so many miles; especially since you were sore practically every single day. Mark wasn’t lying when he said he planned on having you each day you were there for. On the days he had work or practice, you’d stay back at his apartment and just watch a couple of movies or play some video games on his Xbox. Sometimes you would go around with Jackson; sightseeing and shopping for some gifts to bring back home.

When Mark finished his duties or on the days he was off, he would take you exploring throughout the city, showing you everything New York had to offer. He made sure to keep you energized by purchasing you coffee right before the two of you were to return back to his apartment. He didn’t know when the next time he was going to see you would be, so he wanted to make every moment with you count—even if that meant having to stay up till the wee hours of the morning to have him blow your back out.

Unfortunately, just like the last time you were in New York, your visit was quick to end just as immediate as it was to arrive. 24 hours seemed to fly by in a matter of minutes any time it was spent with Mark yet they seemed to drag on whenever the two of you were apart. The tears wouldn’t stop falling from your face when he brought you to the airport. He held you close to his body and placed his head against yours as he tried his best to keep your cries soft—not wanting to bother the cab driver.

He was also secretly tearing up himself; he had one of the best weeks of his life with you and now he had to let you go again. If he had the choice, he’d be heading back to California with you permanently. It was selfish of him, but he even contemplated on hiding your luggage or even stealing your plane ticket so that you’d have no choice but to stay with him. Once the driver pulled up to the airport, he helped you take your luggage from out of the trunk while you and Mark said your goodbyes to each other.

“Hey—baby, we’re going to be just fine. I mean it this time. I’m gonna do better for you. I don’t care how tired I am—hell, you’re probably going to get tired of my constant phone calls and text messages but I promise you that I’m going to do my best to make sure to put in just as much effort in to this relationship as you do. I know how it feels to lose you and fuck, I never want to feel something so painful like that ever again. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to go without having you with me—so expect me to come make a trip to visit you here soon. I love you y/n—God, I can’t even describe to you just how much I love you. Love isn’t even a good enough word to describe what I feel for you—what you mean to me. Fuck, I’m going to miss you so much. Let me know as soon you land and when you get home please? Take good care of yourself and I expect at least three nudes a day—fine two—y/n I’m trying to lighten the mood you know I hate seeing you so sad—I also hate not getting to show my love and appreciation for your perfect body—just wait till I get my hands on you next time I won’t go easy on you. I’ll see you soon baby. I love you.”

Leaving Mark was always the hardest thing you had to do other than getting used to looking through a computer and phone screen to see him when you just had him around physically to hold to and to kiss you. He kept his promise in working on and bettering his communication with you. Everything slowly started falling in place for you and you were more than happy with how your relationship was going. Mark made a few trips to California during his downtime.

Although most of his time was spent going on cute little dates with you and just spending quality time together, he did meet up with some of his friends from high school to catch up and made sure to visit his parents a couple of times. He even asked to meet Jaebeom properly; he wanted to apologize for being such an ass towards him on the night of your junior prom and he wanted to thank him for taking care of you while he was away. Mark still was trying to accept the idea of your friendship with Jaebeom, but he trusted you with every fiber of his being.

You were surprised that it didn’t take either of them too long to find some common ground; their main purpose both being your well-being and your happiness was something they had in common. Mark actually found it quite interesting that Jaebeom was a dancer and they went back and forth about their passion for crime investigation documentaries. It wasn’t something that happened overnight; Jaebeom was still upset with Mark for being the reason behind your tears, but he was well aware that it wasn’t his business to get involved in.

At the end of the day, you were just grateful that Mark accepted your friendship with Jaebeom for what it was because you knew you would of fell apart in these last few months if it weren’t for him. Everyone in your life—your boyfriend, your parents, your teachers and some of your friends who have graduated never failed to remind you that senior year would practically flash before your eyes. It had to be the best year of your educational career so far; there were so many different activities for seniors to participate in which Jaebeom coerced you in to doing a lot of things you would have never saw yourself signing up for. Flag football, tug-of-war, paintball, spirit week, homecoming; you were never one to find yourself in a situation where you’d get involved in school activities, but it was your last year in high school and you wanted to make the most of it.

At one point, you didn’t care about anything other than wanting to hurry up and graduate already. You didn’t want to be the kind of person to make a decision for your life based on your significant other, but you wanted to be with Mark. He was definitely speechless when you told him you applied to the university of New York—only because he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do that for him, even if deep down he was secretly hoping you would. The university was amazing nonetheless, but your boyfriend knew there were many other colleges that had better programs for the field you were interested in joining. However, he was extremely thrilled and very outspoken about how excited he was when you opened the letter of acceptance in to the university.

Right after you received the letter, you and Mark began planning on how he would let Jackson down gently about having to move out. As much as you couldn’t wait to finally get to have him around, you didn’t want to kick Jackson out of their dorm. It was just as much his place as it was Mark’s. That’s when you came up with the idea to move in to an apartment together. It was still a few months away, but Mark couldn’t keep in his excitement at the thought of waking up to your beautiful face every morning and getting to go to bed every night with you wrapped in his embrace.

He began the search of apartments in the area of the university so that it would be easier for the both of you to walk rather than to waste money on transportation. The months came and went; studying for tests on top of working almost every day in order to save up for after graduation took up most of your time. Mark was very good about calling you right before he’d head out for school or once he arrived back after work or practice. It was hard to believe that you ever questioned his love for you seeing as how he could not stop reminding you that he couldn’t wait to spend forever with you.

The last month of your senior year arrived before you could even comprehend that you were only a month away from becoming a high school graduate—and so did your boyfriend. Although you told him time and time again that you would prefer he didn’t surprise you, your soul practically left your body when you returned home from work one day to find him sitting on your bed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Mark, babe what the fuck are you doing here?”

You wasted no time in throwing yourself at him and bringing your lips to his. Tonight in particular was one of the most stressful days at work you had so far and all you really wanted to do was change out of your clothes and go to sleep. Seeing Mark only broke you out of your exhaustion and the huge grin that rose on your face didn’t seem as if it was going to falter at all any time soon.

“Did you really think I would let you go to prom with someone else other than me again? Did I not tell you how badly I wanted to rip that dress off of you and how extremely lethal you looked in it? I want to be the one to experience your magical night with you—and trust me, it’ll be even more magical once we head back to the hotel room right after—it’s like you live to torture me and not in the ways I’d prefer you would.” He began rubbing the side of his shoulder where you gently shoved him before playfully pinching your cheek.

“Anyways, I already bought a tux, you just have to tell me what color tie to get. Oh—and I’m here till the end of summer baby, so I’ll be here to watch you graduate and I’ll be here to help you get all your things ready for New York. I still can’t completely process that I get to go back to school with you alongside of me. I’m so fucking happy, you don’t understand—and we get to live together. You know what that means.” He began to wiggle his brows and you couldn’t help but laugh at his nonchalant hint towards the activities he had in mind once you started living together.

“Hey, I’m coming to New York for college, not to focus specifically on our sex life—“

“I know that babe, but making love to you is my favorite past time and now we’re going to have more chances in doing so—“

“You know Mark, I think there’s still some time left for me to accept UCLA—“

“You wouldn’t dare. You miss me just as much as I miss you—I meant it more than sexually. I just really can’t wait to have you around more often. There are days that are so shitty for me sometimes and all I want to do is have you hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay. We’re going to get a sneak peak at what the rest of our lives together is going to be like and I can’t wait to share that experience together with you. Now, if you’d be ever so kind, I travelled all the way here to be with you. The least you can do is show me some hospitality and maybe suck me dry? Don’t look at me like that babe IT’S BEEN THREE MONTHS.”

You continued to keep the facade that you weren’t in the mood to do anything just to mess with him—although you were tired, Mark just had that effect on you. If you were ready for bed right as you were coming home, you were now ready to do whatever it was he asked of you. Since your parents were right downstairs, the both of you had to do your best to get reacquainted with one another as quietly as possible. For a little over two hours, you and your boyfriend experimented in different positions; his lips and tongue mapped its territory all along your breasts, neck, thighs, waist and right above your soaking entrance. It was honestly quite the task trying to keep your moans at bay; especially because your love making sessions only became more vocal the longer the two of you were away from each other.

“I’ve missed you.” He pulled you on top of him once you both came down from your highs and left a wet kiss right below your ear.

“I’ve missed you more. I still can’t believe you’re here and I get to have you for until I leave.”

The rest of your evening was spent updating each other on what’s been going on in both of your lives until he fell asleep. For the rest of that week, he followed you around like a lost puppy on the days that you weren’t at work or school. You were sure most people would get tired of the clinginess and the fact that he always wanted to be with you, but it was something you genuinely enjoyed. Not once did you ever not want Mark around you—in fact you were just as tenacious when it came to him.

Mark was more than happy to be home this time around; all his friends were also home for the summer and it felt like to good old times for him. Before you could even think about how many days you had left until graduation, senior prom came in the blink of an eye. Mark looked as handsome as ever; his hair was slicked back in a way you weren’t used to, but you knew you were going to nag him in to styling it like this all the time. He also looked very classy in his tux and you couldn’t help but laugh at the idea that his dad probably had to help him out with his tie. Your boyfriend was twenty-years-old yet he still had no clue how to fold a tie all that well.

“Baby, I can’t get over how fucking beautiful you are. God, I can’t stop staring at you. You’re giving all of your classmates here a run for their money.”

The night went by quicker than you would have liked; but that was because it was so much fun. Mark, like he always seemed to be was nothing short of a perfect gentleman. He made sure your night was going well by taking care of you like it was his life duty. Whenever you wanted to go talk with some of your friends at their tables, or if you had to use the bathroom, he held your things—when it got cold in the ballroom, he placed his suit jacket on your shoulders. He brought you out to the dance floor even against your many pleas because he wanted to make sure you had the time of your life. As he spun you around ever so lightly and placed his chin on your forehead, you knew that night was one of the best nights of your entire life.

“You know the next time I’ll get to have you like this—looking effortlessly stunning and dancing with you like we’re the only two people here, you’ll be Mrs.Mark Tuan.”

You couldn’t feel warmth fill up your entire body; his words sent fire to your bones and the thought of getting to marry him never failed to make you blush like a school girl who was approached by her crush. You looked up at him and stole a sweet kiss from the corner of his mouth before hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

“I’ll be waiting patiently for that day, but just know—I can’t wait.”

As soon as prom was finished, your boyfriend carried you bridal style up to the hotel room he rented for the both of you with the idea of showing you exactly what torture you caused him looking as “sexy” and “otherworldly” as you did that night.

Graduation came less than two weeks later and as much as you couldn’t wait to finally move on to the next chapter of your life, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t going to miss being in high school. Just like most boyfriends would in order to embarrass their girlfriends; Mark had an entire banner made for you and assigned all of his friends to hold it up for you during the ceremony and afterwards while waiting for you to walk out on the field.

You tried your best to stifle back a laugh at how crooked it was; Yugyeom practically towered over his older friends and it only made this event all the more memorable. Right as your principal called your name, gave you your honors chords and your certificate, you could hear your name being shouted from the back of the auditorium and you were sure you would melt on the spot seeing your boyfriend look at you as if you were the most ethereal goddess to exist. Unlike all of your other classmates who stayed a little while to talk to each other about their plans after high school, you made a beeline to where you knew your boyfriend, family and friends were waiting to congratulate you.

“There’s my beautiful college graduate. You’re glowing baby. I’m so happy for you.” He pulled you in to a tight hug but before he could even kiss you, you were being yanked in every other direction by your family.

“My youngest baby is a high school graduate and now she’s going off to college. You know y/n, there are many amazing colleges here in California. You can save your money and continue living with your father and I—“ You felt Mark wrap his hand around your waist as he took his place right next to you. He got along really well with your parents. Sometimes you felt as if they preferred him over you only because he knew the exact words to say to flatter your mom and to impress your dad. They were very good in treating him like family. However, you could tell by the tight grip that he wasn’t too fond of what your mom was trying to talk you in to doing.

“Don’t worry Mrs.y/l/n, your daughter is in good hands. She always has been and always will be. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

After saying your goodbyes to all of your relatives who flew down just to be there for your graduation, you made your way back towards Mark and his friends. BamBam and Yugyeom picked you up and spun you around while Jackson and Jinyoung pulled you against their chests and ruffled with your hair.

“Finally! You get to come up and experience what college is actually like—that’s if lover boy here ever let’s you come out with us.”

“In your dreams losers. You got me in trouble twice for shit I didn’t even do. I’m not letting you corrupt my sweet, innocent girlfriend—“

“Y/n? Innocent? Hahaha! Don’t make us laugh. Y/n is the furthest thing from innocent. My ears are still so sore from all her screams and moans that one night I came back to our dorm to pick up some clothes while she was there. By the way, as much as I like you y/n, I’m not all that happy you’re stealing my roommate. I hope Mark knows that I should get ultimate dibs on being his best man because of it. Speaking of which, did you finally get around to asking her—ah, asking her about the color to paint your room. I think we should get going now guys, let’s allow these two lovebirds to celebrate on their own. Congratulations again y/n!”

You’ve known Mark’s friends for quite some time now; Jackson knew something that he wasn’t supposed to tell you. The five of them were never good with keeping secrets nor were they ever good at telling lies. You didn’t have to look at Mark to know he wasn’t all too happy with Jackson; nor did you want to aggravate him even more by asking him the many questions that were on your mind. The main question being what exactly did he have yet to get around asking you?

You knew it wasn’t just a question about your soon to be apartment together and you now you were dying to know exactly what Jackson was referring to. Oh well, it was just going to have to wait till you could find a time that Mark wasn’t around for you to ask. Summer was always your favorite season; there was so much for you to do. You decided to take a break from work in order to spend as much time with your family before having to move to New York.

Most days, you and Mark would go around California; heading to all your favorite places together and even finding new places to make memories at. You also made sure to save some time to spend with Jaebeom seeing as how you were both going your separate ways. As much as he loved America, he missed his friends and family back in Korea. These last two years were meant specifically for him to learn English and to pick up on American culture. You knew you were going to do your best with keeping in touch with him.

Out of all your friends, Jaebeom was one you saw being in your life for a very long time. Your relationship with your parents also grew stronger; mainly because it was just the three of you now and soon it was just going to be the two of them. To your dismay, when you got to hang out with Mark’s friends again and even when you got Jackson alone, he pretended as if he had no clue what you were talking about when you asked him what he meant back at your graduation.

The truth was going to come out sooner or later, so you were just going to have to wait—no matter how much the curiosity was eating away at you. May, June and July never seemed to fly as quickly as they did but before you knew it, you were packing away everything you needed for college. Deep down, you were sad knowing that you were moving out of the house. You’ve been around your parents for your entire life, you weren’t sure if you were ready to live without them. Hell, your mom still made your appointments for you and even when you were to move thousands of miles away, you were sure she’d still be taking care of your responsibilities for you.

“Make sure to call me as soon as you land. And please, call me at least five times a day. Remember, you can can always come back home—“

“Mom—“

“If you ever need me I can fly up there and—“

“Mom—“

“Even if you need to take a break, I am totally fine with you taking a year off—“

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I’m in good hands, remember?”

You turned to look at your boyfriend putting your luggage in the back of his truck and returned his smile when he caught you looking at him. Tears started to build up at your eyelids as you looked at your mom trying her best to fight back her tears.

“I’ll always be your little girl, don’t ever forget that. College will go by faster than we think and Mark and I plan on returning back to California once I graduate. It’s not goodbye mom, it’s just a see you later. Please take care of yourself. I love you so much.”

Saying goodbye to your parents was harder than you thought it would be. In fact, your boyfriend had to pull to the side in order to console you and comfort you as you cried. He left gentle kisses on your forehead while he ran his hands through your hair. It didn’t take long for you to calm down, especially because Mark was really good in giving you time to let it all out before reminding you that everything was going to be okay. You were reminded of how hard it must have been for him having to leave two years ago, but now you were finally going to be together permanently.

Mark’s touch was so comforting; you could tell he wanted to be there for you yet he also wanted to give you some space. He did everything for the both of you; brought both his and your luggage’s to security and got them checked in, found your gate and had you sit down so he could go purchase some snacks for the ride. You didn’t realize just how tired you were until you knocked out only minutes after getting settled on the plane. This meant that you weren’t able to see the way Mark was looking at you so adoringly; but it’s not something you weren’t used to. He looked at you that way all the time. You felt a gentle push on your shoulder and a few wet kisses scatter along your face and you had a feeling Mark was trying to wake you up.

“Baby, time to get up. We’re here.”

A huge part of you was still pretty sad that you were no longer in California, but the hand that was tightly holding yours as you were being guided through the airport reminded you as to why you were doing this. Looking at Mark right now; you never felt more at home than you did at this moment. It didn’t matter where you were, your heart was always so full having him with you. The first couple of weeks were the hardest. Getting settled in to your new apartment was a foreign feeling. Mark actually had everything set up for the both of you before he even left for California.

You were very grateful that he was so patient and understanding with you; but it didn’t take long for you to get used to New York City and living with your boyfriend. It was actually everything you could ever hope it would be. He allowed you to make the decisions on how you wanted the place to look like.

The apartment was shockingly very spacious; and he actually had purchased quite a lot of furniture. You were shocked to see just how nice the place actually was—you didn’t think Mark was capable of being an interior designer, but you decided to keep the place looking the way it did. Your bedroom had to be your favorite place in the unit, he had a couple of photos of the two of you scattered throughout the room and separated both your sides of the closet and on the bathroom sink.

He put so much effort in to making sure you were content and it only made your feelings for the older boy grow stronger if it was even possible. College wasn’t at all what you were expecting it to be and you were silently cursing all of Mark’s friends for telling you that it was such a fun experience. Mark introduced you to a couple of his teammates and a few friends he’s made in the last two years while giving you a tour of the campus and showing you where your classes were. You ended up getting a job at your school’s library in order to help Mark pay for the rent and other necessities.

Even if it was just your first year in college, there were days you would find yourself crying because of how strenuous the work load was on top of having to work. There were also days where Mark was constantly at work, practice or school and you didn’t want to put even more stress on him knowing how exhausted he would be whenever he’d come home.

One night, he texted you saying he would be coming home late in order to pick up this week’a groceries. You didn’t think much of it; although, normally the two of you would go together so that you both could get the things you either needed or simply just wanted. Your boyfriend also had a bad habit of buying a bunch of unnecessary items he never needed, so you tried your best to make sure you’d be there with him. But this week, you’ve been picking up a lot of late night shifts and Mark could tell the last thing you wanted to do was go grocery shopping, no matter how much you enjoyed doing something so domestic with him.

When you reached your apartment, you saw his shoes in the cubby hole and his backpack by the counter—so you knew he was home. Everything seemed put away; you checked the fridge and all the shelves were filled with different kinds of food and drinks. He also got the essentials; dishwashing liquid, laundry soap, dryer sheets, shampoo and conditioner. Something didn’t feel right though; normally, he would be out in the living room playing video games or doing his work at the dining table.

Maybe he was tired; you still couldn’t understand how he could manage five classes a week, playing sports for hours on end and going straight to work right after only to come home like he had all the energy in the world. Right as you were about to look around for him, you saw a crumpled paper in the corner of your eye which you assumed to be the receipt.

Curiosity got the best of you—he always paid for the groceries no matter how many times you’d tell him to split the bill. In fact, he would pay for pretty much anything and told you to save your money to buy things you wanted to. It was hard accepting the fact that he did all of this for you—sacrificed so much for you because he loved you with his entire being only because you didn’t feel like you deserved any of it. If anything, he was the one who deserved so much more than what you could give him. When you scanned the receipt, everything seemed perfectly normal—he purchased every item the two of you would normally buy.

However, towards the bottom of the list you saw something that made you confused, yet you let out a little giggle.

“Mark!” You began walking towards your bedroom in the hopes of getting an explanation as to why he felt the need to buy his favorite cookies in bulk.

“Babe, I know you love nutter butter, but eight packages? Are you preparing for an apocalypse or something—oh my God.”

Your question was answered as soon as you opened the door. There, in all of his devastatingly handsome glory, your boyfriend of ten years, down on one knee with a red box in his hand and a tray of nutter butter on the bed spelling out the words “will you marry me?” There were roses scattered all over the ground and candles spread throughout the room. Your heart was racing faster that it ever has in your entire life.

“Mark—“

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

The smile on his face was barely reaching his eyes and you could tell it was because he was nervous. He was shaking and he looked like he was on the verge of throwing up; you couldn’t understand why though. Sure, marriage proposals were always so nerve wrecking, but he should already know the answer. You slowly walked toward him and gently kneeled to his level while cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I know this isn’t as romantic as you probably would have wanted it to be. Trust me, I planned out many different scenarios about how this was going to pan out. The guys told me to take you to a beach, or a fancy restaurant but I thought this would be more meaningful. I mean, I realized you were someone special to me when I shared my nutter butter with you over thirteen years ago. You know you are the only person I would do such a thing for—you’re the only person I’d do anything for. I’d give you my kidney if you needed it. I know—we’re still so young to be getting married, but I just couldn’t wait anymore. I’ve been in love with you before I even knew what the word love meant. I’d tell my parents I loved them; I told each and every one of my siblings that I loved them—but with you, it was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love that—I don’t know, my heart always felt so happy and so full every minute I spent with you. You showed me what love is—you made me feel loved and cared for in ways that I don’t think I could ever be able to thank you for doing. You are the most beautiful, funny, charismatic, intelligent, wonderful and honestly perfect human being to walk this earth. God—I can’t even—I’m so fucking in love with you. We’ve had a few ups and downs, but it only made me realize that you are the only person I want to go through hell and back with. You and I are soulmates baby, there’s no doubt about it. I’ve been blessed to have you in my life for almost fifteen years now and I can’t wait to spend an eternity with you. Y/n, will you do the amazing honor and continue to make me the happiest man on earth by marrying me?”

#got7 imagines #got7 #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 mark

57 notes · View notes

wordsablaze · 4 years

Text

hardest of hearts

A fix-it songfic inspired by a request for something post-mountain where Geralt feels guilty for hurting his bard and Jaskier struggles with low self-esteem...

A/N: @holisticfansstuff hey, i finally wrote this for your ask !! sorry it took a while and i’m not quite sure this is what you wanted but i hope it’s alright !! the song is hardest of hearts by florence + the machine x

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

And with that one sentence, Jaskier shatters.

And everything changes.

there is love in your body but you can’t hold it in

Meletite knows Jaskier has had enough practice picking up the broken pieces of himself, whether it’s literally pulling his skin back together after being too troublesome or reassembling the shards of his heart after someone carelessly, unknowingly damages it.

He’s broken and been broken countless times before and really, it should be nothing new to witness himself do so once more. Because Jaskier has always loved freely and deeply, but it had been different this time.

And yes, he’s long since lost track of how many windows he’s leaped out of before the sun has risen or how many hushed promises have turned into hazy tavern memories. But this time, it was Geralt.

It was his livelihood and his muse and his very reason for making it through winter, and it was different to any other love he’d nurtured - it was the only one he’d offered slowly and steadily, the only one that had been so sharply spat back at him.

Never has he struggled so much to even breathe right as he turns away.

it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin

Geralt is so, so fiercely angry that he forgets how to be guilty.

That is, until he sees Jaskier’s expression, because Jaskier should be angry or upset or amused but he’s simply a brave face, a faux smile, a testament to Geralt’s mistakes.

An excuse is made about collecting the rest of the story but they both know there’ll never be an accurate song sung about a dragon hunt. And if Jaskier’s expression isn’t enough, the bitter sorrow and sharp pain that radiates from him even after Geralt has turned around is evidence enough.

He’s messed up and he’s messed up horribly and he’s frozen in place as he hears Jaskier’s footsteps fade until they’re too far to follow.

Part of him hopes Jaskier will stay so things can go back to normal but by the time he remembers to move, the only trace left of him is a lingering floral scent that does nothing to fill the sudden void in Geralt’s world.

tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks

Jaskier walks until his feet hurt and then he carries on walking because that’s what he always does when his heart breaks. Only this time he’s certain the blisters on his feet will heal long before his heart does, if it ever does.

He’s no stranger to this sort of pain, he’s travelled a path paved with the disdain of people he’s loved, but Geralt’s blow seems to have hit the hardest of them all despite never truly touching him.

And worst of all, he doesn’t dare sing about it lest anyone get the wrong idea about witchers, for that would unravel decades of effort and he couldn’t bear to see their kind suffer just because it turns out he has a weak heart.

“Toss a coin to your witcher…” he sings, tempted to toss and lose the coin that’s been nestled in his pockets since Posada.

He’s a fool for keeping it, he knows he is, but he can’t bear to part with it, can’t bear to admit that he’s been cast aside by yet another love.

and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

It’s no secret that Geralt is a quiet person by nature.

He’s never pretended otherwise, which is why it was such a shock when Jaskier slots into his life as if he were born to do so.

Because Jaskier talks enough for the both of them and he becomes an expert in knowing what Geralt is feeling, even when he himself hasn’t figured it out. And Geralt hates it at first, hates the way Jaskier knows when he needs help with bargaining or when he just wants to get away from people and shelter in the forests.

He knows he doesn’t express his gratitude enough, he knows that Jaskier deserves someone who can match his love, who can hold his hand in broad daylight instead of curling up with him in the dead of night under the pretence of necessity.

It doesn’t bother Jaskier though, and all the bard asks for in return is tales of heroics and heartbreak for his songs - Geralt hates himself for so harshly providing the latter.

there is love in your body but you can’t get it out

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jaskier regrets building up his career on Geralt’s adventures.

He’d never imagined that they’d part ways - or rather, he’d let his guard down and forgotten to remember that most people leave him eventually - so he’s wholly unprepared for how much it hurts to sing about witchers when he’s no longer travelling with one.

But he does it anyway because he’s loved Geralt from the start and he doesn’t think he’s capable of ever not loving Geralt and he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

So he keeps going.

On and on.

He travels as far as he can so that he can stay out of Geralt’s way, taking his broken heart with him and ignoring the way he feels like its shards are tearing into his insides a little more with each passing day.

it gets stuck in your head, won’t come out of your mouth

There is more than one town in which Geralt wants to murder a bard.

His bard - for that is what everyone knows Jaskier as - has created masterpieces and they are being butchered by men with far lesser voices, by men who don’t deserve to sing them in the first place.

And Geralt yearns to hear the original versions but it seems he is fated to hear Jaskier’s pain second-hand. He asks around, of course he does, for where to find Jaskier, but nobody knows what to tell him and he has never been good at bargaining for information.

He wishes he knew how to say more than please and thank you but Jaskier was his communication and without him, he can only really achieve the minimum required from him.

Regret pools in his gut every time Jaskier’s trail fizzles out.

sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face

Performance has always been Jaskier’s area of expertise but gods is it difficult to pretend he isn’t drowning in the love he was never meant to keep for himself.

He doesn’t know what to do with his compliments and his teasing and his fond exasperation because all of it was for Geralt and if Geralt doesn’t want it, doesn’t want him, he doesn’t know what to do with it, with himself.

He wastes some of his unwanted love on drunken adventures and always regrets it when he’s asked to stay and give up his travels or asked to leave and flee before a betrothed returns - both demands are knives that sink into his chest and add to the cracks in his heart.

It seems that nobody can truly understand what pleases him but he cannot fault them for he has forgotten how to be honest, whether it’s with others or himself.

Jaskier is tired of loving and hurting as if they are one and the same.

that the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

“I care for you,” Geralt tells Ciri.

“I want you to be safe,” he adds sincerely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he is.

But all he’s doing is repeating what Jaskier had done, what Jaskier had taught him, and the words sometimes refuse to leave his lips because even they know someone else should have had the right to hear them first.

And all Geralt can do is hope Ciri understands that he means well, he really does. She does, of course, because she is far smarter than she seems and because she too has learned from Jaskier - another fact that sends wave after wave of sour guilt through his mind.

With no way to cure it, his guilt only festers.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

Jaskier was a mere infant the first time he was abandoned, not that he truly remembers the woman who had decided she didn’t want to take care of him anymore. He only knows because his parents had held it against him, as well as every other heart he failed to win over, right from the start.

Geralt hadn’t abandoned him, Jaskier reminds himself every time he feels anger rise inside of him, he was the one who had abandoned Geralt. And he feels terrible, especially after hearing about Cintra, about Nilfgaard, about everything.

A part of him firmly believes that Geralt is safe because he refuses to think that the love of his life could die without him feeling it, but a part of him is too scared to hold onto that faith.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…” he sings, because he is.

But only ever for his white wolf.

but you’ll never know what a fool i’ve been

Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and feels sick when his brothers tell him how soldiers have been none too gently questioning any bards they come across.

He feels stupid when he realises that all this time, he’s been endangering Jaskier by not trying hard enough to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to apologise for his cruel words on the mountain.

And he feels even worse when he thinks of what little Jaskier has told him about his past, of how he had never spoken of his parents, of how his touch had lingered as if waiting for permission that he hadn’t thought to grant.

Oh, how ungrateful he had been of the first person to teach him the true meaning of emotions.

“You have to find him,” everyone says, and he can’t bring himself to argue.

there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

Funny how one can never be prepared for the sting of a whip, Jaskier thinks.

A brief flirt with fame had inflated his ego but no matter because bleeding out in a stone cell is the perfect way to remember that he is nothing and means nothing to anyone.

He lives, of course he does, but only because he hangs onto the possibility of once more meeting a golden gaze the same way he hangs from the ceiling and ruins his wrists, which is to say he does so every day.

And he’s okay with all the superficial agony inflicted upon him because although nobody learns anything from him, he learns from them that they’re still searching, that Geralt is safe, and that he has no true reason to be upset.

He doesn’t even care that there’s not a single person he can think of who would bother trying to save him.

but pulls us apart when we’re holding each other

Witchers cannot travel in time but Geralt so dearly wishes they could.

He doesn’t find Jaskier before snow starts to fall and travel becomes impossible.

He fails and it’s his fault that Jaskier is out there somewhere - possibly hurt, possibly dead, and possibly worse - when he is given warmth and love and everything his bard deserves more than him.

A deep chill settles into his very bones and although he is offered blankets, he knows it cannot be averted except by Jaskier’s touch. Oh, how he craves the warmth of sharing a bedroll and waking up at ungodly hours so Jaskier can learn about the constellations for his newest ballad.

He wants nothing more than to take back his words and keep Jaskier in his life, in his arms.

we all want something to hold in the night

A noble lineage meant that Jaskier was taught independence before anything else.

It meant he was always “a big boy who needs to stop wasting time” and “not a child anymore, for goodness sake” and “such a pathetic excuse of a noble, you should know better than that by now” but he was never truly loved.

And he never learned that he was meant to be loved, never learned that the affection he gave was supposed to be returned in equal.

So as Jaskier wobbles and stumbles through his escape, collapsing into the forest floor when his legs refuse to support his weight any longer, he just closes his eyes and pretends that he’s not in his own arms, that he’s in the arms of someone who cares enough to look for him.

But of course, he’s not.

And he wakes up alone.

Over and over again.

we don’t care if it hurts or we’re holding too tight

Geralt leaves at the first sight of spring.

He couldn’t possibly wait a day longer when he’s made Jaskier wait so long, even though he can’t be sure if Jaskier is even still waiting for him or if he’s moved on, which he had every right to do.

He forgets how to plan and finds that his resources run out before he’s crossed even two towns, but he makes do from under the cover of shadows and night because he couldn’t bear to give up, not on Jaskier.

With the bounty on his head, he finds himself fighting monsters just to survive rather than for coin. And with the bounty on his head, he finds himself having to treat his own injuries because he can’t ask a healer and he doesn’t have his best friend to help him.

Nothing hurts as much as Jaskier’s absence.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

The only reason Jaskier survives past winter is because he heads to the coast.

He’s lucky that despite his reputation for trading secrets, he’s never traded all of his own. He’s always kept his love of the open water to himself and that’s the only reason he makes it there at all.

It still hurts to curl up inside his secret little coastal home though, because he’d spent so long imagining what it would be like to bring his- to bring Geralt with him. But he knows that can’t happen because Geralt had grown tired of him and wants nothing to do with him.

He doesn’t have a lot of food and he knows he should be concerned about that but he can’t bring himself to care because for the first time in over two decades, he doesn’t have anything - note, anyone - to live for.

but that’s no excuse for the state i’m in

It’s harder than it had seemed to travel without being seen.

Geralt knows how to hunt. He knows when to hide and when to begin travelling but for some reason, getting to Jaskier is far more difficult than any contract he’s ever taken.

He’s never been one for Destiny but he finds himself practically praying to her for a way to reach his- for a way to reach who he so dearly wants to make his again. His bard, his friend, his Jaskier.

Roach jerks to a halt every time he almost falls asleep whilst still on the saddle but he doesn’t learn from it, he can’t afford to when he so desperately needs to make amends, so desperately needs to figure out how much damage he’s caused and then fix it before he loses the best part of his life.

Desperation has never been his colour but then again, he's never cared for being fashionable.

my heart swells like a water at work

There’s a knock at the door but Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to move.

He stays where he is, huddled by a fire that’s long since run out of fuel to burn, and hopes that if it’s another mage, they kill him quickly this time. But it’s not.

“Jaskier, please!”

He blinks.

It can’t possibly be who he thinks it is, who he wants it to be, can it?

It can.

“Jaskier?” Quieter this time, as if he’s worried.

And then a crashing thud echoes, followed by his favourite set of footsteps and a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches without meaning to, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Geralt offers him a small smile and he promptly decides to do both.

can’t stop myself before it’s too late

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I’m so sorry.”

It’s an apology long overdue, Geralt knows that, but he has to try, he can’t stop himself from trying, not this time, not when it comes to Jaskier.

And he looks so awfully small wrapped in blankets that Geralt can feel his heart clench. He feels even smaller when he melts into Geralt’s touch as if he’s never been granted the luxury of being held as he cries.

“I know,” Jaskier replies between sobs.

There’s so much more that Geralt needs to say but it’s a start and it’s more than enough because Jaskier is alive.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt says, not sure if he’s asking or demanding or begging. But it doesn’t really matter which because Jaskier agrees all the same and he’s just glad he has another chance.

hold on to your heart

Jaskier doesn’t want to get comfortable again.

Well, he does. More than anything. But he doesn’t want to risk the consequences again, he doesn’t think he can live through another heartbreak because there’s so little of his heart left intact and he’s scared to lose himself entirely.

So he goes to the school of the wolves and he gets help for his injuries - and scars, but he doesn’t want to think about that any time soon - but he can’t bring himself to relax, not entirely.

He’s sure they can smell his constant worrying and he feels awful for being such a pain but he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do and his fingers itch for a lute but he doesn’t want to annoy anyone by asking for one.

“I’m okay,” he promises, knowing that it’s a broken one even as it leaves his lips.

‘cause i’m coming to take you

It’s a month before Geralt clocks on to the problem and risks leaving, returning just before dawn with a lute that he places on the table beside Jaskier’s bed.

It’s another week before music fills the building.

It's two more everyone finds themselves humming or singing along every time they hear the lute being played. And another before Geralt finds Jaskier waiting for him where he usually trains, a hesitant smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Geralt nods. “It was the least I could do.”

Jaskier frowns, slowly shaking his head and shuffling his feet. “It’s far more than that. Music, it- it’s almost everything to me, I can't explain it...”

Geralt exhales softly. “But I can understand it because, Jaskier, you’re almost everything to me.”

hold on to your heart

A childhood filled with recklessly throwing around his heart meant that Jaskier became more careful with who he truly trusted over time.

Not careful enough, but still too careful to forgive and forget.

But Geralt is patient and kind and more affectionate than Jaskier has ever seen him and he can’t help falling in love all over again, not that he’d climbed out of it in the first place.

He wants to let go of the dragon hunt, he really does, but Geralt’s words still sting and they, along with his mother’s and father’s and countless fleeting lovers’, flash in his mind every time he thinks about surrendering his heart once again.

And he’s scared, he’s oh so scared that Geralt will get bored of him, sick of him, fed up with him again.

‘cause i’m coming to break you

Geralt waits until summer is waving goodbye before telling Jaskier.

He can feel Jaskier’s doubt rising, he can feel the way he’s not sure whether he’ll be invited to stay for winter or not - he will, of course, because he has become one of their own and it would be foolish if he wasn’t.

But when a week goes by without even the faintest echo of a lute, he and Ciri gather up the prettiest flowers they can find and after their evening meal, he offers them to Jaskier.

“I love you,” he admits softly.

Jaskier is still for all of a few seconds before he starts crying.

And Geralt’s whole body is telling him to run because he hates to see tears in his favourite blue eyes but he resists that urge and slowly, carefully wraps his arms around the bard instead.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, Jaskier, and I don’t think I could ever not.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he falls asleep in Geralt��s embrace and finally lets his guard down, and that’s answer enough for anyone.

hold on

The war rages on but Jaskier finally finds peace.

Nothing about their life is particularly easy but he has never been more at ease because as much as Geralt had hurt him, he’d also helped him to heal far more than anybody else ever has.

“You have my heart,” he confesses one morning, after waking up to Geralt’s rare but increasingly more common smiles.

“You can keep it to yourself, your love is enough for me,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier blinks slowly, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, but he does curse softly. “When did you become so poetic, my dear witcher?”

Geralt chuckles, pulling him impossibly close and leaning right beside his ear to reply, “When you taught me how, my dear bard.”

It takes a matter of seconds for Jaskier to decide that he wants to get married.

hold on

Geralt says very little the day they lawfully commit to spending the rest of their lives together.

He says very little as Yennefer and Ciri craft their rings and loop them into matching chains. He says very little as Eskel and Lambert place their bets on who’s going to cry first - they’re both idiots, it’s obviously Jaskier - or who’s going to remain dry-eyed. And he says very little as Vesemir gives them his blessing.

But when they return to their room, Jaskier places his hands on either side of Geralt’s face and smiles softly. “Geralt, my love, will you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word.”

And finally, Geralt cracks. “We vowed to stay with each other until we die, right?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Of course, but I would have done that with or without the ceremony, you know that.”

“Witchers live for a long time, Jaskier. I-”

Jaskier places a finger on Geralt’s lips, grinning. “You beautiful fool of a witcher, do I look like the kind of bard that’s going to die any time soon?”

When Geralt really looks, it’s obvious that he doesn’t.

And so, with that one sentence, everything changes again.

For the better this time.

it's not particularly original, i know, but i really love this song and kind of let this write itself, and i have too many WIPs to have spent any longer trying to make this better :p hope it was okay anyway <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier

66 notes · View notes

obi-wan-kanbonemi · 4 years

Text

Wanted

Captain Rex x Reader

Summary: that weird time after The Clone Wars and before Rebels that I can literally find nothing on, you and Rex are constantly on the run from the Empire and he wants you to stay and not follow him for your safety, but you put a foot down

This is the first time I’m writing for Rex. The one shot is ok, I’ve done better but I’ve also done worse. There’s always a first for everything too, in this case the first time writing for Rex or any clone for that matter.

Sorry for typos my loves

Captain Rex Taglist: @ct7567329

———————————————————————

"I'm tired of running...," came out Rex's tired voice as he sat on the edge of the rundown bed of the abandoned house the two of you were currently hunkered down in. The new Galactic Empire forced the two of you into hiding after the dreaded order 66. It had been just you and him drifting from place to place, scrounging up whatever you could have gotten before heading on the move again or simply hiding away from the Galactic Empire who were still currently executing any 'traitor' or Jedi that would be so unlucky to cross their paths. You and Rex has everything under control so far.

"Well, me too, but it is the way it has to be," your own tired voice drifted out from your lips as you rummaged through all of the things that the two of you owned, keeping track of everything that had come and was in your possession. "We have enough food for a couple of weeks, medical supplies, and spare parts for whenever we can leave this blasted place on our craft," you spoke out with a sigh of relief as you stood up from your crouched position, arms crossed over the front of your body. Though your heart only sunk with the sadness that was planted upon Rex's face when he looked at you, hands cradling his helmet in his hands, thumbs brushing up against all those tallies that he had placed.

"Who would have ever thought that everything would come to this? I was programmed to kill my friends....the people I was sworn to protect," His thoughts were stopped when you stepped up to him, a hand being placed upon his shoulder, his armor thankfully discard off to the side in a beaten, old chair.

This had happened often, why wouldn't it? Rex would go on the darkest paths within his own mind, spewing out the guilts and horrors that plagued his mind, but it was your job to intervene. Well, not really a job, it was your duty. You cared for him with your entire being, mind, and heart. You would do anything to pull himself out of the dark hole that would threaten to engulf him.

"Don't think like that, because you helped the ones you loved, you helped the ones who easily return the same love and trust as you, don't forget that, Rex," His eyes closed as your hand grabbed ahold gently of his chin, relaxing under your soft gentle touch, melting into the hand that soon cupped his jaw.

"Well, I wasn't lying when I said I was tired of running though, dear," your hand was brought to his lips where he pressed a soft kiss to them before pulling them away, his rough hand holding onto yours. If only the two of you could stop running, maybe settle down somewheres and live in a house in the middle of nowhere and start a family. You've heard a story of a clone doing such a thing, so you and Rex could definitely do it.

"Well...what if we find a place to live? Away from all the chaos? Live a simple life," you said hopefully, lowering yourself next to him, you hand resting within his on his lap, letting him play with your fingers. "I'm sure we can find a place, a nice place, where the empire has not sunk it's nasty claws into it," Though you knew instantly that your words were wishes that couldn't be as Rex looked at you with those eyes that would forever hold a sadness within them. That sadness that always sent your heart sinking to the depths of your stomach.

"Now me and you both know...that the idea that you are picturing....is foolish...," You didn't even notice the tear that escaped from your eye that Rex was now gently wiping away with his thumb, soon that hand brushing up against your cheek, fingers tucking away a few rogue strands of hair behind your ear. "We can't live that life of normal...couples...," that word felt weird upon his tongue. It felt rebellious since he wasn't allowed to have relationships as a clone and always had to be careful with the relationship he had with you, but now that he had the freedom? It just all felt weird yet some how exciting still. "I know a few planets in certain systems that are voided of people or have very few...I will be heading there."

Your head shot to look at him, hurriedly shooting up from your spot next to him, hands automatically upon your hips as you stared at him in disbelief.

"You? What do you mean by 'you'?" You couldn't believed your ears. Did you just hear him correctly? Or did he forget how to speak? "I'm not going anywheres without you Rex, no way! You have got to be kriffing mad to think you are just going to leave me!" You has begun to pace before him, but all Rex could do was hang his head, eyes boring into the helmet that was now back in his hands. "We are a team! A pair! A duo!" The tears had now made their entrance, but you quickly turned to put your back to him to hide them. Rex knee though, he always new, which prompted him to stand up, now behind you.

"Look, you've still got a chance to have a normal life...even if it is with this new empire, but I don't, I'm a wanted man at this point, a walking liability and putting you through that? I'm not willing to do that," he spoke with a sigh as he rested a hand upon your shaking shoulder, turning you to finally face him.

It was your turn to melt into his hand that he placed upon your cheek, hand clasping the top of his as your body quivered with your silent sobs and tears that streamed down your pink cheeks. Finally, when you thought that you were given a chance to be with the man you loved, he wanted to go away and just leave you behind. You of course understood his reasoning, but didn't he realize that you were willing to do ANYTHING for him? You would sacrifice yourself for him.

"You listen here, hotshot, I'm going with you wherever the kriff you are going next, understand that? I don't care about all 'danger' this and 'liability' that, besides, I'm the one in charge anyway...," you tried to joke, but Rex knew that small joke didn't cover up the fact that you were being serious as he caresses and held your face in his hands, his eyes staring deeply into yours before sighing, forehead resting up yours as he let his hands slide down your arms.

"Fine...but I warned you...don't forget that...," he muttered out before pressing his lips to your a soft kiss before pulling away, once again tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before placing one more kiss upon your lips.

45 notes · View notes

soldierallen · 5 years

Text

Married. 12

Tagged @hiddlestonstansworld @lovely-geek @imcalledflorence @misz-adrii @escapistdreamer-wishfulthinker @someplxce @cuddlesforlashton @coffeebooksandfandomsohmy @weasley16 @ilovethewayyourheartbeats @vogueworthy-barnes @xeniarocks @thisismysecrethappyplace @racheo91 @gravedollie666 @inlovewith3 @supernaturaldean67 // if anyone wants to be untagged or tagged please leave a message ty♡ also I do not own any gifs or images of any kind.

Warnings: some casual crying, arguing, and a little - romance

Reminder: also a few things from previous chapters will come up!

Part 11:

Appearances: Sebastian Stan, Anthony Mackie, Henry Cavill, Chase Crawford, Morena Baccarin, Alexandria Daddario,

Her interview was going well chase was well respected and she respected him the way he held himself in the midst though she was extremely nervous.

"Thank you for your time mr crawford, and I can't believe you're with elena shes been a good friend to me for so long" she smiled shaking his hand he stood up "thank you for coming i appreciate the work you do having someone like you on this team would be a delight, elena is a good women any friend of hers is a friend of mine" he smiled, he was gorgeous she thanked him once more and she opened that big door that was extremely heavy might I add, she looked out into the office waiting room stood sat sebastian he immediately stood up to see her walking up to her quickly "so?" He rubbed his hands together waiting for the news

"I'm pretty sure I got it" She said squealing he laughed hugging her tightly "oh bug I knew you could do it I just knew it!" His hands on her biceps she was excited her life was getting back on track all because of seb, "it's like faith brought me here first elena than chase has a deal with a guy at BlackRock YOU I mean the pieces are falling together" She said with a huge smile on her face, her smile fell thinking of the shitty news shes going to tell sebastian "hey can we talk for a minute?" He nodded

"Henry doesn't like us being friendly" she air quoted the friendly bit, sebastian nodded "I don't wanna stay away from you - you mean too much to me I just need there to be boundaries about us as in-" she took a deep breath "I'm living with Henry now" sebastian was shocked "you're living with him after he told you?" Sebastian said she was more confused than ever

"Told me what"

"About the kid?" He said slowly, he knew Henry never told her or the rest of them for that matter. they kept a big secret from her he's not gonna let that slide anymore sebastian was tired of keeping secrets even if it wasn't his secret to keep..

"Seb what are you saying right now?" She felt her heart getting quicker "it's none of my business-" sebastian said whilst being cut off by a hand tugging on his shirt "you're the only person I trust right now don't make me over think it"

"Morena's pregnant, and everyone's sure it's Henry's he just wont admit to it" he felt like a snake, betraying his best friend- but y/n was his best friend too

"I'm gonna KILL HIM" her adrenaline coursing through her veins she felt angry

"No it wasn't my place to say anything we've known about it for months it was between the four of us" what he said made her angrier she stormed out of the lobby hitting the streets- she looked around for a cab near by sebastian ran after her "doll what are you doing"

"What does it look like I'm doing" she pushed the hair out of her mouth quickly "he's getting a piece of me" she hailed the cab and sebastian jumped in her hands shook, he wanted to ruin it for Henry because well Henry didn't deserve her and I don't deserve her neither - however at least I didn't keep something like this from her.

he was in love with her he wanted to marry her. All along hes lied to her countless of times that he wasn't interested he didn't want her when he was lying the whole time.

"doll slow down" his hand crept up on her thigh "how could you all LIE TO ME" she shouted being angry warm fuzzy feeling in her stomach alerted her what was making her feel like that? His hand on her skin the small light touches of his finger tips sweeping across her thigh.

"it wasn't our place to say anything." He kept his word, a phone call from sebastian's phone he looked at it, it was Henry. "Is that him?" She asked and he swallowed "answer it on speaker" "Hey" he answered holding the phone in the palm of his hand so she could hear the speaker turn on

"seb I called your office they said you skipped work today? For a special occasion?" her heart shuttered knowing he skipped coming in to be with her, he always did stuff like that she just thought he's being my friend I'm always just going to be his friend she looked at him with a bit of dreamy eyes and slowly she stopped herself coming back to reality that Henry was going to be a father.

"Yeah everything went great" he smiled to himself and she saw his smile "listen Henry where are you?" He asked

"Well I was calling you for a drink me and the guys are at that bar" he said with a laugh

"Oh okay I'll meet you there" he hung up "y/n let's not do this in public it's bad press" he said trying to lighten the mood and she didnt take note to it, "sebastian this isn't funny I'm being lied to for 8 fucking months without a soul telling me otherwise that Henry's going to be a father"

"Hey can you make a right here" sebastian said while she was talking

"I can't fucking believe it" she crossed her arms over her chest spreading her legs like a little kid would when they would have a tantrum, then finally arrived to "Jameson's room" a stuffy bar with a pool table

"Seb glad you cou-" Anthony said as he saw who walked in behind him, y/n.

"Hey baby what are you doing here" Henry smiled ready to grab her hand and kiss her cheek lovingly when he saw her face

"Can I speak to you outside?" She tried to make it sound like she wasn't so angry but it came out worse

"Darling what's wrong?" He got up from the stool slowly about to grab her hand she pulled away "woah alright what the hell?" He was offended "outside now" "no whatever you want to say you can say it here" "I don't think that's a good idea" sebastian interjected "SEB" she said he held his hands up in defense taking a step back

"Okay let's talk right here! you got Morena pregnant and didn't even THINK to tell me you're going to be a father?" she felt like the whole room went quiet Chris turned pale as did Anthony their blood ran cold.

"How did you find out" Henry said he was shaking he was scared, God she's never seen him like that. He knew in his heart this is going to set her off it's over.

"It doesn't matter, but what does matter is I've poured my heart out my soul my bank account to all of you, and you kept this secret from me letting me start to date you when you had you're own SHIT to deal with, I was going through a hard enough time getting over sebastian and his fucking marriage you swept me off my feet making me feel whole again" she felt a tear form she quickly stopped herself

"I called Morena she told me herself she was the women you were having sex with at the hotel am I right or wrong?" She lied she never called Morena she just wants to know if the pieces match up. Henry cleared his throat "yeah" "you know Henry you said to me not so long ago We need you happy we need you healthy you are only hurting yourself, but in the long run you've been hurting me this entire time" she shallowed back her tears

"I trusted you, I trusted Chris, I trusted Anthony- you know I thought for once things were different this time and you would stop lying to me stop keeping secrets from me but no, it's still happening."

with that she opened the bar door leaving out of their lives "doll" sebastian ran after her, Henry now suspicious he runs right after him.

"Sebastian I can't look at you" she was already crying he was steps away from her she was looking at the sky her back was turned, he knew she was happy today however he couldn't let Henry have her because of what he did.

"I said I was happy for you when you chose Henry- for 10 minutes, I took a girl up to my room I pulled her clothes off and I kissed her I thought maybe she would fill the void like I always do." Seb yelled out from afar

"And I knew she wasn't you, nobody was you, that night we sat on the hood of my car, we talked about how lifes been treating us since the move, and I couldn't get you out of my head when i went home I should've seen it all before but it was my fault" she turned to look at him

"I almost got married to a women I hate because i thought i was in love with her because she filled the void for the first time i was amazed by infatuation" Henry's heart was beating so loud in his ears he felt a sudden pressure in his head hearing these words come out of his friends mouth.

"I lied, we all did, because we thought he was gonna tell you we begged him for months to say anything. He never said a word that isn't on me or Chris or Anthony it's on Henry"

"do not turn your back on us" she felt tears form in her eyes once again, she quickly tried to stop herself

"I trusted you God I trusted all of you! I thought we were done with secrets when we caught her cheating on you, where were you when I needed you when I was in my darkest moment" she argued she pushed his chest over and over he took it he deserved it "he's here now please don't turn your back on me" he whispered so softly and in his gentlesy voice she finally broke down in his arms they got closer to the ground every couple seconds until they were both hugging sitting on the side of the pavement cars passing along not knowing what was unfolding on the streets, mindless.

"As soon as he walked in with her I knew, just something in my gut said sebastian told her everything" Henry sipped out of his beer, playing with the small coaster underneath "his finally got her, by default." He sipped his beer and with a disgusted look on his face he grabbed his jacket and left

her head in his chest, his hand cradling the back of her head his lips pressed against the top, "I'm still mad at you" she said tears streaming down her face "I know it's okay, I'm not looking for forgiveness I'm looking to be apart of your life again maybe it wi take you years to forgive me and I'm just gonna have to wait for you like you've waited for me." he kissed her hair and they untangled themselves from each other "I'm gonna get us a cab sleep over tomorrow we'll search for an apartment" he lend her a hand to stand up and she took it "you know I'm tired of crying over you" she tried to lighten her mood, he gave a sad smile and hugged her side "I'm sorry for all the tears doll" he wiped them for her they grabbed a cab and headed off to his apartment,

She was in his room, he opened his draws and looked for clothes for her just until tomorrow he side eyed her every move she looked around his room, her fingers caressing his picture frames "when was this" she asked he looked at her, it was a photo of all of them in front the fireplace at Anthony's house, her head laid on sebastian's shoulder and the other three boys laughing at something, she' never saw this photo until today.

"remember we all went to that football game and it started to pour Anthony's house was the closest to the school we got soaked and spent the night at his place" he said packing a shirt for her and sweatpants which were incredibly loose

"Oh yeah I forgot about that night, Anthony's mom took that picture, i miss her" she remembered and smiled to herself she got closer to sebastian as he handed her the clothes

"thanks for letting me crash here, I'll be out of your hair" she said about to walk out the room her back turned to open the door "what if you don't crash here" he shut one eye with his face scrunched up

"Sebastian I cant-" his face relaxed he shushed her "let me finish, pay rent to me same rent you paid in your shit apartment you have your own room you can share an office with me kitchen bathroom oh the backyard you lost your virginity in" he smiled at the last part and she came closer to him so she could hit him in the shoulder which made her laugh slightly his eyes were glued to her smile

"Hows it sound?" He desperately awaited her reply

"I don't know.." she didn't want to live with anyone she wanted to be alone but maybe it's better to live with sebastian? Living with Henry I was living with a boyfriend if I live with seb... it's my best friend hes like my roommate..

"You don't have to make the decision now of course" he reassured her, "give me some time I'll think about it".

It's been a few days her crashing with sebastian she hasn't spoken to chris anthony or henry but at least she saw Henry when she picked up all of her stuff he looked drained, however he was happy and she knew he was happy- "y/n can I talk to you" morena said as she sat in the frame of the door sebastian looked at her and she looked at sebastian

"okay?" She said and a sudden arm pulled her back a little "be careful don't anger the pregnant women" he whispered, she walked away with Morena

"Listen I know things are bad between you and Henry but he loves you he always has don't cut him out of your life for a lie just because he didnt want you to look at him differently, come to Christmas dinner everyone is coming bring sebastian make amends" she was being nice and sweet how could she even argue "Morena I don't know it's strange now i can't come to terms with being friends with Henry after all that..." she said Morena nodded "okay there's a seat open for you, come if you'd like" she said going to Henry in the kitchen she walked back into the bed room with seb "what was that?" Sebastian whispered "she invited me to Christmas dinner" she whispered back

"Are you going?" He whispered taping a box shut

"No" he nodded taking the last box out to the car, she came in the kitchen morena was talking to Henry, Henry stopped looking in her direction looking right at y/n and she turned as well

"Uh well that's all of it...I'll see you sometime h." she said

"y/n" she heard his voice for the first time in days, her eyes looked directly at him "are you...are you happy?" His voice seemed so groggy, "I am, I've always been" she walked out of the door she saw a big van sebastian leaning on the car a beanie covering his head his hands in gloves the snow flurries falling on his jacket "come on doll your chariot awaits" he laughed loudly she closed the door behind her, a new chapter it was starting..slowly

"Do you really want to do this right now?" She looked at sebastian dead in the eyes and he looked right back at her "is this a challenge y/n are you challenging me????" Sebastian said getting up off the paint splattered floor his hair had bits of dried paint his hands covered in it her shirt was covered in paint as well as her hands, whilst music played loudly they fought with white and grey paint he wiped it on her face which started the whole fiasco, and here we are two idiots who are desperately in love with each other covered in paint not thinking about what the future might hold or what about tomorrow, it's today and right now.

She tripped slightly over a paint brush on the floor he tried to grab her before she fell and they both fell side by side, they looked at the ceiling she got on top of him her legs are either side of him "I'm tired can we take a break?" Sebastian said laying on his back looking up at her

"Where do you expect me to sleep?" She said putting a little wet paint on his nose, she stood up and she gave him a hand up

"In my room duh?" He said she pushed his shoulder and he pushed hers, they finished up with the room and put all the furniture back and new furniture as well, that was hell to build she thought.

There was a knock at door, "hey doll can you get the door for me" sebastian said whilst washing his hands, she nodding going to the door.

Alex.

Will she ever go away?.

"Alexandria" she said

"Y/n" she said with a small laugh she was clearly annoyed that I had answered the door, "where's sebastian"

"None of your God damn business go home." as y/n was about to shut the door on her face she stuck her foot to block it from opening hitting y/n in the face with the door a freak accident

"What's going" sebastian said as he panicked from the loud noise of y/n's face hitting into the door as Alex was now in their home.

#sebastian stan #imagine #sebastian stan x reader #anthony mackie #chris evans #henry cavill x reader #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan imagine #alexandra daddario

38 notes · View notes

kayuripax · 5 years

Text

Mutatink 2

My plot bunny from the Ink Demonth decided to breed. And it spat out over 6000 words. Thanks go to @lost-seal for being a wonderful beta-reader and putting up with my at times horrendous reasoning for some plotholes.

Once again, trigger warnings apply:

TW: Cannibalism, Body Horror, Gore, identity loss, murder, violence

It’s rare that he's actually lucid enough to think over what he is doing. Usually the rage clouds his mind now, and the gaping void in his chest hurts too much to let the rage disappear. Every once in a while, however, the ache lessens and he’s able to actually think. Most often it happens when he gets near the Duplicate of his human form. Oh, how he loathes it. It took his soul, his memories, and his place. But unlike how he used to be, it’s pure ink. And it doesn’t even know.

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

Loop chases after loop, the days blur together. How long has it been since he was last lucid? At least five loops ago. This time it comes when he sees the double approaching the boarded off room of the ink machine. He screeches, mid lunge and almost touches it, the ache of being soulless intensifying for a second before leaving in favour of ice-cold awareness when he crashes into the boards. He howls in fury when the duplicate runs.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_______------------_______----------------------------------------------

He sees the Duplicate again when it runs from Sammy. It runs the second he jumps out of the ink. He gives chase on his malformed legs, doing his best to insure he finally gets his soul back. He almost reaches the Double, but then the door slams close right in front of him. He slams his gloved fist onto the door, and growls loudly. All he hears are ragged breathing and words mumbled in panic. After a final knock, he turns around, the webs trailing along.

The Duplicate is touching him. He had chased it after he discovered it running errands for the Angel, and in its panic it slammed its palm into his face. He lurches to a halt, his arms fall to his sides limply. His breath is ragged, but for the first time in what surely must’ve been years, he had ran normally. He felt whole. It’s… it’s a feeling that almost makes him cry. The only indication however is the intensifying tremble of his grin, that his limbs have a slight tremor, and the ink on his face is running faster. A peculiar sound escapes his throat and the double trembles. The contact breaks suddenly when Boris slowly plods into the area. A lurching feeling, and then he feels empty again. Before anything can happen, Boris inches closer, and pulls him into a hug, pinning his arms to the side. Then, achingly slow, he taps out something in Morse.

H-E-N-R-Y

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

Boris remembers. He saw when Henry stopped being Henry and the Double had taken his place. It wasn’t that obvious at first, but it definitely showed when Henry stopped talking about his family. When he is hurt, he partially dissolves into ink. Boris noticed. And now that he sees the Demon and the Double, the latter’s hand on the forehead of the former. He knows what happened to Henry after he was sent into the ink machine during the loop where the ink laid it’s claim. He remembers since that loop. His desire to help Henry overcame whatever stuck them here. When he taps out the name, he feels the skeletal form slump against him, shoulders jerking up in mute sobs. He gently pats the Demon's back.

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

He isn’t alone. Boris remembers. Boris remembers. Even without a soul he finally feels something: pure, unadulterated relief. When the Double attempts to take Boris away, the axe raised in trembling hands, he gives off a keening hiss, watching in morbid satisfaction when it jerks back. Now he only needs to get his soul and memories back from it, and then… then he’d finally be whole again.

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

He trails after them for hours, the shadow they knew was there. His webs still dance across the walls, positively lethal to the Butchers and the Searchers. Once they fall asleep however, he goes his own way and to her level. He could go there. Usually he didn’t, her twisted but still holy energy managing to make it more difficult than he’d like. Now though? Now it doesn’t matter. Boris remembers. And he’d be damned to an eternity as a soul- and-mindless beast before he’d let her get her hands on Boris. When he approaches, several alarms start blaring, a few searchers jumping up but promptly dissolving under his webs. A roar sounds throughout level nine when she decides to use the metal door to hinder him. Teeth break apart, limbs elongate, becoming more muscled, and it doesn’t stand a chance anymore. Her screams echo throughout the level. When they fall silent, the entire room is coated in ink and no trace of her and him are in sight. The only thing remaining is a piece of a miracle station, the halo on it prominent.

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

When he re-joins Boris and the Double not one speck of ink is out of its place, but despite that Boris looks at him with a knowing eye. He decides not to pay attention to it, instead he viciously tears apart the lone searcher that they encounter. His hollow chest aches more today. He doesn’t trust himself, keeps his distance from Boris. That he is lucid for as long as he is is a wonder all of itself. When the Double inches closer to him, fear on its face, he pushes Boris away, screeches and slams the double into a wall. Cracks appear, his webs writhe. It’s too much, too much too soon. He wants to tear it apart, but he knows he can’t. Not yet. He opens a portal and nearly runs through it. His mind is fading.

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

Boris watches in worry when Henry throws the Double into a wall and disappears. He isn’t sure how much of Henry still is there under the ink and it’s influence. It does bring out the darkest tendencies a human has. And Henry was in it for so long now... he grunts as he picks the Double up, carrying it to the stairwell to stuff it in a Miracle Station. The other inhabitants of the studio know to stay away from him, he is under the protection of Henry. The Double wasn’t graced with that mercy. The only person in this place who hasn’t listened to Henry’s declaration (it wasn’t a verbal one, but the fact that his webs don’t hurt Boris are a clear sign) was Alice. And she re-joined the ink. Boris felt when her twisted energy disappeared, and he could breathe a bit easier. He isn’t faulting Henry for lashing out like that against her. He is... unstable.

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

Every creature inside the studio cowers when the ire of the Ink Demon swamps the studio. The webs are everywhere, the ink is full of agonized voices that have just lost their physical form and the stream of them is not ebbing the least. He is angry and not himself, the agony and overwhelming anger back in full force, worse than ever before. Nobody is safe. His mindless slaughter continues for quite some time, the miracle stations are crammed, creatures stacking on top of each other to escape him. Then a deafening scream cuts through the dusty air, a harsh and blinding light robbing him of what little remains of his sight. A fist with monstrous strength hits his face, and he can feel his teeth break apart from the force. The back of his skull hits wood, and he feels the inky mass cave in, the feeling strangely clearing his mind from the haze of agony. A second scream shrills, thin but strong hands closing in on his neck, suspending him mid-air. Norman always was strong, even when the studio was still running. Surprisingly so for a man of that age, but that came back to bite him now. He forgot the Projectionist sometimes abandons Level 14 to roam. The harsh light shines directly into his face now, and he hears the projector whirring. Bits and pieces of the inky remains of his skull clatter to the ground, the strange clarity not disappearing, the agony of soulless-ness ebbing in favor of the pain of broken bones. A pain he honestly likes more, because it reminds him that he used to be human. Then, his shrivelled and black husk of a heart stops, when a horribly crackling word escapes the speaker in the Projectionist’s chest.

S͏̞̝̯̤̰̖̙̱͙̬̮̭̲̺̖̖̞͠ͅͅT̶̢̻̰̺̦̞̳͖͎̖̠̹̫͔͉̻͜͟O̢̕͘͏̞̣̜̱P͍̘̹̞͟͠ͅ

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

Norman is lucid. It’s rare, but it happens. How, he has no idea. His head was replaced by a projector, for God’s sake. It isn’t a feeling he likes. Even the aches of old age are something he prefers to this. And then there is the speaker lodged in his chest. It hurts. Hurts too much for him to be conscious still, but somehow, he can’t fall asleep and become unconscious. Norman resents the ink for making him go through this endless cycle of mindless beast and horrified man. And then there was Henry. Poor, old Henry. Nice bloke when he still worked with them. And now just as trapped as them. Trapped and tainted. He remembers his last lucid moments. Henry had been mid-transformation, and at that point Norman had stopped attacking. He couldn’t attack his former co-worker, not with the knowledge that it would only speed it up and turn it even more pain filled. The small bout of being lucid had disappeared fast, and then he could only remember small bouts. ‘Bendy’ attacking him, beheading him. Blessed rest in the ink. And then, suddenly, it was as if someone rewound the reel. He could feel how everything went backwards, and suddenly he was back to being mindless. However, he comes to his senses more often now. Small moments, ones he uses to rest outside the ink. And then the Ink Demon started rampaging. The webs are everywhere, creatures, former co-workers, scream and disappear back into the ink, some souls snuffing out permanently. Norman encounters the Demon on Level 11, the ink on it even more runny than usual. And for the first time, the always quivering grin is showing something else than malice. There’s panic there, anger and despair. And then Norman punches it, and suddenly a volley of emotions and a sense of being crashes in on him. That thing was Henry. That thing was Henry. He gathers his strength and bellows out a word.

S͏̞̝̯̤̰̖̙̱͙̬̮̭̲̺̖̖̞͠ͅͅT̶̢̻̰̺̦̞̳͖͎̖̠̹̫͔͉̻͜͟O̢̕͘͏̞̣̜̱P͍̘̹̞͟͠ͅ

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

Deafening silence in the halls. The webs are frozen on the walls, and no one moves an inch. Only the soft pat of the ink dripping out from the fractured skull are audible, and it’s unbelievably loud. He slowly moves his head, the fingers still around his neck still holding him in place. The trembling of his grin lessens, then it goes still. The broken teeth don’t fit together anymore, not like they do when he becomes even more of a beast. This time they’re truly broken and shattered, small pieces missing and on the ground. The harsh light of Norman’s lens comes closer, the heat from it giving his cold, mangled frame a bit of sorely needed comfort. Then the fingers around his neck disappear, instead grasping under his arms, and he is pulled up. Staticy crackling escapes Norman’s speaker as the Projectionist shoves him to the elevator, almost punching in the call button and jamming it. As if the surprises weren’t enough this day and loop, his former co-worker’s speaker crackled again, the word escaping it almost... soft. It was his name. His shriveled heart stops again. Then they hear the hum of the elevator, and Norman slinks away in the dark, flickering light disappearing. A second later the elevator dings, and both Boris and the Double are greeted by the sight of an even more mangled form. The Double starts retching at the sight of him. Boris howls.

Level S. Silent, dusty, and yet oh so loud. Only for him and Boris, the Double horribly ignorant to the screams still haunting the accountants office, not just the one caught on tape. Grant is still there, barely coherent. Screaming, always screaming. He would almost pity the accountant, but he is barely capable of caring about Boris and there is no room left. He slinks closer to the desk when the Double gets the valve, and gazes down on the quivering puddle. His webs cover the writings on the wall, and a quick change of intent silences the screams. Boris shoots him a glance, one that holds no judgment. The accountant had been screaming for over fifteen years. He deserved to be brought into the puddles so he could rest.

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

Lost ones. Helpful in one loop, enemy in so many others. He sees how they flinch when people near them move, how their skin glistens in the murky lights. He gets... hungry at the sight. He hungers for the humanity they still hold. For the ink they hold, ink that would repair the remainder of the damage Norman wrought. His ragged breathing gets louder, inky saliva building up behind his teeth. Before he starts to act on his urges however, Boris gloved hand clamps down on his arm, a miniscule shaking of the head accompanying the motion. He growls, but doesn’t yank his arm away. Instead he opens up an inky portal, just like he did on the chasm, and goes to the room the vent system opens to. He trusts the double to go to the correct exit and not the one he always blocks. The trust is justified, it appears twenty minutes afterwards.

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

He stares down at the carnival games with a head tilt. The remaining fractures in his skull grate against each other with the motion. The mutterings of the Double, that you were supposed to throw the bottles over, is ignored. He know how it works. He wasn’t thinking about that. He worries more about the upcoming meeting with Allison and Tom. Anger builds up at the thought, the webs writhing a bit more. He grasps one of the balls, agonizingly slow, and stares at it. Then, with speed he shouldn’t have, he throws it at the bottles. They shatter and fall over. It doesn’t calm him down completely, but the sound is still music to his ears. He repeats it for the other stacks. The shooting game is taken care of by the Double. He grins wider, mockingly so, when he notices that it can’t shoot at all even though it has his memories on doing so. The door to the room with the costumes grates open, the metal shrieking. Then he and Boris hear the double shriek at the sight of the costumes. He gives off a raspy, grating laugh. Soon.

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

The Butchers in this area huddle together when they feel the opressive ink webs. When the demon comes out of the wall, fingers lengthened to claws, they feel fear for the first time. The slightly cracked teeth break apart, sharpening and growing wider. Then they clamp down and garbled screams sound. The Demon is hungry, not for violence. He hungers for life. So he takes. When the warm, sluggish ink fills his maw, he feels the cracks mending, filling in with ink. The chattering of teeth fills his ears when he turns around and he sees the Striker huddling close to the barrel. It’s stitches are torn and it’s able to open its mouth, revealing toony fangs. He leans closer, his breathing slightly gurgling because of the fresh ink still coating his throat. The nearby Piper groans loudly, and tries to smack him with its wrench. He whirls around, spearing it on his claws. It still flails when he swallows, quickly dissolving and assimilating into his ink. It’s a perversely good feeling, his aches disappearing under the influx of life and ink. The only remaining Butcher is the Striker, who is close to climbing under the barrel out of fear. It shivers at the feeling of the hungry gaze and curls together. It doesn’t want to die. It just got out of the puddles! A croon reaches it ears, and it feels the ghosting of claws on its skin. Claws that become blunt fingers that seize it’s arm and pull it away from the barrel and up in the air. When it dares to look, the trembling grin is back to normal and right in front of it. It squeaks in fear. Then the metal doors grate open, and the demon looks at the intruders. Nothing happens for a second. Then the Demon holds it up like it was a teddy bear, and croons. Boris facepalms.

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

The Striker becomes an addition to the group. It stays far away from him though. He doesn’t fault it. He just ate its siblings after all. However, he is intrigued by it. Never before have the stitches torn apart, never before has it produced anything other than the normal garbled sounds. He wants to know what will happen next. It’s new. And new can be helpful. Or dangerous beyond belief. He knows that. Still, he plants it by the corpse of its brethren when they get close to Bertrum. The ride was dangerous. And he wanted to watch his new plaything a bit longer. After the ride starts up, he screeches right in its face, raking the claws over dead, bloated flesh that comes out of the seams of the ride. How he never noticed before is beyond him, but he doesn’t care. This way he gets soul scraps. Little pieces of humanity he wouldn’t be able to feel otherwise. They will carry him over for a while. Just long enough until he can snatch his soul back. Before he will be able to do that, he has some things to do first though. He screeches once more, and the machine goes silent and limp. The Double sits in a corner, axe in front of it, fear, disgust and horror on its face when it takes some in the damage he wrought. His grin trembles a bit more, the agonizing ache slowly seeping in. He turns, slams down the lever, and opens a portal on the nearest wall. He can’t lose it now, when Boris is in the same room. The toon jerks its head, a small but sad smile on his face. He understood what was going on. After Boris ushers the Double and the Striker out, he strides troughs the portal, appearing in the Lobby. Time to destroy The End before the Double got to it and would be able to set him back.

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

The Vault is eerie when he tears it apart in his search, his soulless state becoming more obvious, cold and pain creeping in his body. Anger already clouds his vision. After a while he finally rips the right box open and holds the reel in his claws. It burns, even when it isn’t in terms projector. He snarls. Joey coated it in holy water. Given what he is, it’s no surprise that he feels pain. He drops the reel after a second, then sinks down next to it. He is tired. So, so tired...

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

He comes to a bit later. The reel has left burn marks in his ink, and he relishes in the pain for a bit. He feels alive for the barest second, then the feeling is swallowed up by the cold. A low whine escapes him as he stands up. He had a plaything to observe. He had to protect Boris. Even with the Angel out of the picture there were enough hazards. And the canid toon never knew how to stay away from trouble. The inky portal opens up, he limps through. When he arrives, he sees the Projectionist approach a Miracle Station. He spreads his webs, grins wider when the flickering light swivels to face him. That grating screech that was Norman’s signature in this inky hell sounds, and suddenly they are fighting. His ink pounds in his ears, the grin trembles even more. For the first time he isn’t experiencing this fight in a mindless rage but lucid. Adrenalin pumps through him, lets him ignore the pain in his leg, his ink filled lungs. When he hoists Norman up at the throat, he hisses in amusement. Norman is struggling against the grip, unable to free himself. A second screech fills the air, then the light starts to flicker more, as if it was dying. He lifts his five fingered hand, runs it over the side of the projector. Then he grips the machine and pulls. The light flickers once more, then goes out. The Projectionist is down for the count.

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

Allison and Tom freeze when they see him, the latter unconsciously lifting his hackles. It’s so doglike that Henry wonders if the man is even there anymore, or if the instincts simply take over when face to face with the biggest predator the studio has to offer. He hopes it is the latter. The smell of fear is sharp and distinct, and it’s an almost perverse pleasure to see the man who tormented him and deprived him of food so often be so afraid. Logically he knew that Tom had had no reason to trust him all these loops ago, but it makes him angry every time he thinks about it. The man turned toon could’ve starved him to death. Three times in his whole prison sentence he was able to eat. And always only when Tom was away. He takes pleasure in the flinch and backwards stumble when he limps closer.

The duo refuses to go to their hideout with him near. He laughs, the sound almost like nails on a chalkboard. Everyone flinches, the Striker that still tags along huddles into a ball. At that motion he simply grins wider, picks the creature up by the scruff of its neck and thrusts it in the arms of the Double. He looms over it for a second, then turns around. His small nap from earlier wasn’t enough, he could feel the tiredness in his aching limbs. He limps through the wall, back to the vault. Once there, he sends his webs out once more, destroying the one searcher that thought of sleeping inside the cardboard boxes. With trembling limbs he opens one of them up, grinning genuinely when he finds the old radio. Oh so carefully he puts it on, then lies down. The music lulls him to sleep.

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

Commotion above wakes him up. He grabs the reel, and promptly goes through a portal to see what is going on. Sammy. The man has pulled himself out of the puddles, madder than ever before. Accusations fly from his lips, ink coats the axe he holds, and Boris is missing one hand, the Double trying it’s best to shield both itself and the toon. The Striker lies between them, already halfway dissolved. It was the first one to be hit. Sammy always has been peculiar amongst the ink creatures. Just like him the musician can sense souls trapped by the ink. And the crazed man is the only one in the studio able to punt souls out of his reach. Not even the Angel could do it. And the man is trying his hardest to punt his soul out of reach. Anger overwhelms him as he claws his way out of the wall, his webs promptly flooding the entire area. He roars at the man, loud enough to rattle windows. Teeth break, legs shrivel, arms elongate, claws grow. A deadly dance, no one backing down. His soul was his to take. Not Sammy’s. Not the Angel’s. Nobody’s. Only his. Claws find inky flesh, sink in. The screams of the musician are music to his ears, more so than any tunes the man ever composed. When the body starts to go slack, he doesn’t let it fall, he knows the man is like a cockroach. Only when the ink making up the body starts to dissolve he allows it to slide of his claws. A horrified gasp reaches his ears and he turns. Tom and Allison stare at him and he bares his teeth even more. They flinch.

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

Allison can barely bear to look at the giant Demon in front of them. She is too scared, way, way too scared of it and the power she knows it holds. When the thing turns around to look at the Boris, she grips her sword tighter, ready to jump in despite herself. But instead of skewering the toon, the Demon croons unhappily. It’s an unnatural thing, warbling and layered with sounds no throat should ever produce. Not even the throat of the Ink Demon. She inches closer to Tom.

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

Boris is injured. Boris is injured. A hand is severed cleanly, the offending appendage already dissolved in the ink. The stump bleeds sluggish, congealing ink dripping to the cavern floor. They all watch how he becomes smaller, turns back into his usual state. The almost silent breathing of the Demon unsettles the others, more so than any other moves he makes. The breathing always sounds, you always know where the Demon is. That it goes silent now does not bode well for anyone. Allison starts fearing for her life.

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

He is hyperaware of his surroundings, of Tom and Allison nearby. He’s aching, angry and hungry, always hungry, but he isn’t attacking. He knows the Congregation is moving. They felt their leader dying and they’re angry. But the anger won’t help them against his anger. His anger topples walls and kills in swathes. When the first of the puddles starts bubbling, he gets up, slouching and shuffling to the dead center of the cave. The second the Lost One leaves the puddles he tears into it with energy he hardly shows, tearing it open in a matter of seconds. Hot ink spills on the ground, the soul doesn’t even start to fade before he gobbles it up. It doesn’t help. It isn’t his soul. He needs his own. But he can’t get to it with the machine on. The next soul joins the ink again, the miners hat clattering on the ground noisily. He screeches and his webs dance. Screams sound out, audible to everyone but the Double, blissfully ignorant of everything but his rampage. Searcher after Searcher, Lost One after Lost One, they all fall to his webs. It’s a massacre and he doesn’t care; the ache is too much. He wants it to stop.

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

Silence weighs heavily on them, the only sound his ragged breathing, the soft pittering of the ink on his claws splattering on the ground. He trembles, his claws twitch. He wants them to find their mark, to pull out his soul. He wants it desperately. He doesn’t want it. He… He doesn’t… He doesn’t know anymore. He wants to be whole again. He wants this miserable existence, an existence filled with aches and mindless rages to stop. And yet he… and yet he can’t. He’d have to murder himself for it. Even if it was a copy. A damn Duplicate. One that took his entire life, leaving him with the barest dredges of himself. He shivers, a lump in his throat builds up as a small sliver of warmth forms on his face. He lifts his head, stares directly in the small bit of sunlight shining through the cavern roof. He wants to cry at the little bit of warmth, so different from the one he feels when devouring shards of humanity. He wants to cry but can’t. He’s too inhuman. Too soulless. Too tired. He wants it to end.

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

Allison stabs him. She stabs him to get at the reel he still clutches in his hand. He feels like simultaneously crying, laughing and tearing her apart for that insolence. He ruled the studio. How dare she? The webs writhe on the wall, he sees her expression become pained. A grim satisfaction grows in his stomach. She should be afraid. But instead of tearing her apart like he wants, he simply growls at her, takes in her shock when the wound simply closes before her eyes. He breathes louder, inches closer to her. Her hands shake, then the sword clatters to the ground. She can feel his breath on her cheek, shivers. It reeks of old ink and blood. A gurgling laugh, too quiet for the Double, Tom and Boris to hear. She starts to regret that move even more than she already does. He raises a claw, traces it over her face, stops at the left side. He could make her look like the Angel he already killed. It would take barely more than the touch he already initiated. It would be satisfying. But it would also remind Boris of how often he died at the hands of the Angel. He pulls back. The toon had become the sole reason that holds him back from these overly violent responses. It should concern him that he isn’t capable of doing so on his own.

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

He clutches the reel tightly, ignores the burn of the Holy energy still clinging to it. He needs it. He won’t give it to the Double. He’d be set back to the beginning, mindless once more. He refuses. He won’t become that again. ( He already is, his oh so traitorous mind whispers ) They reach the board that breaks, the sound of the Double hitting the ground music to him. It’s pained groans even more so. Just for the slight thrill of it he jumps down as well, hitting the ground right next to the double. He sees it shiver when he breathes down its neck. It smells of paper, ink and bacon soup. A horrible smell, really. The bacon soup, that is. The stuff had already been there when he worked at the studio. That it’s still there, after 30 years, and is still eaten is... disconcerting. That he ate it himself when he still had his memories is something he expertly ignores.

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

The Double shivers with every step he takes, every rattling breath. He would laugh at its fear, but he is occupied with stalking the resident Butcher’s that reappeared. His webs dance, the garbled cries sound through the maze. He takes great joy in ransacking Joey’s office, drowns it in the foul ink of the Butcher’s. The old man would never see it, but it still fills him with a vicious sense of righteousness. The audio log on the desk is another thing he destroys with vigor, this one to prevent the Double from making Joey’s voice ring out. It’s enough he has to hear it in a while, in the Machine. He hisses lowly when the Double gets near. It’s stench disgusts him.

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

The vault is eerie as usual, but the remainders of his frenzied search for The End, the reel he still clutches to his chest, are still visible. Claw marks on the walls, the door ripped off its hinges. He almost laughs at the panicked expression of the Double when it sees the reel in his gloved hand. The realization that he controls this loop seems to horrify it. He finally relents and let’s out a long chuckle, the sound like sandpaper on glass shards. Tom and Allison, both just arriving, flinch at the sound. Boris just flattens his ears, not really intimidated. After the ensuing silence he shows them the reel, exaggerated motions making it clear he knows they can’t harm him. When Tom lashes out to get the reel, he screeches louder than ever, the sound turning into a blood-curdling roar, teeth becoming sharper already. The amputee wolf jowls in fright, jerks back. The axe clutters to the ground, the handle breaks. The urge to rip the pesky wolf apart gets stronger every second, and he leers down at Tom, inky saliva drips from the slowly separating teeth and onto the mechanical arm. It’s his turn to jerk when he suddenly feels Boris’ gloved hand on his bony shoulders. He swivels around, the keening growl dying in his throat at the disappointed look on the canines face. He hisses angrily, rage all over his mind, but turns around and opens a corridor to his lair. He snatches Boris’ arm, pulls him along. The panicked scream of the remaining three make him shiver in anticipation and glee. His soul was nearer than ever, it won’t be long now and he’d be finally whole again.

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

He slumps on the throne a minute or so after closing the portal. Boris is looking around, both in awe and dread. This is the place where Henry died and turned into the Demon next to him, the soul snatched up by the Double. The look that currently lies on the Demons face however bodes well for him, and, in a way so unlike himself, a vicious grin that matches Henry’s grows on Boris’ face. The man deserves to become himself again, both in body and mind.

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

The sound of steps on metal alert them both to the arrival of the Double. Boris anxiously looks at him, but he grins at him, the expression not nearly as stretched as usual. It seems to calm the toon down. When he gives him the reel, he gives a conspiring shush, then turns to the throne and shoves the toon in the seat. Assuming his beastly form is easier than ever, the few soul shards resting in his ink fueling the monstrous body beyond the usual limit. This time the legs bulk up too, leaving him semi-quadrupedal and even larger than usual. The change makes him more confident, and he prowls around the throne, finally lying down in front of Boris like an overgrown panther. When the Double comes in and seems them, it freezes and starts shivering. He grins even wider. The second it takes a step forward, he lashes out and pins it under his massive hand. One wrong move by it would cause it to bleed out or get crushed underneath the inky appendage. He growls as he leans in, inhales the scent of the Double. His saliva drops on the floor, the metal hisses from the slightly acidic fluid. The smell of fear is a sharp and welcome contrast to the ever present ink. He shifts his hand slightly to reveal the chest of the Double, and raises is other hand, then promptly plunges it down. The squelch of his claws sinking into the flesh is hypnotizing. Slowly he pulls the fingers apart, revealing the inky insides of the Double, a glowing and pulsing orb invisible to human eyes smack dab in the middle. He leans in some more, looks at the orb, his soul. It glows a soft blue, the ever present sepia not even attempting to mix in. Oh so gently he lifts it out, cradles it gingerly, as if it might break apart any second. He holds it close to his chest, releases the Double. A second of agonizingly hot pain laces through him. And then he can feel.

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

Henry cries. It’s an ugly thing, but he still enjoys every second. He feels again. He still is an inky beast, but he can feel. He finally is himself again. He shivers and wills his ink back to his normal form, but instead of the lanky, misshapen form of the Ink Demon he looks down on his human hands. He howls again, tears of joy roll down his face. He... he really is Henry again. He slowly turns to Boris, pulls his friend into a hug, one that mirrors the one the toon gave him back when he was still the Demon. Boris slowly pats his shoulders, smiling widely. Henry is himself again, he even looks the part! After a while, Henry extracts himself from the hug and takes the reel.

“Let’s end this loop, once and for all. This time there is no Demon to destroy. The End won’t force me back to the ink.” Boris nods takes one end of the reel. They look at each other, and put the reel in. Henry grabs Boris’ hand. And then...

E v e r y t h i n g

G o e s

W h i t e

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

Henry awakes to the familiar whistled tune. He growls at the sound, presses his eyelids tighter together. Then he notices the additional weight with him on the bed. He slowly cracks open one eye, and a wide grin overtakes his face when he sees Boris lying on the rickety old bed with him. The wolf grumbles when Henry moves, unwilling to wake up. They managed it. They got out of the studio. And probably broke the loop too, never before had anyone bedside him left the inky abyss of the studio. Gently prodding the wolf causes the toon to slowly open his eyes. After a minute of comically looking around, Henry is crushed in a bear hug and has a sobbing canine on his lap. Slowly, he pats his companions back, then gets off the bed. Boris follows, now smiling.

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

The apartment is as ratty as usual, the half eaten omelette still lies on the table. Boris takes one look at it, and promptly swallows it whole. All Henry does in response to it is a headshake, a miniscule smirk playing on his lips. When Boris takes a closer look at all the letters and knickknacks on the corkboard, Henry turns to the storyboards. Had Joey known what the ink had done to him? If he did, had he planned it intentionally? That thought makes Henry growl quietly, a tremor runs troughs his limbs. His teeth ache. The trembling doesn’t lessen. The edges of his vision turn black. Boris looks at him in concern, the low hissing sound that comes out between Henry’s teeth reminds him of the studio. And then he sees it. The ink dripping from the man’s hairline. The slowly widening smile, a mad slash on the pale face. The way the shadows on the walls flicker and dance. You can take the man ( Demon, Boris’ mind whispers ) out of the studio, but you can’t take the studio out of the man.

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

Joey flinches violently when he hears the hissing and sees the shadows flicker and dance. The plate he still holds slips out between his fingers and shatters on the floor. When he whirls around at the sound of splintering wood, he comes face to face with Henry looming over him, face a crude mockery of a human one. The smile was way too wide, looked more like the one the Demon he inadvertently created wears. The ink dripping from his old friends hairline adds to the similarities. And then he sees the way Henry’s skin slowly is overtaken by ink, how lanky he looks, how unnatural the angles of his body are. No sound escapes Joey Drew’s throat, but the old man’s heart hammers louder and louder, top fast for his body to handle. The last thing the old man sees when he slumps to the ground and feels the shards of the plate dig into his skin is a pale hand coated in ink shooting out and snatching something out of his chest.

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

He swallows the old soul and gags at the taste of bacon soup coating it. He slumps down next to to the lifeless body of Joey, stares at the ink receding into his skin. He isn’t human anymore. He is whole, but he isn’t human. This episode proves it. And yet... he can’t feel sorry for Joey, t he man deserved it. A gloved hand invades Henry’s field of vision. Boris. He slowly grasps the hand and gets up, a small smile on his lips at the prospect of being free from the countless loops. When they reach the front door and it opens to the outside world, not the studio, Henry looks at Boris.

“Come on, Buddy. Let’s get outta here.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Henry Stein #boris the wolf #tom boris #Bendy #the ink demon #TW: Gore #TW:Murder #tw: violence #tw: cannibalism #tw. death #tw: mental health

9 notes · View notes

dcvalentineexchange · 6 years

Text

The Cookie's Right [Jason Todd x Reader]

Happy Valentine’s Day @aerodynamic-occamy!!! I hope you have a lovely Valentine’s Day and eat plenty of sweets (…if you like sweets)! I hope you enjoy this fic!!

Love, Jules aka avengerdragoness ❤️

~~~~~~~~

Valentine’s Day, the holiday for couples. People buy their significant others all the clichés: red roses, chocolates, oversized stuffed animals, the whole nine yards. A month ago, that all seemed appealing. When you were happily in a relationship with your boyfriend, looking forward to finally have someone to celebrate Valentine’s Day with. That was until he dumped you, claiming ‘it felt like there wasn’t a spark anymore.’

Any hope for a happy Valentine’s Day was shattered. You took the break up pretty bad, and only left your apartment for work. It made your friends worry, especially your best friend. Jason Todd.

Jason had been your best friend for years, you grew up on the streets together, and you were the only one he remembered and trusted when he first came back. As time passed, his feelings for you grew beyond friendship, into an unrequited love. When he realized he had fallen in love with you, he decided he’d keep the feelings to himself. He couldn’t risk your friendship or you being in danger because of him. Plus, you had started talking to this guy anyway, you were happy so he was happy.

Well, the key word to that is ‘were/was.’ When you told him about your break up, he had half a mind to go beat the shit out of the guy. Though, he didn’t, he knew it wouldn’t help the situation and opted to stay with you and be your shoulder to cry on.

Jason became your main support system through it all and seemed to be at your side whenever he could. One time someone at your job even asked for advice on how to get over exes so fast because they thought you were dating Jason. When he heard about that, he chuckled nervously and tried to suppress the blush on his cheeks at the idea.

You on the other hand, had never really thought of Jason in that light. Well, maybe not never but the thought that your best friend who is the Red Hood and probably one of the sexiest men alive having any interest in you romantically, it seemed far fetched. Jason attracted the most gorgeous of women, why would he be attracted to you?

However, it was thanks to Jason that you seemed to be getting over your ex. You started acting yourself again, having lunch with friends and getting a drink with co-workers after your shift. You started smiling again and felt like something was filling the gap left in your heart. Yet you weren’t sure what it quite was.

Though, as if for nothing, the gap opened again when Valentine’s Day rolled around. At work you were again in a slump and just wanted to lock yourself away in your apartment. Around you, co-workers were receiving gifts delivered from significant others. You could tell some were done up a bit more, obviously ready for a date right after work. Normally, you loved your job, but right now you couldn’t get far enough away from it.

As soon as it was time to clock out, you were gone after counting down the seconds. The walk back was filled with happy couples celebrating the day. Your mind thought back to your ex, leaving you to wonder if he was thinking about you as well. A pang of hope went off in your heart when your phone buzzed. You looked down just to see it was a text from a store you liked, promoting their ‘V-Day Sale! All Intimates 25% Off!’ Making you growl and turn off your phone, throwing it down into your purse.

Once arriving to your apartment, you stripped out of your work clothes and opted for some comfy sweatpants and a oversized hoodie. You stared for a second at the first one you grabbed, it was red and much too big to be yours or your ex-boyfriend’s. A smile pulled on your lips when you realized it was Jason’s. Shrugging, you pulled it over your head, drowning in the scent of your best friend. A small feeling pulled at your heart, his smell was always so comforting.

With a sigh, you went back into your living room and closed the blinds so it’d be dark. You grabbed the remote and began clicking through channels. Every channel seemed to be some cheesy, lifetime Valentine’s Day movie. Further making your feeling of loneliness come to the forefront. Shutting off the TV and tossing the remote away, you buried your face in your hands. “C’mon [F/n]. It’s been a month, get over him.”

You tried to think of things you hated about your ex, make yourself miss him less. It was hard though, he was a relatively good guy and broke up with you because he didn’t want to lead you on or anything. It’d be easier if he was a dick and you could hate him. Him being decent just made it harder to forget him, leaving you to wonder what you’d done wrong. What was wrong with you that things didn’t stick.

As you immersed yourself further into negative thoughts, the sound of a knock on the door pulled you out of them. The person knocked again as you rose to your feet, padding over to the front door.

Looking through the peephole, you smiled before opening the door. Jason was on the other side, a smile pulled gently at his lips. He only ever smiled naturally with you around. “Hey, so I figured you’d be wallowing.”

You crossed your arms and pouted, “I’m not wallowing.”

“Really, your entire apartment is dark. Who are you? Bruce?” He cocked an eyebrow and enjoyed the small smile that pulled at your lips. He held up a brown paper bag. “I brought chinese.”

You eyed the bag as they widened, “From the place a few blocks away?”

Jason grinned, “Your favorite, I know.” He smiled and you took the bag from him, peering inside. He followed you into the kitchen, closing and locking the door behind him. “You okay?”

You looked up from the food and set it on the counter, shrugging. “I’ll live.”

“You didn’t answer your phone when I called.”

“I turned it off, didn’t wanna think about [Ex name].” You leaned against the counter, running your hand through your hair. Jason came up to you, engulfing you in his arms. You accepted the hug and buried your face in his chest. “Why am I not good enough?” You mumbled into his shirt.

“[F/n], you are good enough. You didn’t deserve him, you deserve someone better.” He rubbed your back before feeling you pull away.

“But who? When? Why?” You threw your arms up exasperated. “He was my first boyfriend ever and it only lasted a few months. What if I’m just meant to live alone?”

Jason sighed, “You need to stop thinking like this.” He moved to the take-out bag. Pulling out the containers. “You need to get your mind off him.” Jason opened the containers and started plating the food. It was all of your favorites, he always knew what you liked, that’s something you couldn’t say about your ex. He picked up the plates and carried them into the living room, looking behind him to make sure you were following.

And you were, knowing if you didn’t he’d put the food down, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you there himself. Sitting down, your eyes watched him pick out all of your favorite movies and put the first one in the DVD player. He plopped down next to you, and placed a plate in your lap. “Eat.” He stated firmly and you obliged.

Silence hung over you both while the movie played. Jason finished his food first and wrapped his arm around you, this wasn’t abnormal for him to do so 3hen you finished, you leaned against him and into his touch. Sighing blissfully in the process as you always felt safe with him. Opening a fortune cookie, you pulled the paper from it, checking the lucky numbers before reading the fortune.

‘True love is closer than it seems.’

A small smile pulled at your lips and you started to nibble on the cookie. Reading the fortune over again in your head. ‘‘True love is closer than it seems.’ If this were true then that would mean my true love is…’ Your eyes turned to the man who you were currently cuddling with. You hadn’t noticed until now you had both laid down and you were laying on top of him. Head against his chest as he breathed steadily and his heartbeat a little faster than you remember it being.

You picked up your head to look at him. Your best friend. Jason Todd. The man who has been there for you no matter what, and vice versa. The man who trusts you and only you with his deepest and darkest secrets. The man who you lost when he was a boy and eventually came back to you.

The man you love.

Wait…

Love?

Your eyes widened and you stared at him. Everything seemed to click into place. From why it was so hard to find someone you liked, to eventually why your relationship didn’t work out. Why sparks with him faded. Because you always compared him to Jason, and no one could live up to him. Because you love him.

Jason looked down at you, his eyes meeting yours. “[F/n]?” His voice brought you back, and you felt something warm grow in your heart, filling that void that has been there for a month.

“Oh my god” You whispered and sat up on him, straddling his waist so you could look him in the eye. “Oh my god, I.. I’m so stupid.”

His eyebrow quirked up at you as his heart began to pound in his chest. Did you figure it out? Did you figure out he loves you? “[F/n]?” He called your name again and sat up a little so he could face you better.

“Jason.. I…” You leaned in closer to him. “I have been so stupid and blind. I was always looking for the perfect guy for me and setting these expectations that were so familiar. I didn’t realize that every guy I encounter, I always compare them to you.”

His eyes widened and he leaned in closer to you. “[F/n]… I…”

You realized what you just confessed to him and blushed madly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laid that out on you. I know you don’t feel the same way. Why would you? I’m sorry Jason. I’m –”

He shook his head and covered your mouth. “Let me finish.” You stared at him before nodding, he grinned and pulled his hand away. “[F/n].. I feel the same way. I have for a long time.”

“You have?”

“Yeah” He nodded, feeling a bit of his own blush creep up to his cheeks. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose you or put you in danger.” Jason averted his eyes but he felt your hands cup his cheeks. They were soft and gentle against his skin. He felt your nails slightly scratch his jaw, and it honestly felt good because he hadn’t shaved and had some scruff there.

You smiled at him before leaning down and kissing him gently. He returned it just as gently, not wanting to push any limits. Pulling back you pressed your forehead to his, “I’m sorry I was so blind. I missed the perfect guy who was right in front of me for so long.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, we’re here now.” His hands pushed your hair from your face and he kissed you again gently. “Hey [F/n]?” He whispered against your lips, making you hum.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And indeed it was.

—

Happy Valentine’s Day again! Hope you enjoyed!!

175 notes · View notes

inexchangeforyoursoul · 5 years

Text

FINALLY birthed this thing. I’m officially a disaster with writing anything that involves conflict. Just like irl. :”) Anyway, yeah, there were 3 reasons why I did not finish this immediately about a month ago.

Első: See above.

Második: I had no idea what I wanted the last drop for Hawks to be before writing the rest in advance anyway, whoopsie~

Harmadik: I was.... reeeeeally not sure whether I want to publish this during pride month, seeing as I’m cis, and what kind of shit I put in this. (..... ok I’ve been thinking about this, and somebody just tell me if I’m plain projecting shit here. I might as well. Like, I always am, but it has usually got to do with characters being heavily #relatable in some way in strictly canon, which goes for everyone I write scenarios for. But now I’m thinking about whether there is something more to this, bc me headcanoning Shiggy as genderfluid and starting that shitty LawxOC body swap fic came around the same time two years ago, and now here’s Hawks, too. I’m onto you, me. I’m so onto me...)

Anyway... if you want the usual fluff, you might wanna sit this one out. (There’s some of it, but beware of everything else... it got p long (~6.5k), too, so you might wanna read it on a proper platform for txt: AO3 )

Big, BIG thanks @cutiesableye @acidmatze @waxwingedhawks and @mistystarshine for basically proofreading it and slapping a big green GO into my nervous face. Or being at it rn; regardless, I am thankful. Sssh, only dreams now.

I hope y’all be as uncomfortable reading the meat of this as I was writing it, whoops.

For how much he's surrounded by people normally -which he enjoys most of the time, really- Hawks prefers the silent rooftop right now. It shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, he'd need a lot more alone time in the first place… but he's supposed to be working right now. Be in the thick of this spying shit, collecting intel from social and environmental clues like nobody's business.

Returning to the room is not something he wants right now, though. The topic and the awkward atmosphere it brought are weighing on him, and he'd rather get over this before moving on with the sleuthing business. He's been perching over the weed-ridden parking lot for like half an hour already, though. Judging by what he can pick up, the League is back to their time killing activities, and not very concerned about his absence. He noticed Spinner checking on him some time back from the doorway, and that's what it was. He's low-key grateful that they would let him breathe instead of poking around some more, or tailing him. If it's something he's allowed to do all the time, it'll be a luxury he's plain going to cherish for as long as it lasts.

Another plus is… that his reasons to join have become more than just believable. Even if this bit of information was not something he wanted to share. Like, at all. Ever. It was perhaps naive to think nobody will ever find out in the first place, that it would stay a secret of the select few who trained and took care of him. But the ones aware of it now being the members of Japan's most infamous terrorist organization… is not reassuring.

Still… they are letting him be alone. It's… nice. Being seen as a person. It also hurts, though.

His feathers catch onto the vibrations of someone coming up the staircase again. The echoes tell of familiar size, weight and shapes… he knows who it will be. Being a wild card, he's probably coming on his own volition. The plastic smile is already in place, even though it has never worked on the guy- this was nice while it lasted.

The metal door opens with a lazy creak, then there's a soft thud, followed by slacking steps that stop right behind him. Dabi takes a swig from the beer can in his hand before speaking. "So… Peacock and Starling, huh."

"What about them, bacon face?" It's a funny feeling to hear someone say those… names, technically. It's equally funny to think that one of those is what he'd be known as if things go a little more his way. Even considered the title Phoenix for a moment, but that was too pretentious even for him, not to mention ill-fitting past being made of reds and yellows. As for the flashy Peacock… it's easy to see why the blatant joke got rejected off the bat. He'd look sick in iridescent blues and greens for sure, but that's all the reason he ever had to consider it. Those colors didn’t fit his basically pre-established brand… and nowadays he'd rather be invisible than catch even more eyes, anyway. And there's the almost, almost final Red Starling, which had the prototype of his current hero costume and everything…

He wanted to avoid predatory birds when given the task to choose a hero name, blatant secondary traits notwithstanding. They were beautiful creatures, yes… but hardly something reassuring and safe, killing for a living, full of pointy bits. Someone else probably wouldn't have batted an eye and had gone for the intimidation factor, but it was simply not what he had in mind.

A hawk… is a borderline case. It's among the smaller species and underwent some form of domestication, after all. They are not ideal for being kept as mere pets, though; they serve a purpose, instead.

They are used.

Used to hunt for sport or pest control, as he usually does. As he's supposed to right now.

So 'Hawks' was an afterthought, invoking the image of speed and danger. Which they insisted on, especially after… that. Smuggling the S at the end on the form was a last passive-aggressive jab after getting the okay, before letting go of who he used to, or wanted to be. It was fascinating to see the big shots make peace with it almost immediately, and regarding it as an improvement, even; 'makes it easier to associate with a swarm of feathers,' and 'more unique and identifiable,' they said. As if the original idea didn't accomplish both. It really was just… fascinating. The rest of these names, he banished to the stuffiest, darkest corners of his mind, as there were few good things, and even less pleasant memories attached to them. Until… today.

What has happened was simple and logical- the idea whether he'd choose another alias for underground activities came up. Mentioning them in the first place was an enormous mistake… and entertaining either as a viable option was even more so. Disturbing those relics reminded him of those buried memories and feelings, and all he can think of right now is the way Himiko's words rang in his ears barely half an hour ago.

Today, your smell reminds me of Big Sister.

Dabi lets out a sigh before getting to the meat of it. He spent the time Hawks had been gone on thinking himself, and there's a lot to unpack here. So he ought to take it step by step, lest he gets lost in the details. “Let me… get this story of yours straight."

… Great. This is exactly what he needs.

"It starts with… dirty, piss-poor little you getting caught up in a car accident and single handedly resolving it, right? Then, for doing something nice and selfless like that… you got sold off like a slab of fucking meat to the government.”

He blinks. "Hmm… not the most revolutionary take on it. I know you can do better." Claiming that the thought has never crossed his mind would be a lie. He just never let himself dwell on it. But now, this idiot is making him do exactly that. Or is trying to, at the very least. It certainly seems to be one of those convos. This… is turning out to be a major pain in the ass right away. Maybe he should reconsider provoking him this time around, it could backfire big time in the current mood of his.

“It is what happened, though, wasn’t it?” Dabi continues, slipping down to sit next to him, one leg dangling over the edge. “And once your apparently sub-par parents raked in the easy money, and washed their hands of you… you got stripped of everything.”

"Bold of you to assume that I had much to lose, bro. If you know about the accident, you also know where they picked me up from." Putting up a front aside, there was a rough edge to that 'everything' that makes Hawks want to run for the hills immediately. Nope, he is positively not in the mood for antagonistic banter at the moment. He wasn't really able to hide his upset and embarrassment over the situation, so Dabi must have found some twisted sense of enjoyment in pestering him about this specifically. Why can't this asshole just… shut up for once. He thought the villain incapable of it, but he does it so damn well with others around. Sticking with the lot might be a good idea, because solo Dabi is worse. He… he better filter out all the babbling before he starts thinking about bad shit or worse. It’s been a while since he had to take such measures, but he'll have to lull himself into a coma, and just… shut up. Inside out. And hope that Dabi gets bored of him.

“Doesn't change the point, does it, now. They started with any meaningful human contact you may have had… until they erased every last ounce of self," Comes the continuation while Hawks tries to block it out; "They denied you time, likes, attention, possibly even your basic fucking needs while moulding you into a perfect little cleanup machine that fears no death. Then tossed your dried-up skeleton into a roomy cage, filled with expensive junk to fill the void, as a semblance of compensation. Well thanks for fucking nothing, you sick fucks."

Hawks' eyes have locked onto a sunbathing lizard in the distance, but the idle animal is not quite enough of a distraction and his fingers twitch with the tightening grip over the wall's edge. Why does it sound as if Dabi was taking his side?

Shut up… don't pay attention.

He winces when Dabi pulls on the collar of his tracksuit to take a disgusted look at the label. "All the shit you wear was gifted from companies you played dress-up doll for, wasn't it… one fantastic billboard, you are. You own literally nothing else, do you? I'm sure that's the case, because, funny story… a newbie classmate of mine, some dump kid whose parents became new money, had always obscene amounts of cash on him… but after an initial shopping spree, he never could bring himself to buy a fucking thing. So we asked him about it. Turns out he simply felt like utter shit for spending any of it unless he had a good reason. I laughed then, but apparently, getting a bag of chips is a gargantuan issue for most people who grew up in poverty."

He leans closer, low words dripping like liquid venom in Hawks' ear. "You, too, feel like garbage every time you spend an ounce of money on something you can do without, don't you? Reminding yourself that there are dozens of that thing at home, lying untouched in your wardrobe that's the size of some families' entire house. Pray-tell Hawks, how many times did you sit over a full basket of online goods… the stuff of your dreams, probably some basic ass shit... only to back out at the last second, hmm?"

Shut up.

Dabi's eyes slide to the tense hands possibly attempting to tear the crumbling edge off the worn wall. A second later, he distances himself again, stirring the can with lazy, circular motions. "I don't even want to imagine what it feels like. Never spent a fucking dime on anything but charities, I fancy. And the odd bottle of booze, fuck or junk food… Are those chicken bits the only thing you're allowed to get? Tch.”

“What a fucking luxury, being allowed to treat yourself to a bucket every other week, when your disgusting training diet has been set in stone three months in advance." It sounds like a personal addendum, but not a single word in that sentence escapes the overbearing sarcasm and condescension.

A still ticking cogwheel in the hero's head wonders why Dabi knows of the standard diet thing he has to undergo at least twice a year being three months long, and how he could possibly know that he's come to hate half of the dishes over the years. The overwhelming majority of said cogs have long come to a halt, however, screeching SHUT UP. He's not sure who or what that message is directed to anymore. Probably both of them.

Dabi’s waltzing wrist comes to a halt, soon followed by the whirling liquid in the can; it's a minute break, the kind that's just enough to make conversations awkward. In fact, the silence is too big for Hawks to handle- there’s no white noise to drown out and it makes not thinking, not paying attention unbearably hard. The lizard disappears under the cracked asphalt, leaving him with nothing.

“With how long it took you to respond to Shigaraki, they also stripped you of your name. And what I got from the exchange with Toga… is that the same goes for your body, too.”

A shiver runs down Hawks’ back and wings over the addition, kicking the machine brain back in full order despite his best efforts. Dabi takes a big swig of beer and lets out a sigh, resulting in another ill-placed pause. It gives Hawks time to think, goddammit, and he thinks too fast, too hard, about everything.

“While you were moping up here, I've come to realize why you always seem to be so hilariously desperate to one-up me in any given way… it’s because you actually are grasping for straws. You have no control whatsoever, over anything. None." There’s a somber undertone to his voice. The can, along with the remaining sloshes of beer, are flung down to the concrete wasteland and land with a sad, high pitched clank. "My sister used to be like this… people like you don’t dare to ask why things happen. You will believe you’d done something wrong to deserve it all… maybe see yourselves as a necessary sacrifice. Did they ask you to be a martyr, or did you decide so yourself, bird brain? Not that it matters… because that’s exactly what your bosses want and they'd keep on twisting your arms until they get there… but I bet they did. They didn't ask whether you actually wanted it, though… or ask anyone else, about anything, for that matter."

He reaches over Hawks' vaguely trembling shoulders for the jaw, forcing his face out of hiding. The grip turns gentler as the man's head turns in his general direction, though he's refusing to make eye contact. Dabi keeps him there like that for a while, dissecting him with icy, blue scalpels.

"Gentle like a dove… you'd have flipped the fuck out and been talking shit ever since I opened my mouth any other day. Is this the defense mechanism you developed for these situations?" There's some twitches to the corner of the mouth, but the other remains unresponsive. Heaving another, mildly annoyed sigh, he pries the hero off the crumbling wall with a disgruntled huff and turns to face him. Once there’s some space to work with, he tilts the head in his grasp to the left, to the right… no resistance. "To see you like this is creepy as all hell, birdie… do you even register what I'm saying anymore? Or is ignoring me the goal? Hmm?"

He scoffs at the glazed eyes, then shakes his head. "I'd imagine you met some pigs high up on the food chain soon after the stunt… those monsters can do anything they want. Then buy silence from pocket change." He starts caressing the other's face as the trembling turns more and more into shaking. "Isolated, innocent eye candy kid at their mercy…… I can only imagine what they’d do to a sweet little plaything like you."

A visceral reaction makes Hawks' stomach convulse, threatening to empty itself, and the muscles in the rest of his body follow suit. Unwanted scraps of memories, all the blurred scenes, images and feelings he didn't quite manage to erase flare up in his mind. And even though his entire being is revolting against being reminded of hugs that felt off by a mere margin, of touches that were always, always distinctively soft and slimy, and things sometimes even worse, and much worse… the sole thing that betrays his near perfect neutral expression is a pair of clenched jaws. What concerns him even more than any of this, however, is the fact that his tear ducts have been burning up for some unknown time, and...

… too late. There’s already a droplet of water sitting on the thumb Dabi lifted up a second ago.

The tear gets reduced to nothing between the pensive swipe of two fingers as he lets go of him. “Thought so…”

A sliver… a handful of cells, some unidentifiable part of Hawks is thankful that Dabi doesn’t elaborate on what he’s thinking right now, glaring somewhere distant both past the hero and his own damp hand.

The villain's eyes come back into focus soon enough. There's still… one more thing. "Then you started to grow… and they decided to focus on function over form, since your baby face would be just as marketable with a scruff. Becoming popular and following a strict schedule makes it near impossible for creeps to do as they please, with all the watchful eyes dissecting your every move… so you live on a leash instead. An accessory to show off to guests… and still shiny, new weapon to flashily beat up people with." He cocks his head. "And you loathe mindless violence."

On one hand comes the relief that the previous topic has been dropped as unceremoniously as possible, and he gets a moment to breathe and stop shaking like a leaf. On the other…

They are used. Used to hunt pests…

Having less than no time for himself, the daily drill of regular heroing and the overwhelming amount of paperwork the job comes with are things he can deal or cope with… It’s fighting, hurting and confronting other people he loathes the most, even if he'll ram heads with the bigger fish to ensure a more stable framework for everyone to live in. For… others to live in.

Forcing himself into a group of known murderers and the deception this comes with is just the icing on the rotten cake. God, all these fucking lies, he cannot look into the mirror anymore for being overcome with sheer disgust. And now he's stuck with it until the source of all Noumu can be located, too. Why can’t things be like a shitty cops and robbers chase and, just… easy? Simple? Is it really that much to ask for?

But what makes it unnerving is to know that Dabi’s right, always fucking right. About people, what a living nightmare being a hero is once one looks past the glitter covers, and pretty much everything else. But most importantly, he's right about him. He hates being predictable at all, not to mention being read with confidence, and right now he feels as naked as an open book with covers ripped clean off.

He can feel more tears break free, and his fingers scrape over the rough concrete, letting the bumps and glass shards cut a fingertip or two open. It's frustrating. Every single time they happen to make contact… Dabi either makes a good point or manages to get the upper hand in the most inane, little ways, and it’s so… frustrating.

He can’t keep bottling it all up forever, but what is he supposed to do about these feelings?

“What I'm not sure about… is what exactly they are thinking this time.” There’s a thoughtful pause before the continuation; every last tendon in the blonde’s body tenses up. “Are they actually this desperate to get us for good… or is it you they want to get rid of that bad?”

For a moment that seems like an eternity, Hawks feels… absolutely nothing. Nothing but the piercing glare of the very sky above them, staring straight through the villain's eyes. “Psycho girl is right… you really have no idea how to say no.”

Why now… Hawks can't tell. But hearing the same shit he's thinking about for the millionth time makes something crack. Click. Snap. And next thing he knows, he’s already tackled Dabi to the ground and is clenching his fists into his coat; the man himself doesn’t look too surprised over the turn of events, which drives him even madder.

“Every,” his voice shakes with bubbling anger and is lower and gravelier than his normal, but it will do. Hawks pulls on the leather hard enough to lift the other before slamming him back onto the grey concrete--- “Every” --- over--- “single” --- and over--- “aspect” --- and over, “of you,” and over, “drives me up… the fucking wall,” and over… “any time you open your godforsaken MOUTH,” this time, he goes a little over the top, as the big yank is followed by a pointed knock upon Dabi’s head meeting the ground and his lungs flatten under the pressure of fists, but Hawks is not in the mindset to give a flying fuck about the minor inconveniences of the villain at the moment. Fucker has dug this grave himself, so he better lie in it. "how the everloving fuck... How…! How can you possibly know me more than I do?! TELL ME!!” He asks with an ever growing voice that borders screaming by now, all while shaking the man relentlessly.

He's about to pull and slam him down again when Dabi's hands grab onto his arms just below the wrist. Maybe it's that he did not expect it, but the grip definitely stings a little. As fragile as Dabi is, he thought those scrawny arms less powerful, but apparently what does he know? Still angry, he tears one hand free while shooting a glare at the villain.

There's a trail of blood flowing down his cheek around where Hawks' fist rubbed against at the time of the yank. Dabi blinks once, leaving his left eye with an odd pink texture as his lid smears the leaking red fluid all over it. Not too surprisingly, his face remains as unreadable as a mannequin's, and eyes as cold as that of a taxidermy specimen. Hawks hates looking at him when they are like this, which is most of the time. "Careful, little bird… you're tearing at the seams. Don't want to end up like this, do you?”

That calm voice works like just another taunt, making the hero want to beat him to a pulp, or at the very least, continue where he's just left off with flattening him into the concrete. At the same time… hesitation wedges his joints to a halt. No… No, he doesn’t want to end up ‘like this,’ whatever it may have been to drive Dabi into burning himself alive on a daily basis.

And he notices. Of course he does. Hawks could swear to see his lips curve, but it may just be the angle.

“Fucked-up kids know how to read others pretty well, don’t you think?”

Hawks’ still short breath hitches and he freezes upon feeling a hand, the very same he just shook off, slide over his hips, ice cold on his heated skin even through the fabric of a t-shirt. There's no real intent behind it; in fact, it feels like a doctor's indifferent, calculated touch. Somehow, that makes it even worse. "… didn't even have the decency to start stuffing you with testosterone from the get-go, huh?"

Another statement that sounds more like a personal note than anything else, and it makes Hawks’ skin crawl.

“Well I can’t read you for shit! Congratulations!!!” He barks, slapping the intrusive limb away. “For starters, what was this supposed to be about, hell, why the fuck did you even come up here?! Just to gloat about it into my face? Or do you want to make fun of me for not being able to decide whether I’d rather be a cheeky bitch or the insufferable prick I am today?!”

There’s tears streaming down his face again, but he couldn’t care less. It hurts like all hell… especially remembering full well how fucking much waking up from what was supposed to be nothing more than an open break surgery hurt- there was near nothing to remove, for fuck's sake. But claiming not to enjoy at least some aspects of what being a man brought would be just more lies on the throne built on them.

Mentioning his interest in IT and mechanics to strangers is not criticised or made fun of, not anymore. Neither is his tendency to run ahead of others in pretty much every situation. Instead of second guessing, people default to respecting and listening to what he says on any given topic in general, and he stopped doubting himself, too. The circumstances were a special kind of fucked-up for sure… but he also ended up having fewer weak spots than almost everyone else, which did come handy a couple of times. The hormones he received made him taller than he ever could have grown realistically, too. And rejecting fans is easier as most women- and most of them are women,- know basic fucking etiquette.

But he also wants cheesy tees with cats and birds and flowers that he never gets to sponsor. Cuter shoes that are still comfy. Some eyeshadow every now and then. Wear the prettiest blues and greens, and maybe… maybe a nice dress.

"… You are pissed for the same reason I am.”

By the time Hawks has processed the sentence, he is the one being pressed into the roof, with one wing stuck awkwardly underneath him. For a dreadful moment he breaks into cold sweat, because this also means that Dabi is between his legs, and--- fuck, this is the last fucking position he wants to find himself in, especially right fucking now. He doesn’t get to break out in panic, however, because the villain is busy strangling him against the lukewarm ground. It’s his turn to grab onto the other’s arms as he wheezes for some air. He needs to calm the fuck down somehow, otherwise he won’t be able to use his feathers---

“Looking at you… is like staring at a distorted mirror image at fucking funland.” Hawks cracks his eyes open, seeing Dabi stare right back at him. It's as if someone put goddamn transparency over the villain to make the blinding blue behind him visible. He’d blame cold eyes in general, but he doesn’t find Twice’s even lighter ones nearly this creepy when Dabi’s like this. His burn with intensity rivaling All Might and Endeavor, which have always made him uneasy.

“What a nice pair of custom-made patchwork monstrosities we are…” His voice delves into a hiss as the grip tightens over the hero’s neck. “… makes me sick to my stomach."

Hawks coughs under the weight on his throat. He manages to get some air in and think clearly enough to turn back to logical thinking; if Dabi wanted to go for the kill, he’d be toast by now. Motherfucker is just toying with him for the hell of it, isn’t he? He flexes his wings against the rough concrete and flips the two of them back over to where they started.

“Would you stop playing games, you *cough* sick fuck?!” he wheezes, all out of breath.

"Maybe you’re the one who should stop dicking around, bird brain!"

His next protest gets cut short when Dabi headbutts him in the temples. It feels half-hearted, but gets him to shut up for a moment nonetheless, which is all that the other needs.

"The fuck did you scrape us up from the floor for, HUH?! You had ONE JOB, and you could have been done with it just like that… but instead...!! INSTEAD you played nurse and started to GET ALL COMFORTABLE AND SHIT!” The villain’s voice is basically rolling like thunder over the forsaken plot.

Hawks’ angry and pained grimace twitches under his hand- he’s seen Dabi smug, and aloof, and crazed, but not… angry. Not to mention angry with him, specifically. And, once again, it’s one of those little, irritating, miniscule things that are… true. He didn’t get an order to stick around and follow the lead to the Noumu until like a week later, so it was all unnecessary and ended up being even more work and trouble than it was worth.

He didn’t have to help when he found all of them dying, bleeding and broken.

He also didn’t have to start talking to Compress and Twice and Giran, then all the rest as they warmed up to him and came to.

He wasn’t supposed to lie about their initial status, he didn’t have to keep covering for them after they were all walking and doing all right, after the decent person in him had already been satisfied.

And he definitely never meant to get… attached.

A pull on his tracksuit wakes him from the shock, just as Dabi continues screaming at him head-on. “And YET, there still isn't anything YOU want from us?! REALLY?!! Do you want to be a puppet for the rest of your life, idiot?!"

Well… Hawks had been called names before. He never thought that being called a ‘puppet’ would offend him this much, but that... that certainly just did it.

“NO, I DON’T!” He screams back at him, voice swaying all over the place.

"CAN'T HEAR YOU, BITCH!!"

"I SAID I DON'T WANT 'o!!” Whatever air's still in Hawks' lungs gets stuck inside as a wave of what’s probably fear washes over him upon hearing his own, distorted voice crack and echo in the empty parking lot. Realizing just how much he's straining his voice, a sudden knot manifests in his stomach that folds his rage into a small, jittery, awkward package.

“Ah… I,” It takes so much effort to squeeze out a single thing, what--- why is he embarrassed? “I don’t---”

The next word gets stuck somewhere between his thoughts and throat when the same cold hand from before leaves a little pat on his head.

"See? Wasn't that fucking hard, was it now." It combs Hawks' hair back, staples getting stuck here and there on the fragile strands. There’s nothing methodical about it this time; the entire gesture is just… gentle. "Good job, chicken."

Just like that… all that rage, despair and helplessness, along with the last confusing bundle of emotions, evaporates out of the blue, leaving Hawks empty and tired, somewhat nervous, and maybe a little… relieved. It takes him a bit to be able to think of anything at all, god knows how much time passes while he blinks blankly in front of him. It takes a rugged sigh from Dabi underneath him to phase back into reality; the scarred hand has long disappeared, and is tucked behind the villain’s head along with the other as he’s gazing at the passing clouds. The first coherent thought that crosses Hawks’ head is a fully formed fact- what kind, and with what purpose, he doesn't know or begin to understand… but this was… a test, or rather, a lecture.

A very… very crudely executed lecture.

Hawks sniffs with a stuffy nose. Fucking… fucking fucker. “… you are an asshole through and though, aren’t you?” And now he’s hoarse, too. Wonderful.

There’s a shrug… well, as much of a shrug it can be from someone in Dabi’s position. “I don’t believe it’s ever been up for debate.”

He sounds so smug, it's just so… ugh. The hero squishes his face with a palm in frustration before crawling off him at last. The annoyed grunt in response is all he needs right now. "Are you done being a nuisance, or do you wanna egg me on some more?"

There's a rare chuckle. "Already making bird puns…? Nah, little bird. Getting hell-and-back pissed is exhausting as fuck. You won't be any more fun today."

With that, Dabi scrambles onto his elbows, then sits back up. He gives a quick massage to his previously flattened nose before rubbing the back of his head; there’s a number of fully formed lumps already. Feathers isn’t very gentle when riled up… at least the spot’s not bleeding. He'll need to put some painkillers to work, though. "Still… the manic look suits you well. I'm getting giddy just thinking about your bosses' reactions upon seeing you like that." In a move that is more or less successful, he licks a finger to rub the trail of rust off his cheek.

Hawks wrinkles his nose upon seeing a rather genuine looking smile on the other’s face. “Please. Noone in their right mind is in my face like you are all the damn time… at least not with the intent of driving me batshit only to make me murder them. You’re a freak case and should not be accounted for.” He sighs, resting his head on an arm- there really is no willpower left in him to do anything for the rest of the day. There better be no trouble on his late evening patrol, or so help him. Or help it, because there's no guarantee he won't snap back to this awkward beat-to-a-pulp mode if confronted with a no-name villain.

After some fidgeting, Dabi produces something from a pocket… something that looks very suspiciously like a worn blunt. “It’s because they don’t have to, dumbass… you are edging towards a nervous breakdown at any given time. Anyway, look… you are no doubt seen as an invaluable asset… but are worth so much more still. Give yourself some credit." Hawks peers back at him just as the conspicuous thing is lit over a wrist which gets shaken after, much like one would put out a match. There’s a tentative draw, followed by another.

“What I want to say is… they are terrified of you, birdie. If not for the danger of exposing their disgusting practices, it's because they fear that their blue ribbon pet won't return from a hunt… for one reason or another. And, just for the record,” He breathes, offering the roll to him; “I'll gladly hold you back for a good scare."

Following a vacant stare and a blink, he takes it. It’s not as if this quite tolerable, for-the-hell-of-it mood of Dabi’s was new, but… he was seriously considering to strangle the guy a minute ago. When exactly did they return to casual banter? Hell if he remembers, or has noticed at all. God… this whole thing has him rattled real good. Hopefully a nap will get him back into the usual pace of things.

“I sure hope not everyone blows their sugarbird pocket money on beer and weed like you do,” The blonde muses once he can feel a different kind of fatigue set in, reaching the blunt back to Dabi. Hypocritical? Maybe. Won't stop him from nagging others for the same shit, though. Comes with the job.

“Well, Compress replaced the crumpled hat… and Tomura decided to save up for a new handheld,” Dabi muses, placing the smoke into the corner of his mouth. "It'll go via Giran, of course. After seeing the taxes on that shit, I can't even blame him."

Can’t help but smile at that. “You are all fucking hopeless.”

A hum is all he gets as a reply.

After a while of comfortable silence, the remains of the roll get snuffed out on the ground. Blinking past Dabi, Hawks can see the sun is soon to set. Fucked like two hours just sitting out here, didn’t he. The Commission better not expect much from today’s endeavor… cannot exactly tell them that he was getting high on the rooftop with the flame villain for a good portion of it, the only villainous topic being creepy fat cats and their own shortcomings. Or that his possibly biggest secret slipped, although they wouldn't give a rat's ass about that. Yyyeah… it’s best to bullshit it.

“Humor me for another minute of real talk, will you, chicken?”

Dabi’s voice drags him back to reality again, only to realize that the light has already turned into a warm yellow. If his bones… or rather joins popped now, he’d feel like the embodiment of a nice little bonfire under the sun. Huh. Guess the stuff was of the better quality to make him think of weird similes and turn his sense of time whack. What was he--- oh, right. He should answer.

“… cannot promise I'll be able to pay attention or remember any of it, but do your best, crouton.” There’s a mild prickly sensation in his wings and his brain feels like marshmallows. If only he could always be so calm.

“Don’t bullshit me, you barely had a whiff." The dirty remains of weed are flung over the roof in annoyance.

He can feel a goofy smile creep onto his face- it's nice to be the source of frustration for once. Maybe all he needs to do is be honest more often. "Second hand smoking goes a long way, bruh."

The initial answer is an exasperated sigh. "Shut it… Anyway, you should cut the sweet chirping and tweeting, birdie. No matter what you do, people take advantage of your position. You know this better than anyone else. So squawk and screech to your heart's content, if that's what you need… and if barking won’t help, get down to biting.” Having said that, he stops surveying the cracked parking lot under the golden sky, and turns back to Hawks.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Good lord… those eyes glow as if they were illuminated by blue fire from inside, and the contrast with the sunset is just… well, literally breathtaking, he supposes. This is among the few times when they don’t creep him out- quite the contrary, in fact. They still feel like X-rays, though. “I guess it really doesn’t matter… by the way, real talk question: can you fucking read minds?”

Not that he expected anything else, but a smug grin appears on the villain’s face. “Maybe~”

“Careful, man. Your pants are sizzling.”

Lo and behold, another rare chuckle. Despite being under the influence of drugs, (or maybe because of that?) Hawks is on a fucking roll.

He can't keep his eyes off those blue ones even once Dabi decides to stare back at him. “Jokes aside… suppose there really is an idiot like me out there, and they get up close and personal… put those clipped talons to work and gouge their fucking eyes out. You have all the means to tear them limb from limb… go all out, who gives a fuck. These are the same kind of people who shit on wild animals from beyond a cage, but watch them run with tail between legs upon realizing that the gates are wide open. And even if you weren't ready to dirty your hands or feathers like that…"

He lifts a pointing finger and rests the tip on the hero’s nose. "One word of yours… and we'll make sure it's the last day they touched anyone. Understand?"

Really, all he can manage to that is a weak, sheepish smile. “… thanks,” he breathes, not knowing what else to say. He should be a thousand times more alarmed over basically being told that someone's ready to kill for him, and not… well, flattered? Touched? Especially since he knows Dabi means it, and so would the rest of them.

“Great,” the other grunts while getting on his feet, and leaning just a little bit on Hawks’ head while doing so. What a turd. Latter’s about to get his stiff legs working as well, but once the vague aching starts subduing, he can see Dabi stop in the doorway and put a hand on his hip. “… those filthy gremlins have been spying on us.”

Indeed… someone brought the hero’s scantily loaded bag to the top of the staircase and left it there.

“In that case,” turns Dabi around, flinging said bag over to Hawks in the same breath, “go straight the fuck home and get yourself presentable, you overgrown turkey. Might wanna decide on the new alias by the next time I call, too. You already know the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, dragging the strap over his head.

Between the echo of boots, there’s a distorted farewell: “See ya, little star.”

Hawks stops in his tracks. He looks over to the empty entrance, and the metal door wide open. The sound of footsteps has faded into barely more than creepy sounds in an abandoned building- if not for his feathers, he wouldn’t even know that six other people are under the roof he’s standing on. Spirits and shadows haunting an old convenience store like many others.

He's nothing more than another ghost out here, and yet… he's never felt so real.

---

No matter what he chooses, Dabi will just stick to 'fancy chicken.' Also, I’m so fucking proud of that Red Starling. Not only is it obscure astronomy bullshit (much like the title of this thing), but it would be a nifty alternative to Hawks; just hit up a video on a flock (or, as I just learned, murmuration) of starlings. Shit’s cray.

#dabi #hawks #bnha #boku no hero academia #DabiHawks #not necessarily shippy but you can certainly read it that way #Kate writes

10 notes · View notes

vankoya · 6 years

Text

Silver Linings on Hopeless Nights.

✗ Part of the Across the Multiverse series!

Genre | Guardian Angel AU.

Pairing | Jung Hoseok / Feminine Reader.

Words | 2,744 words.

Conspectus | Every time a bad thing happens, without fail, Hoseok finds a feather. But he has not a single clue about where, or who, they come from.

Warnings | Attempted suicide mentions and depressive thoughts, but I promise this is actually really sweet and nothing bad happens.

Every time a bad thing happens, without fail, Hoseok finds a feather.

This is not something that has occurred since always. In fact, he knows the precise day that they started to appear, for it was no more than six months after he had clutched the railing of a quiet bridge with a terribly long drop onto a very frozen river.

It was the first day of January. The first 24-hours of the brand new year, and he had not prepared himself to witness what the rest of the months may hold.

Hoseok remembers the cold, trying to numb parts of him that had already been numb for months. He remembers the silence, save for the infrequent crackle and groan of the ice that he had doomed himself to fall upon. He remembers the moonlight in the frighteningly clear sky, pooling pale white on the jagged, muddy surface like a guide. An X, marking the spot.

But, above all, he remembers the voice, warmer than anything he has ever known.

“It’s not time, my love,” it had hissed so sweetly in his ear, all angry with love like a mouthful of honey fed by a scalding teaspoon. “It’s not time.”

Then, he remembers the heat wrapping around him like a muggy summer storm enclosing on a small town. And before he could even realise that he had climbed back onto the sensible side of the railing, he was already in his car, heading home. Not to the apartment in the city, but to his parents’ house in the next state over, which he had reached near five in the morning. And if him appearing on their doorstep with nothing but himself nor a single shred of warning was not enough to shake them, then him proceeding to inform them on that very doorstep that he had almost jumped, but did not, certainly was.

Things turned around after that day. Not immediately, but gradually, like the slow glide of plum preserves when poured out of a jar. Hoseok moved back to his hometown; away from the ugly memories that clung like claws to the walls of his scarcely inhabited apartment. Hoseok started working for the community garden; outside in the fresh, country air rather than the stale, unfiltered oxygen of an office as drab as an old man’s fashion sense. And there, beneath the forgiving gaze of the sun, his sickly skin started to brown like a polished bronze coin; his brown hair started to lighten, as if woven with golden thread.

He would never say it was perfect. He would not label it as recovered like a red stamp on a classified document. Somedays, the past would weigh down on him like hooks, dragging him into the depths of the sorrow that he had folded and shoved into a small box in the back of his mind. Though it was only made of cardboard, so nasty things were bound to ooze through.

Still, when those days occurred, Hoseok would remind himself of the voice. The one that was so rich with promise and adoration. The one that did not even beg him to stay, but told him with such courage that his countdown on Earth had not yet ended. He had not a clue who spoke it, or whether it was anything more than a figment of his imagination, though he would still cling to it like a handrail whenever the vehicle of his existence would swerve too harshly.

But just when he was about to convince himself that the voice was something his consciousness had created out of some last-second desperation to be saved, the feathers began to appear.

Each of them were different. Some were as small as his palm and fluffy like that of a baby bird’s, and the others would sweep as long and strong as his forearm. But they were all silver. Silver as burnished rings. Silver as stardust painted on a rural, midnight sky. Beneath the sunlight, they shimmered as though embedded with thousands of tiny diamonds, though Hoseok had inspected each individual one thoroughly enough to know better. He kept them like precious treasures in a very un-precious shoebox beneath his bed, which he would open right after he waked and right before he slept in order to ensure that they were all still there.

Still real.

Why they began to appear exactly six months after he almost subjected his soul to the void, he is still not entirely certain. Maybe it was because—the night before the first appeared on the lip of his bathroom sink—he was staring too fiercely at the razor on the soap holder that was meant for his stubble, not his wrists. Maybe it was because too much had oozed out of that tiny box and was slipping over his every thought like a heavy shadow, made for suffocating. He admits that it was his darkest blip since his knuckles had hardened like the ice below him on that bridge, so maybe, he is simply deluding himself and he does know why they came when they did.

A promise. Reassurance.

It’s not time, my love.

Yet, even now, a whole year since the feathers began to appear, Hoseok has no idea where they come from. Or, possibly, who they come from.

It is not like he has not searched. The moment a lick of silver appears in his periphery, he whips his head around at neck-breaking speed. A desperate attempt to see how the feather came to be. He tries to not let the origins of them fester in his mind and eat him up, for they are, without a doubt, supernatural. They are no commonly occurring thing for just anyone who is frequently plagued by those thoughts that linger like an eternal gloom on the horizon. As far as he can tell, at least.

He does not dare to ask his psychiatrist.

Instead, he has come to terms with being okay with not knowing. The otherworldly feathers are simply something that are unique to his person, and that is that. All that really matters is, whenever he discovers them, his mind ceases to be so weighed down like a faux fur coat in a downpour. The clouds drift apart and let the sunlight sift through to kiss and caress his skin; to scare away the shadows and fill his heart with gold.

But it is the first day of January—exactly a year after the bridge—when he discovers the truth.

No, meets it.

Meets her.

The thing is, Hoseok is having a wonderful day. For the middle of winter, the sun is generous; it spills through the clouds and onto his hometown like a bucket of pale yellow paint. He spends his morning tending to the community garden, and helps the 10-year-old twin boys who live down the street with picking strawberries for their grandmother. The afternoon is passed in his own yard, raking up the leaves that last night’s storm stripped from the oak and shook over the garden like a salt shaker. Thus, by the time that the afternoon is taking its final breaths for the day, it is safe to say that his hands are so dirtied that it seems like the soil has simply grown out of the lines of his palms.

And albeit that Hoseok’s day has been as lovely as can be, he finds that, upon washing his mud-marked hands in his sun-spilled kitchen, there is a glimmer of silver in his periphery. But when he swivels his neck at whiplash-inducing speed, as he always does, it is not to see a feather.

Not a lonesome one, at least.

Rather, there is a young woman standing just by the window that is pouring the unusual winter sunlight into the room.

A young woman with a set of very real, all-consuming, silver-feathered wings that hang about her figure like an open cage.

Standing there, with his fingertips still dripping from the running faucet, Hoseok wonders if he should pinch himself or rub his tired eyes. But there is a sense of fear about it. Not the kind that silently screeches in his ears to put as much distance between himself and the angel-like being that is mere feet away, but the kind of anxiety that nibbles nervously at his insides and roots him in place.

The kind that is frightened of her leaving him, even though he does not have the slightest clue if she is, in fact, here to snatch his soul away.

The angel-woman stares, a cocktail of surprise and affection swirling in her wide eyes, which match her wings in their glittering, silver shade. And that is what has Hoseok’s breath stuck like gum in his throat—the unadulterated adoration that caresses her features like gentle kisses. The lovingness of her gaze, which seems to be slowly registering that he can see her in all of her magnificence. And it is for this reason that he knows before she even speaks that–

“Hoseok!” she gasps, and it is the voice. The one that had wrapped around him like arms warmed by the sun. The one that had yanked him out of the darkness and silenced the warring of his thoughts.

“You,” Hoseok whispers, his bones feeling as tight as pulled strings. “You’re…”

“Oh dear, I’m a fool,” she hisses, seemingly to herself, as she presses her fingertips to her closed eyes. Hoseok, awed, can only stare in silence at the wings that shiver around her—the ones made of his precious feathers—until her hands finally drop to her sides. Her gaze settles ruefully on his face, and his ribcage suddenly sags with longing. “I’m sorry, my love. You’re not supposed to see me. Not yet. I shouldn’t have come, but you just… You looked so happy, and I couldn’t help but take a peek.”

“You’re the voice,” Hoseok continues, finally finding the words that were quietly dancing on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken. “The feathers… They were all you.”

She smiles, her wings stretching ever so slightly, and the sight is so radiant that Hoseok’s eyes just about water. “It would be silly of me to lie, wouldn’t it? But I may as well leave no rule unbroken, now,” she says, mirth twirling in her voice as she takes a few tentative steps towards him. The hem of her pearlescent silk dress sashays around her ankles, the tips of her wings slide against the floorboards, and Hoseok does not back away. Rather than feeling his throat close over like a fist is lodged inside of it as she nears, his buzzing nerves calm like a sea being freed from the clutches of a hurricane.

“What… Who are you? What’s your name?” Hoseok whispers as she enters his personal space, and his entire body is overcome with a peculiar sense of relief. Every inch of his being urges him to hold her, and he cannot fathom why. This close, she smells sweeter than spring rain.

She purses her lips, resembling that of a dewy rosebud. “Okay, maybe not all of the rules will be broken. The second one is a little too dangerous, but I can try and humour you with the first.” Her loosely curled fist lifts, hovering between their chests like a symbol of peace. Hoseok makes no visible sign of resistance, and it is only then that she lays her palm flat against the harmonious thud within his chest. At the tender touch, his blood sings a tune of euphoria.

“I’m the one who looks over you. Who guards you and your soul.”

Hoseok’s winged protector smiles, and her hand slides up his throat until it has settled on the side of his face. Her skin is neither hot nor cold, and that does not unsettle him as much as it should.

“Why do I feel like we’ve met?” he murmurs, willingly sinking into the familiarity of her fingertips on his cheek like cinnamon on warm butter. His heart twitches like he knows her—has known her. Long, long before she was leaving him glittering feathers and pulling him away from a drop too high to survive.

“Because we have, very long ago,” she coos, tracing the lines of his face with the care of a lover. “And someday, after you’ve lived a long, happy life, we’ll meet once more and you’ll know me better than you ever have. I promise.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he murmurs, staring right at her mouth like it is a particularly captivating piece of art. He tries to drag his gaze back to her molten silver eyes or the monstrous wings that flutter and rustle like whispers around the both of them, but he finds himself incapable.

“You’re not supposed to for now, but you will,” she says, drawing her hand up the side of his face until her fingers are able to glide through the soft curls of his hair. His scalp tingles like goosebumps. “You’re not even meant to see me, but I was careless. I’ll be punished, but it’s okay. I’m just…” She closes her eyes and breathes in deep, and then deeper, as though her lungs are the size of a lake and are impossible to completely fill. Her fingers come to rest against his throat once more, and her skin is suddenly filled with heat, scorching like the sun that kisses his skin every day. “I’m just wishing to be selfish for a moment. Is that alright? I’ve interfered enough. But please, let me be selfish, just for a moment longer.”

Her eyes, carefully, drift to his parted mouth, and Hoseok knows what she means. He feels it too, their souls urging them to wrap around each other, as though they are a single thing. And so he leans, rather than speaks. He leans, but not too far, because she meets him in the middle with thinly tamed fervency.

Hoseok cannot remember the last time he kissed another like this. Soul-devouring, all heat and love, with not a shred of resistance. Her lips and tongue are precisely like her voice: honey-sweet and burning like flames. And he thinks that he could do this for all of eternity, that he could kiss this nameless angel like there is no other meaning to life than her mouth sliding against his own. Because truly, it feels too good, too perfect, as though their lips were specifically designed to fit with one another.

But when Hoseok opens his eyes, it is to see tears slipping from between her lashes, as silver and diamond-like as her feathers.

“Live,” she whispers against his mouth, and her touch starts to fade like a breeze. But he is already forgetting her before the panic of her loss can begin to settle in.

Live long and happy, and I’ll see you at the end of it all, my love.

Hoseok... blinks into the emptiness of his kitchen. He feels foggy, as if he has woken from a midday nap that he never intended to have. But just as he is about to shake off the odd spell and go about the remainder of his afternoon, a peculiar thought comes to his mind. Peculiar, since it does not feel naturally formed. An intruder, though one that is not unwelcome.

A name, which sits in his head like a soft-spoken suggestion.

A half-hour later, he and his tongue, heavy with courage, find themselves at the florist across the road from the community garden, sweet-talking a number and a date out of the girl who makes even the most boring flowers into something outstanding. When she blushes and giggles as she glides a blue pen over a torn piece of paper, Hoseok feels his heart twist with delight. And there, with the tangerine sunset bleeding through the store’s front window, he does not notice that the knowledge of precious silver feathers in a un-precious shoebox slips from his mind, as if such knowledge was never there in the first place.

From above, where the sunlight shines brightest above the night that is slowly creeping over Hoseok’s hometown, his guardian angel—his soulmate—smiles. She has years of waiting until he is to truly step into her arms and press his mouth to her own once more, but she does not mind.

To her, a long, happy life for him is worth the decades of patience.

Prompt | Unbind Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something along the lines. Requested by @serendipi-tae!

Note | The concept is that the guardian angels are soulmates with the humans that they protect, so when the human dies, they are united with their soulmate. But the guardian angels aren’t supposed to noticeably interfere with the lives of their human, hence why she’s being secretive.

#hoseok x reader #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #bts x reader #atm #silver linings on hopeless nights #across the multiverse #vankoya #/ suicide #/ depression #also I didn't proofread this bc I'm lazy af

252 notes · View notes

aiklahori · 5 years

Link

Come Alive

By Hayley O'Neal

The topic of suicide and detailed attempts of suicide are discussed throughout this piece. Please use your discretion.

This post has also been edited. You can read the piece as it was originally published here.

I came home in the early hours of Saturday morning. I was as quiet as I could be, not wanting to wake my dad with the sound of my footsteps or the liquor on my breath. Part of me wanted to wake him—to collapse before him and share all the things I’d heard, like a child who chooses to speak up when they know a friend is being hurt.

Have you ever seen a man die? What about a man dying inside?

My friend locked eyes with me. Usually, his gaze flits about, anxiously coming up with a funny joke to counter the silence. Now was different. Unyielding, his eyes met mine and tears formed freely in the sockets.

“When I was 9, I walked in to find my dad with a gun in his mouth,” he said, “and for some reason, my 9-year-old self prevented him from pulling the trigger. We never talked about it again. It was like it never happened.”

His eyes were now engulfed in tears, as were mine.

It may have been several minutes before I answered. I was walking through my memories and trying not to envision his. I’ve been to his house. I’ve met his family, his dad. They’re kind and quiet. They mind and tend to themselves.

What did this do to him as a boy? As a man?

My resolve was shaken. Ten years of sharing life and laughter with him, and I had no idea. I’d always assumed that he was untouched. He was one to bring others out of darkness. I knew such because he always offered a reprieve from my own ups and downs.

Before this moment, he was the safe and controlled space that enveloped me whenever we were together. Now, our souls were spiraling at an unbearable speed.

My heart broke to bits knowing that he was not untouched after all. I realized so very quickly that none of us are. We are all desperately broken. Together, but ever alone.

I took his hand in mine and tearfully pleaded that he not use his dad’s choice to inform his own, that he speak with him about the experience that has impacted him for the last 20 years of his life.

He dismissed it. I countered. He countered. I felt the bondage. I felt it so thick around him. I was listening to both his admissions and to what his heart was saying in the silence between them. I fought the urge to rip myself from my seat and collapse into a hug as I mourned these two lives, two who walk the earth now as dry bones, rattling beside each other—together, but ever alone.

Our hands held firm, we were steady in the unsteadiness of the moment. I asked that he promise to never end his own life.

He couldn’t.

“Is there anything at all that would keep you from doing it?”

His mom and his dog, he answered.

He could only promise that he would tell me “when” he considered suicide. He was giving me the best he had to give, but my heart was grieving for the future. Maybe I wouldn’t pick up the phone, or a minute too late perhaps. Maybe the distance would keep him from calling at all. Should I stay? Move home to be near him?

I would hold out his broken pieces if it ever came and say to others, “I knew. I knew he was hurting and it wasn’t enough. I didn’t do enough.”

I asked to see him again the next night. It was the only way I could stomach walking away.

We laughed over dinner as if nothing was amiss, talking about alien probes, the paint colors of the restaurant resembling a no. 2 pencil, and the food we were eating. Finally, I asked if his cheerfulness was somehow deflecting, if he was compensating for the heaviness of the night before. Avoidance, you know.

Following dinner, we went to his office with a bottle of wine and settled in for another long night—we weren’t finished.

As we talked, we leaned in and out and beat around all kinds of topics before I asked if I could read him the notes I’d filled my phone with over last night’s conversation. I’d written as much as I could in as many details as I could remember because I couldn’t sleep after walking away from him.

When I read him the transcript, we both wept. I was trying to look up at him from time to time as I spoke, but I could only make out his general shape through the tears.

“We can fight hard for others, but we cannot fight their battles. We are enough. They are enough. But what we do for them, sometimes, is not enough to save them.

If we do not stand up and fight for them, they won’t find any strength at all to fight these gruesome battles. In this war against themselves, we are their weapons. And we, loving them well and without fear, are loaded and ready to disarm this evil. They cannot bring capable weapons to the fight without our giving ourselves up for them, pleading for and with them, loving them…

We all meet the end, but it does not have to be by the edge. How can we believe that this wildly messy experience is not the end or the edge?

We intercede: in these hills and valleys, call out to dry bones, ‘come alive.’ We are an army surrounding you, behind you, in you, for you.

Moments of ‘too hard,’ ‘too much,’ ‘too great,’ will not be removed from our path. Time and time again, the brokenness of this world will cause our feet to slip. It will not go away, but if you don’t go away—I will not go away.

I will not jump into the void, I said to him. I will not, and I will be damned if you jump, truly.

I love you. You are my heart and always have been. I am and always will be FOR you.

You are not alone.

Please, do not believe it for a second,” I finished.

I knew I would read it all to him. I’d been preparing for it all day. Still, it was difficult.

We stared at one another, blotting our eyes with our shirts. And I could feel the intensity increase as his lips repeated a pattern of moving to speak and stopping.

He quit resisting and began to tell me the story of his attempted suicide. Could I break any more than this?

He’d gotten a doctors note, stayed home from school, and tried to hang himself in the shed behind his house.

As if reading my mind, he asked, “Do you want to know how I got up there?”

“I do,” I said softly.

It was his dog who stood on all fours beneath him, obediently. He’d been used as a stool to reach the noose.

By this point, I’d moved from my chair across his desk to sit at his feet, holding his hands as he buried his face in them. Something in me knew this part of the story may have been his own subconscious creating a barrier for him, because perhaps in his heart of hearts, he didn’t truly want to die.

“He just… took it,” my friend wept. “But I couldn’t do it. I could feel him nudging me. He’s such a good dog. He has never looked at me any differently.”

He whispered, “he is such a good dog,” over and over.

By that, he meant “friend.” This dog was the only friend who knew and carried this devastating truth, who’d shown love and care for him in his darkest moment—and then forgot about that darkness as it was happening and after the moment was released. The dog saved his life. In Greek, the meaning of his dog’s name is “the one who heals.”

As we were chatting yesterday, I shared this and he asked if I thought that he had been named that as a puppy because someone knew that he would be used to heal.

“Cosmically, I do. Very much so,” I responded. This statement meant something to both of us since he’d been aware of how my faith had crumbled over the years.

“I think I might be coming around too,” he said.

In the early hours of that Sunday morning, he promised me that he would never end his life. I promised him that I would never end mine.

There’s an Easter phrase, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” It alludes to Jesus’ death on the cross…the darkest Friday in spiritual literature, a day when no one knew that resurrection would come, that healing would come, that Jesus would come. On the other side of the resurrection, believers can see how riddled Jesus’ followers were in the days before Sunday, broken and confused.

When we met on Friday, I did not know that my friend and I would walk through the heart of death together over the next two days. We didn’t know as we navigated through it that we would both wake up Sunday emerging from tombs, freed and alive. Resurrected in a way.

Sunday came. Monday came. It is Tuesday, and we are still alive. We will take each day, one at a time, and hold onto each moment with these promises in mind.

If you find yourself where my friend has been, where I have been, he and I share this story for you. We hope that by opening up, you will find the courage to; that something in this story gives you the strength to approach your friends or be honest with yourself.

You are truly loved. We are an army around you, behind you, in you, and for you.

With time and space, things change.

With love and mercy, lives do.

#depression #suicide #stigma #pain #hurt #life #tension #stress #love #hate #sadness #sorrow #grief #trigger #trigger suicide #tw: suicide #suicide prevention #help

2 notes · View notes

anistarrose · 6 years

Text

Some Sunny Day - Chapter 7: Dark Void (Gravity Falls Same Coin Theory)

Summary: An encounter in the Mindscape begins to expose a harsh reality that none of the Pines want to face, Stan least of all.

Warnings: Manipulation through lying, (brief) self-blame

Previous / Next

The Beginning

(The Same Coin Theory is by @dubsdeedubs and @renmorris!)

“There’s nothing down there,” Stan repeated, coils of dark fog winding around his arms and seeping into the sleeves of his suit. “You should have stayed in the real world, Ford.”

In the vending machine behind him, a black liquid began to rise in level, filling it until its lights no longer flickered and the sounds of the piano music grew muffled. Then, the darkness began to seep out and snake across the floorboards like an oil leak, staining everything black.

Ford’s stomach churned, and a sickening sour-sweet taste burned at the back of his throat. “Stanley, you… you have to have heard that song, you couldn’t have not heard —”

Stan tilted his head like a confused dog, expression still impossibly blank. “Song?”

From either Dipper or Mabel, Ford heard a sharp, upset intake of breath, mirroring the tightening feeling in his heart. “What — what did Bill do to you?!” he gasped.

“Bill?” Stan murmured. “Bill’s dead.”

He paused. “Right, Stanford?”

Finally, there was something flickering in his expression — the faintest hint of fear, of vulnerability, like a frightened child turning to a trusted adult for reassurance. “We killed him. Didn’t we?”

“You’re scared of what’s behind that machine,” Ford realized aloud. Curling his hands into fists to hide how much they were shaking, he added: “Stanley, I know it’s frightening, but you can’t just… trap yourself in some fantasy where everything’s alright. I’m sorry, but in order to fix this, you have to admit that Bill isn’t —”

Stan flinched, and as the wave of terror contorted his face, a bolt of blue lightning flew across the room, illuminating its every detail for a few brilliant microseconds.

“T-there’s nothing down there, I told you!” Stan stumbled away from his family, pressing his back to the dripping, almost unrecognizable vending machine. At his feet, a whirlpool of darkness grew, throwing off tendrils that struck the few remaining light patches and drowned them in shadow.

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper and Mabel cried out in unison, just as Soos yelled “Mr. Pines!” and stepped forwards —

The Shack shuddered, floorboards torn apart beneath Soos’s feet. From beneath them, there erupted a geyser of cold, churning, all-consuming blackness —

“Soos!” Mabel yelled, reaching forward — but his form had already vanished into the plume of dark water. “Soos! Soos, say something! Are you —”

“If you won’t leave,” Stan interrupted, speaking in only a whisper yet somehow becoming the most commanding voice in the room, “then I guess I’ll have to…”

He made a motion like he was snapping his fingers, but no noise came. Around Soos, the water swirled into a perfect sphere, floating off the ground and towards the impossibly high ceiling until it disappeared into the ink-black clouds.

“Grunkle Stan, t-that wasn’t you, was it?” Dipper stammered. “You wouldn’t —”

Stan stared downwards as the fog around him thickened, droplets of darkness condensing on his fingers and then rolling off, joining the rivers that carved their way between upturned floorboards. They flowed stronger and stronger, wider and wider, splitting off separate channels that wound around the Pines and forming a constantly shifting web.

Dipper pulled Ford back from one of them, only to nearly stumble into another himself before Ford caught him. His knuckles were white as he gripped Ford’s hand.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Stan said.

“Stanley…” Ford whispered. “Stanley, please…”

Mabel took a single cautious step towards Stan, watching the floor carefully, but one of the darkest clouds above released an absolute waterfall of a downpour, sending a wave of blackness cascading down towards her —

Without a moment to spare, Ford summoned a glowing rectangular blue barrier above her, tilted to direct the water back towards the foggy chasm — but even then, Mabel barely had enough time to dive out of the way before it shattered, its fragments dissolving into darkness.

“Run,” Ford choked out, wiping dark splashes off his face with a trembling arm. When Dipper and Mabel turned to him in shock, he raised his voice: “Run! It’s too dangerous to stay here!”

Because Ford had been horribly mistaken, because this just couldn’t be the real Stan, because Stan would never do anything like this, no matter how frightened he was…

…would he?

No. No, he just couldn’t.

“It’s Bill!” Ford shouted to the kids — it has to be — and with that, another bolt of lightning tore through the air, evaporating fog away for a single moment before Stan screamed, a huge wave appearing behind him and chilling the whole room as it surged towards Ford and the kids —

They ran, not having any time to try to find what had happened to Soos, not having any time to look down at their footing — only time to pray to blind luck that none of them would step in a riptide current of darkness, and be carried away into whatever void awaited them.

Fighting against all his survival instincts, Ford turned back for just a moment and saw that Stan was following them, wading through the surging waves like they were nothing.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Stan cried, and in any other situation, the sheer anguish in his voice would have been more than enough to make Ford believe him.

“I’m just doing this to keep you away from — from it! To try to protect you from it!”

“But from what?!” Dipper yelled over the sound of crashing waves, coming to a halt altogether as he turned to face Stan. “If it’s Bill, we need to know about it, so we can —”

The floorboards snapped beneath his feet, spraying gray splinters everywhere and sending him plummeting down to the cold, dark void below. For a split second, his tiny hand still reached out of the water, grasping desperately, futilely, at the jagged edge of one of the planks, but before Ford could grab ahold of it, it was pulled out of his reach, dragged by some impossibly strong current.

Mabel cried out, but the water began to gurgle upwards from the hole left in the floor, slowly at first but then erupting into a raging waterspout. Out of pure reflex, Ford grabbed her and began to run, carrying her away even as she struggled to free herself from his grip.

“We’ll go back for him,” Ford gasped, “I swear. We’ll go back for him and Soos as soon as we can. We won’t be any use to them if we’re — if we’re captured ourselves.”

He took a step onto one of the winding, floating staircases, and it melted, pouring down into the abyss. For a moment, Ford and Mabel hovered in the air like they were in some old-fashioned cartoon, but gravity took hold of them a second later, and for a moment they were falling, the g-force pulling at them and twisting Ford’s stomach —

But they were in the mind, and eventually they imagined themselves to a halt, floating in a sea of thick gray clouds — just plain, cold, uniform gray, stretching on forever in every direction. Stan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

“Grunkle Ford?” Mabel whispered. “Which… which way is up?”

Ford was about to point to above their heads, when suddenly a splatter of black rained up, from beneath their feet. And then there was another, coming from behind them and moving in a nearly horizontal direction.

Ford cursed in an alien language.

Of course, of course. This whole area disregarded the laws of gravity; he’d seen that with all the staircases. The way that felt like up to him, the way it felt like he’d fallen from, could easily just be a trick, an illusion — in fact, he’d bet that it was.

An illusion… Something was nagging at him, something he knew he was forgetting. Something important, something dangerous.

“Mabel, could you pick a direction for us to go?” he asked quietly. “I… I don’t know any way to get out of here, other than trying everything until something works.”

There was, of course, always the chance that they’d just get more lost, but what other choice did they have? No one was coming to help them, and there had to be at least an hour remaining before Stan’s sedative wore off and he woke up, if not even longer…

Mabel nodded, and pointed a bit above and to the left of them. “Let’s try that way, I guess?”

“That’s good,” Ford replied, and then added more quietly: “I’m… I’m so sorry that I put you in danger like this. You’ve been very brave.”

Mabel squeezed his arm. “We wouldn’t have let you leave us outside the Mindscape anyways. You said you knew that, didn’t you?”

“That’s true.”

They floated upwards (?) through the fog in silence for a moment.

“Keep squeezing my arm like that. Make sure we don’t get separated.”

“I will,” Mabel replied. Then she frowned. “If I get… if I end up like Dipper and Soos, you’ll go on without me, right?”

“In the moment… I may have to. But I’ll come back. I promise.”

“I know you will, Grunkle Ford. But… if you get captured, what do I do? How do I save you and the others?”

“I…”

What was Ford supposed to say — that he had no plan other than relying on sheer determination, possibly with an additional hint of self-martyrdom if required?

Something cold splattered against his arm, bleeding through his coat and sweater, turning him numb and blurring his vision…

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel yelled, as if from a distance. “Grunkle Ford, you’re falling!”

He shook his head, and again he could feel Mabel gripping his other arm, the only thing keeping him from plummeting into the foggy abyss.

Let me fall, let me forget about all this, let me rest… part of his mind kept saying, but he managed to focus on the idea of his body levitating, and he floated back up to Mabel’s side, narrowly dodging another shower of water.

“It — it’s messing with my thoughts. We have to keep moving.”

Mabel started to say something, but more rain began to fall from all directions, and she and Ford both summoned a spherical barrier around them — Ford’s half metallic and glowing blue like alien technology, Mabel’s half pink and plastic like a hamster ball. But the darkness ate away at both sides like acid, spewing out dark wisps of vapor that blurred into the endless expanse of gray clouds and darkened them even more…

“We can’t block it off,” Ford realized. “We — we have to just make a break for it, and dodge all of it somehow —”

But I’m not even sure we’re heading the right way. I might as well just let it consume me — it’ll be a peaceful way to go out, at least…

“Let’s go!” Mabel told him, pointing to a direction where the rain seemed less intense and pulling Ford along. He barely snapped out of his thoughts in time to dodge a splash from the barrier as it collapsed in on itself fully, melting together towards its center and spraying off rain like some sort of dying star.

What was he thinking? He couldn’t just give up and pretend like nothing was wrong — Mabel needed him, Stan needed him…

From the clouds, a familiar dark figure materialized, drops of shadow slowly dripping off of his suit. Frowning very faintly, Stan flicked his hand, and a torrent of water rained down from above, swirling like a descending tornado and heading straight for Ford —

Mabel shoved him out of the way. The cyclone grazed her back, and darkness bled through her sweater, her hair…

She let go of Ford’s arm, and before he could reach back out to her, she floated away from him, limbs hanging limp. A detached, peaceful look spread across her face as she fell, the grey clouds closing around her until it looked as if she might have never been there in the first place.

“She’ll be safe now,” Stan whispered.

Something inside Ford — something that had been lurking somewhere between his desperation to save Stan and his instincts screaming at him to flee, something that had been growing strained ever since finding the vending machine — something snapped.

“What have you done?!” he roared. “What have you done to them?! Bring them back, or I’ll —”

“I’m keeping them safe.” Stan paused, as if unsure whether to continue. “And happy.”

“You’re lying,” Ford growled through gritted teeth. “You’re not Stan, and I was a fool for thinking you were. You’re B—”

“NO!”

Stan shuddered, wrapping his arms around his chest and tucking his hands beneath them. “D-don’t say that! Don’t say that I’m him —”

“I’ll say what I want, because there’s no way Stanley would ever do this. You are not my brother. You’re Bill Cipher, and nothing you say will delude me into believing otherwise —”

Stan let out a sob, his tears spilling out into waves that circled the two of them, cutting them off in every direction except for far, far above. Even beneath the sound of the raging water, Ford could hear Stan repeating, like a ritual:

“I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I’m not I can’t be I CAN’T BE I CAN’T —”

Really, honestly, Ford wanted nothing more than to hug him, but he knew the being that resembled his brother had to be an illusion, had to be Bill getting in his head —

In his head.

The nagging feeling from earlier returned to him, erupting into an explosion of panic, and self-hatred, and regret for his own stupidity.

For decades now, he’d taken it for granted that his mind was protected from Bill, his memories safe from interference, with only the occasional vivid dream left vulnerable to the demon. But the metal plate in his head was a physical barrier, not a mental one… which meant that in his body in the real world, it did nothing.

And his consciousness and memories, which he’d willingly projected into another mind, were left exposed.

He — foolishly, irresponsibly, idiotically — had felt safe bringing the kids and Soos into Stan’s mindscape with him because he’d figured that he’d be immune to the type of tricks Bill could play, that he would be capable of snapping the others out of it if the need arose. But he was just as vulnerable as they were, of course he was.

I’m such a fool. I just put everyone in even greater danger. There are so many decisions, spread out over so many years, that I could have made differently to prevent this.

Just a few yards away from him, Ford saw Stan’s face contort into a grimace, ink-black droplets leaving dark trails as they ran down his cheeks. Ever so slightly, he shook his head, and the whirlpool around them began to draw closer —

Ford launched himself into flight, moving as fast as he could possibly imagine and aiming for the opening at the top of the cyclone — the opening that was growing smaller and smaller with every second. He didn’t have a plan, other than to hope against hope that his thoughts and memories hadn’t been manipulated too much yet, and that he’d be able to continue fleeing from Bill until Stan woke up and he was brought back to the waking world —

The spot of light above him narrowed to a pinprick of light gray within the black, and the water grew closer and closer to him, spraying him with a mist of a thousand comforting thoughts: nothing’s wrong, your brother’s safe, just relax and forget about all these worries —

He had to power through this. He had to keep his thoughts his —

He reached for the opening above him, but the waves closed in around his wrist, numbing his arm and spilling down over the rest of his body. They raged around him, absorbing all light and striking out all thoughts, until the surroundings finally grew calm and uniform and blank.

Where am I, how did I get here, what…

Within the darkness, a single slit-pupiled eye blinked open, black droplets spilling off its lashes.

And then, from behind Ford, someone pressed a gun into his hands.

***

“Hey, Soos, you with me?”

Soos opened his eyes to find himself on the porch of the Shack — the real, colorful one, not the mindscape version — and to see Stan standing in front of him, one hand placed on Soos’s shoulder. He was back to wearing his white t-shirt and red beanie, and the smile on his face was wide, but not too wide. Soos hadn’t felt so relieved since Weirdmageddon.

(Relieved, or confused.)

“Mr. Pines, you’re okay!” he blurted out, wrapping Stan in a bear hug before he could stop himself, but Stan returned it, gently hitting Soos on the back.

“‘Course I am, bud. Remember? You guys got rid of Bill once and for all.”

Soos’s brain felt like it had gotten dust in it like a video game cartridge, and needed to be blown out in order to process his thoughts correctly. “Uh, actually… I’m not really sure if I do remember —”

“You did good back there, Soos.” Stan withdrew from the hug, a football appearing in his hands like it had materialized out of thin air. “Hey, you wanna toss the ol’ pigskin around? We haven’t done that since the one time last summer, have we?”

...then again, maybe remembering wasn’t all that important.

“Sure, Mr. Pines!”

“Alright, then! Go long!”

Soos started jogging out across the field, turning his head over his shoulder to look back at Stan, who was watching with a smile on his face. The first through arced through the air perfectly, landing in Soos’s hands with a satisfying clap.

He still had no idea what had happened to Ford and the kids, but for some reason, he found himself wondering about it less and less as the game of catch went on, until the thought couldn’t have been further from his mind.

***

Dipper stumbled to the ground, barely avoiding the wailing, glowing green specter as it soared over him.

“Heads up, Dipper!” he heard Stan yell, and he reached above him just in time to grab hold of a small rectangular device. On one end, it had two silver antenna, and between them, a conical piece that somewhat resembled a nozzle, while on an adjacent side it had a series of color-coded control buttons and switches.

Pointing the nozzle end at the ghost as it sped towards Ford (who was naturally just holding a camera and smiling without an ounce of concern), Dipper pressed the largest blue button —

A web of holographic, crisscrossing lines sprayed out, shifting in color from pink to purple and back to pink, ensnaring the ghost and automatically pulling it back towards him. It struggled against the net, wailing at an even more off-tune pitch, but it didn’t produce enough force for Dipper to even feel its pull, much less to dislodge the device from his grip.

Perfect!

“Hey, it worked!” Stan whistled. “You really caught yourself a spook!”

“Of course it worked, brother of little faith,” Ford retorted, raising his voice not out of serious anger but simply to be heard over the ghost’s howling. “That adhesive can trap anything, with or without a physical form. You should have seen how extensively Dipper tested it!”

Stan might have offered another good-natured wisecrack in response, but Mabel cut in: “Hey, bro, I get you’re excited about your new pet ghoul and all, but can you get it to quiet down? My ears feel like they’re melting!”

“Oh, uh, right! Sorry!” Dipper flicked a switch on his invention, and the ghost’s cries grew muffled. He turned to Ford, who was holding the camera, and announced: “This concludes today’s episode of Guide to Haunted Mansions with Dipper and the Pines Family! Join us next week, as we examine our new specimen in the lab! You’re not gonna want to miss it!”

Everyone cheered, chanting Pines! Pines Pines! as Ford got one last shot of the mansion’s room to close on.

“We may want want to edit out the part where I mentioned the adhesive,” Ford suggested once the camera was off, “lest some viewers with too much time on their hands realize that it’s of extraterrestrial origin. I’d rather not have the shadow government on our backs.”

Dipper nodded. “Yeah, good catch. I’ll edit it.”

For the briefest of moments as he turned towards the door to leave, he had a faint nagging feeling that something was wrong, that this whole scene was too perfect to be true, but he ignored it. On the way out, Stan gave him a high-five and an affectionate punch on the shoulder.

***

Mabel knew she was falling, knew that she probably shouldn’t be falling, but she couldn’t bring herself to try to stop, to fly back up. She felt peaceful like this — and what would she even go back to? More of Stan acting like that? Acting like…

With what felt like her last spark of energy, she pulled her arms and legs close to her body and squeezed her eyes shut.

I just wish Bill would leave us alone…

…

She pulled her sweater tightly over her head and knees, and settled down onto the ground.

“I just wish summer could last forever…” she found herself murmuring.

“T-that might be possible!”

“Sweater Town is not accepting incoming calls right now.”

“M-M-M-Mabel, it’s me!”

She peeked her head out of her sweater, finding a forest bathed in the red light of the setting sun. “Wha? Who said that?”

“I-I-I can help!” Blendin flickered into existence before her, his suit showing the briefest glimpses of an autumn schoolyard, and then, a burning ruin — both so quick they seemed almost imagined.

“The… time travel guy? What are you doing here?”

This all felt so wrong, for so many different reasons…

“You said you don't want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?”

“Yeah... why are you asking?”

Mabel didn’t trust this sort-of-friend of hers one bit, didn’t want to know where this conversation was going. It just felt chillingly, inexplicably sinister…

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favor for me, so I thought I could help you out!”

The setting sun gleamed off Blendin’s goggles, making them gleam yellow instead of red for just a moment. “It's called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward! Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!”

There was a feeling of déjà vu buzzing at the back of her mind like a fizzing caffeinated drink, faint but anxious, telling her she’d done all this before, that this had already happened —

She shook her head, and the buzz faded.

“Really?” she asked Blendin. “But… how does it work?”

Blendin pressed a button on his watch, and a holographic projection appeared in vivid light blue, showing a cracked sphere with four ducts connecting it to a striped base. Mabel had never seen it before in her life, or at least, she shouldn’t have, but the sight of it sent a chill through her.

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle. It's something small, he won't even know it's missing!”

“No,” Mabel whispered without knowing why, and then repeated, louder: “No. That — that thing’s dangerous!”

How do I know, why do I know this —

“What?!” Blendin exclaimed. “No no no, it’s — it’s perfectly harmless, I promise! And — and I can’t make the time bubble without it, so just hand it over, or I’ll have to —”

Mabel pulled Dipper’s backpack close to her and sprung to her feet, kicking Blendin in the knee and making a break for the Shack. “Dipper! Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan! Help!”

Time and space felt distorted, like her legs were carrying her further with each step than they should have been able to. Somehow, without actually looking back, she could see Blendin following her, hot on her heels at first but then slowly starting to lag behind…

Ford burst out of the Shack and fired a blast from his stun gun, striking Blendin square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, the world turning gray for a second as a burst of yellow flew out from his form. Then color returned to the forest — no longer red, but rather, the peaceful, beautiful pink of a late August sunset.

Somewhat numbly, Mabel handed Ford the backpack, and he rifled through it quickly as Dipper and Stan rushed over, looking concerned.

“The rift is still stable,” Ford reported, his frown still tight with worry. “Now, Mabel, are you alright? Bill didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I think? Does… does this mean Weirdmageddon won’t happen?”

Ford put a hand on her shoulder. “No. No, it won’t. I still have to seal this rift, but once that’s done, Bill will never be able to physically manifest in our dimension this way — thanks to you seeing through his tricks. We’ll be safe.”

Why did she even know what Weirdmageddon was? Why was no one surprised by her knowing? What was happening to —

“Mabel, I was so worried!” Dipper hugged her. “I’m so sorry for what I said — I’m not going to stay in Gravity Falls, I know that now…”

The apology barely registered for Mabel, the words muffled by the fog in her head. She’d already forgiven him, a long time ago.

“It’s okay, Dip,” she managed to say. “I don’t blame you…”

As Ford headed inside to seal the rift, Dipper following him, Stan and Mabel were left alone. He gave her a gentle pat on the back.

“Hey, pumpkin, you okay? There’s no need to be scared of nothin’ anymore. The triangle can’t do jack now.”

There was a gleam in Stan’s eyes that Ford and Dipper had lacked, Mabel realized. He seemed less distant. More real. More reminiscent of everything that felt wrong about all this.

“A-are you okay, Grunkle Stan? Bill didn’t do anything to you?” she blurted out, grabbing him by the arm.

It couldn’t be this easy. They couldn’t really be safe. Stan, especially, couldn’t really be safe, it just didn’t feel right —

“Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m fine.” He smiled to her. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I promise.”

“I know…” she told him, even though she really, really didn’t know anything. Her thoughts were jumbled, jumping around like popcorn in one of those glass-walled machines, striking the sides of her skull and exploding and just creating so much chaos that she just couldn’t find the right ones, couldn’t remember what she should have, what she needed to remember —

Stan hugged her, and the chaos faded to a distant roar, faint and consistent and easy to tune out.

“Bill’s never laid a hand on me,” he assured her. “I’ve got nothin’ to do with him — unless I run into him when he’s giving one of you guys a hard time, but I’ve got a feeling he won’t be doing much of anything like that anymore. That rift thing is what he wants from Ford, right? And he can’t get that now.”

Mabel nodded. Yeah, that all made sense. Stan was right, of course he was…

“I just… I had a dream, I think. Or a nightmare. Where Bill got into our world, and it — and it was all my fault, and I didn’t want to believe it so I locked myself in this… in this bubble… ”

Bubbles, dream bubbles, prison bubbles, Sweater Town, block out all the bad stuff, hide there forever, lying about it to keep you away from it —

“Must have been a trick that demon played,” Stan murmured, words oddly soothing — almost hypnotizing. “But it wasn’t real. And you’re stronger than that nightmare, I know you are.”

That’s right, everything is alright. Nothing bad happened, nothing was your fault —

But this isn’t real; that all was, Mabel was finally able to put to words. This is the dream, that was reality.

But she didn’t dare say as much out loud. Instead, she whispered: “Thanks, Grunkle Stan, you’re right. I’m… I’m gonna go inside now.”

“No problem, pumpkin,” Stan replied, helping her up. “You ever need anything, just come and ask.”

Mabel nodded, and then, the second she was out of Stan’s sight, she huddled down in the corner and shut her eyes, afraid to look at whatever illusions the dream might summon to tempt her.

Her first thought was that this was Bill’s doing again, that he was trying to trap her, to keep her and Ford and the others from finding where he lurked in Stan’s mind… but deep down, she knew that wasn’t it.

She remembered what it had felt like to be in the bubble Bill created, and like this one, it certainly had given her what she wanted — or at least, what she believed she wanted. But this… this illusion was more powerful. A stronger pull, a more irresistible temptation, so strong that she almost hadn’t even realized it was all a dream.

This was what her heart had yearned after for the past ten months. To be free of this guilt, this knowledge that she’d almost gotten her family killed.

And if anyone was going to understand that, it wasn’t going to be Bill. It was going to be Stan.

Stan, who must have been so afraid for his family’s sakes. Stan, who just wanted them all to be not just safe, but happy. Stan, who had always been so good at lying about his own happiness, so of course he would be good at lying to make others happy, too.

Stan, who was so similar to Bill, yet even more different.

“I’m gonna find a way to save you, Grunkle Stan,” Mabel whispered. “I’m gonna find a way to make it so you don’t have to lie. I promise.”

She told herself she wasn’t being hypocritical for tuning out the intrusive thoughts of what if he can’t be saved? and what if the truth is even worse than you think?

Because those thoughts couldn’t be true, she just wouldn’t let them be true…

What if there was never anyone else here that Stan needed saving from?

What if he only needs saving from himself?

***

A high-pitched, horrifyingly familiar voice screamed from all around Ford, the darkness seeping out of his surroundings and condensing together into one perfectly equilateral triangle.

“Oh, now what do we have HERE? Six-Fingers really thinks he can figure out a way to run the portal ‘safely?’ News flash, BRAINIAC: you’ve never —”

Ford found himself squeezing a trigger.

A brilliant beam of light shot out at Bill — blasting a hole in his chest, sparking a fire that consumed his triangular form in an instant, raging bright orange like burning sodium. For just a moment, there was an awful shriek of panic and horrified realization, but before Ford could even move to cover his ears, it was gone — it echoed for just a moment, and then faded out entirely.

Faintly red-orange embers were drifting to the ground, burning out and joining all the other particles that made up the dirt floor as if they had never been a part of anything else, a part of anything dangerous. Their orange glow disappeared, replaced by the faint blue light that the portal machinery projected, humming steadily and peacefully.

It was all very quick, and very decisive, and very not right. The world seemed to shift around Ford, and he felt as if he too was drifting to the ground, extinguished —

A steady hand caught him by the arm and held him until he regained his balance. A gruff, comfortingly familiar voice spoke from behind him:

“Hey, Stanford, you okay? We did it, buddy. Bill’s dead. We’re safe.”

Unsteadily, Ford turned, and saw Stan looking at him — his long brown hair was a mess, and his red jacket was singed, but his expression was comforting, full of relief. The portal cast its blue glow over him, too, flickering slightly like a fire…

“Where… what year is it?” Ford mumbled.

“It’s 1982,” Stan replied, patting him gently on the back. “You and Fidds made an invention to blast Bill out of existence. You remember that, right?”

“The portal… why is it…”

“We restarted it as a trap — because the gun only worked on him if he took a physical form. Is… is this coming back to you?”

“…Right,” Ford replied. “Right. I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me —”

“Hey, it’s okay. I… I get why this might be a lot to take in, but… you’re safe from Bill now. He’s never gonna hurt anyone again.”

“He’s…”

He’s really gone? I’m safe from him? You’re safe from him?

“Stanford! Are ya alright?” Fiddleford was running over to them now, slamming the door to the control chamber closed behind him.

“He’s gonna be,” Stan said confidently. “It all worked out just like we planned — Ford just needs a second to —”

“No,” Ford whispered. “Fiddleford, why are you… why are you…?!”

“Pardon?” Fiddleford asked, looking to Stan uncertainly.

“Young,” Ford finally choked out. “Why are either of you young? Why is Stan —”

Then the truth dawned on him, and as obvious as it seemed, it was a struggle to choke out, a struggle to admit. “This — this isn’t real, is it?”

“Whoa, Ford!” Stan put a hand on Ford’s arm. “Calm down. It’s okay, it’s —”

“It’s absolutely not okay!” Ford shouted, pulling himself away. “And you — you’re not even denying it!”

Stan let out a sad, quiet sigh.

“Does it really matter if this is real, Ford?”

“Yes! Yes, it does! It…”

Stan and McGucket were both staring at him, but now that Ford knew what to look for, there was a dullness to Fiddleford’s eyes, a lack of detail in his expression. While Stan… felt more real, more genuine. The bodies that all of them wore now were illusions, but the real Fiddleford wasn’t present in any capacity, as opposed to Stan, who was very much himself.

And Ford couldn’t bring himself to be that angry with the real Stan.

“I’m sorry. I just…”

He felt like he should remember something important about how he got here, something that might explain why Stan was here but Fiddleford wasn’t really, but reaching for the memory felt like plunging into a violent current, dark and chaotic and impossible to navigate —

What have you done? What have you done to them?

I’m keeping them safe. And happy.

“Ford, you don’t have to stay here,” Stan told him. “This isn’t some… some prison, some diabolical trap. I just… I thought you could use a break from reality. Some time to relax, in a place where… things went better. Where you can actually do the things you always wished you could do.”

“So — so you created this? Not Bill?”

“Yeah. Remember, we killed Bill in real life, too, it just… took a lot longer.”

Ford’s heart was pounding, like his body, his instincts, knew something his conscious mind didn’t — but Stan gently took him by the shoulders and turned him around to face the portal, its glow hypnotizing.

“In this world, it’s safe to use. You can explore anywhere you want to explore, alongside anyone you want to adventure with. You can even meet anyone you mighta given up on seeing again.”

Ford could think of a number of different people he’d given up on seeing again, had parted ways with far too soon, people for whom he would rejoice at an opportunity to talk to, even knowing they weren’t really there — but he couldn’t let himself get caught up in this illusion. He’d been in the middle of something important when he’d gotten pulled into this dream, he was sure of it. It was just the specifics that kept eluding him…

But then again, he’d already spent a fair amount of time here, hadn’t he? He could surely afford to waste just a little bit more.

“Ten minutes,” he told Stan. “That’s all.”

Then added: “...maybe fifteen, if we’re in the middle of something when the first ten minutes end. But that’s the absolute most.”

He knew it was a dangerous concession to be making, but he could control himself, of course he could.

(And…. ten minutes did feel unfairly brief. So did fifteen minutes, for that matter…)

Stan’s face lit up with excitement and maybe, just a hint of relief?

“Then to the portal!” he cheered, voice full of contagious enthusiasm.

“To the portal!” Ford echoed, oblivious as the watch on his wrist sublimated into a plume of dark fog.

***

“I've been lying about it to try to keep you away from it! To try to protect you from it!” — Stanley Pines, Scary-oke

***

The way I see it, Stan obviously loves his family and understands their desires far better than Bill could, but that also means the illusions he summons are even more powerful and tempting than the ones Mabel and company overcame in Weirdmageddon…

(Also, I recently wrote a Same Coin one-shot, The Phoenix in the Birch Trees, that can be taken as a prequel to this story. You don’t have to read that one to understand anything that goes on in SSD, of course, but I thought I’d leave it here in case anyone who missed it before is interested!)

and yeah the title is a pokemon reference. because, you know, nightmare demons who don't actually mean harm but trap people in dreams to protect themselves

#gravity falls #same coin theory #stanley pines #bill cipher #stanford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #fiddleford mcgucket #fic: some sunny day #rosalia writes fic

24 notes · View notes