#everyone got these tortured ass memories of him and look at him with this weight and heaviness when he came to visit sam that one time

[wulfhalls]

first actual glimpse at none alternate kirk in the last 5 secs of the ep like thats my boyfriend that's my boyfriend THATS MY BOYFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[the-starry-seas]

okay I'm still thinking about Stormbrake and sparklings so:

Sparklings aren't formed with an alliance to the Decepticons or the Autobots. It's not until they're grown that they side with one or the other. (Generally, they side with whoever raised them, and that's largely because Decepticons are not presented with any choice in the matter. Join or die.)

So when the Autobots somehow have a whole bunch of sparklings, the Decepticons immediately want to get their hands on the little ones so they can be brainwashed into the next generation of soldiers.

Considering that Stormbrake was tortured the entire three months he was with the Decepticons, thereby gaining lifelong trauma, he is desperate to get the Autobots' dozen sparklings back at any cost.

Which is difficult, because he can't go near a Decepticon without having a complete mental breakdown.

He gives his team all the information he can. Shows them every bit of his memories that they can bear to watch. And hopes to every god out there, that they can come home safe and sane, just like he didn't.

And they do! The Autobots kick ass and slaughter the thieves with no survivors, and bring the adorable little ones back home, cooing over them all the way. Few of them remember what it was like to have sparklings by the dozen, before the war got bad, and it's very obvious that Mirage and Bee are both about .02 seconds away from adopting them all and killing anyone who looks at them wrong.

Then they get back home. Stormbrake's been pacing a rut in the floor the entire time they were gone, so it's a huge weight off his shoulders to see that everyone's safe.

That nobody's going to come back like him.

Optimus is the one holding the box all the sparklings were put in for easy transport, and he holds it out to let Stormbrake see the little ones inside. He's enamoured with them immediately, how could he not be, just look at the tiny baby robots! The sparklings are vaguely peeved at having been jostled around in a box the entire way home, so they're happy to cuddle up to his hand when he dips it in. So small that when they wrap their arms around one of his fingers, they barely reach all the way.

They're everything he can't be any more. Eager to explore the world around them. Trusting the hands that touch them. Innocent.

Somehow it doesn't feel like a blessing to see them come back whole.

Not until they refuse to settle anywhere but in his hands, and he realises none of them see him as broken. Part of him thinks it's just because they're too young to know better, but part of him thinks it feels like hope.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[goddesswritings]

Sins of Lovers - Colby Brock | Part One

Title: Sins of Lovers – Part One

Pairing: Colby Brock x Reader

Summary: Y/n has had a crush on Colby since middle school and now it’s ten years later when he comes back into her life. He’s back in the most unexpected way and the most unexpected of things happens between the two of them.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings: Cheating parents, divorce, bullying, horrible parenting, moody Colby. 

This is an old fic that I think fits Colby. Enjoy.

MASTERLIST

********

Colby Brock. A guy that had been your crush since eighth grade, when he’d moved to town. There was something about him that called you back to him time and time again. He was a kind soul with a passion for life. He was someone you felt you could get along with.

But his whole attitude changed when the two of you started high school. He quickly became cold and rude. Quickly climbing the social ladder to join ranks with the most popular students in the school. These were the same people who bullied you and your friends.

It should have ended your crush on him, but it didn’t. The crush only seemed to grow as you watched him from afar. You would catch glimpses of the old him from time to time, which gave you hope that he was still in there.

Sophomore year, his attitude worsened, and he grew meaner to the people around him. News got around that his parents had divorced because his dad had been having an affair behind his mother’s back. It was also known she left town and now he was stuck with his father. He began to join in on the bullying, proving his new standing in school. During this time, you still watched him and searched for glimpses of the old Colby. They were becoming far and few.

Junior year, he started dating Paige Marcus, the IT girl of the school. All the boys wanted her and most of the girls wanted to be her. She was your personal tormentor and she had been for years. She’d taken a dislike to you in fourth grade, when you got the lead in the class play that year. That girl hated you more than anyone thought was possible.

It was a real heartbreak the first time you’d seen Colby and Paige walking hand in hand down the hallway. Your smile had faded, and you wanted to just cry. All over a boy who had never taken a notice to you. Especially because you were just some nerdy girl and he was now popular.

One day, you had been late to school, so you had to rush to get to class. As you ran through the hallway to get to class in time. You ran into Colby, literally. You collided hard with his built form, falling onto your ass.

Colby just simply looked down at you and laughed. “You should watch where you’re going, nerd.” He growled when anger flashed through his eyes.

Paige was hanging on his arm and glaring at you, as per usual. “Yeah loser, you really should watch where you’re going. My boyfriend didn’t need to be inconvenienced by you.” What was she? Colby’s parrot?

Paige laughed and kicked my books across the hallway. Colby laughed along with her, and pain flashed through my chest. “There better not be a next time.” He grumbled before stepping over you and walking away with Paige beside him.

Tears welled up in your eyes, misting up your glasses. You had been so embarrassed that day. You’d hoped it would end your crush on him, but it didn’t.

Senior year, Paige set out to personally destroy you at every chance she got. Colby was by her side each time, laughing along with her. That year was absolute hell for you. There was no escape from Paige’s wrath.

The worst day nearly broke you.

It was the middle of January and it had just snowed, making the town a frosty wasteland. There was a fire drill shortly after third period began and everyone was ushered out to the cold.

You stood with your class minding your own business when Paige approached you, dragging you from the other students. You’d struggled against her, not knowing why she had pulled you away.

“What do you want?” You asked while her nails dug into your arm.

“Just teaching you a lesson.” She said as you stopped next to a huge frozen snow bank.

“Why do you have to do this to me, Paige?” You questioned when she stole your glasses from your face. “No, give those back.” You attempted to reach for them, but the blurriness had taken over. As you were about to grab them, she threw them to her friend, Cassie. So you moved to get them from her, but she was keeping you from being able to retrieve them.

“Give me my glasses!” Your voice was loud because you were angry the snickering bitches had stolen them from you.

Suddenly, Cassie dropped them to the ground and stepped on them. A crunch could be heard as she ruined your chance for clear vision.

“Oops, my bad.” Cassie spoke while she continued to wreck your glasses.

“Stop! Why are you doing this?” Tears had begun to gather in your already blurry eyes.

“Oh look, we have a cry baby on our hands.” Paige taunted before pushing you towards the ground.

Your left hand went out to catch you, making contact with the frozen ground before your body weight came crashing down onto it. A sharp pain shot through your wrist, making you cry out as the pain hit. Paige and Cassie were just cracking up the whole time.

The world was blurry around you as you lifted your hand from the ground. Pain radiated through your arm, starting from your wrist.

“What are you guys doing?” A familiar voice cut through the two girls’ laughter. It was Colby and you were afraid he was here to join in on the torture.

“Oh baby, we were just teaching Y/n a lesson.” Paige answered in a supposedly sweet voice, but anyone could hear the venom hidden in her words.

“By breaking her glasses and hurting her?” He suddenly sounded mad.

“It’s just a joke.” Paige tried to sound like it wasn’t as big problem.

“Hurting people isn’t a joke, Paige!” He was yelling now. Then he was beside you, bending down to your level. “Are you okay, Y/n?” You couldn’t really see him all that clearly, but you could tell he was looking at the wrist you were clutching to your chest.

“No, it hurts a lot.” You whimpered as the pain continued to shoot through your arm.

“Okay, let’s get you to the nurse.” He was gentle as he helped you up from the ground.

“Why are you helping her?” Paige was now frustrated.

“She needs help.” He stated as he bent down to pick up your broken glasses from the ground.

“She’s not one of us, Colby, just leave her alone.”

“No, get out of the way.” He pushed by her and Cassie while leading you towards the school. The fire drill was over at this point.

It was quiet between the two of you as he led you through the hallway full of students who were headed back to class.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said to Colby, in a soft voice.

“Don’t mention it. Paige is a bitch a she needs to be put in her place.” He spoke as you walked into the nurses office. Once again, you had seen a glimpse of the old Colby which only proved to you that he was still in there.

You ended up having to go to the hospital, much to your mothers dismay. It was a serious inconvenience for her to leave work to take you to the hospital. She practically yelled the whole drive there. Your broken glasses were another yelling point for her. At the hospital, it was determined your wrist had been broken, which only angered her further. Not that any of it had been your fault, but she claimed you’d been the one to evoke the girls in the first place. Your mother and you weren’t particularly close.

After that incident, Paige and Colby had called it quits and Paige blamed you, of course. The rest of your senior year was pure hell for you, thanks to Paige and her friends.

You were more than happy to get away from there, luckily. You had received a scholarship to a college three hours away and your father’s house was twenty minutes from it, so you stayed with him. College was lonely for you, though. Because you weren’t all that great at making new friends and your father was always away for work, or on vacation with his new wife. A wife who didn’t like you much either.

Throughout it all, your crush on Colby never once faded. You didn’t know if it ever would.

****

10 years from the time you first began to like Colby, you were returning back to your mother’s house. You’d graduated from college and found a job close to her place, and thankfully she was letting you come back. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be there long before you found a place for yourself. You couldn’t help but to feel nervous about being back at her home. It would bring back memories of high school and Colby, but you highly doubted that he still lived in town.

You pulled into your mother’s driveway, staring at the sage green house in front of you. You’d grown up in this house. Your father had once lived in this house with you. The house held so many memories for you. Good and bad.

Sighing, you finally got out of the car and grabbed your bags from the back. You slowly made your way to the front door and let yourself into the house. Immediately, the aroma of cooking food filled your nostrils. Odd. Your mother hated to cook. You put your bags by the stairs and went to the kitchen. You found your mother standing in front of the stove wearing a blue dress. She never wore dresses.

“Hi mom.” You said getting her attention.

She turned around with a huge smile. “Hello honey. How was the drive back?” She had abandoned the stove to pull you into a hug.

“The drive was fine. What are you dressed up for?”

“Oh honey, I’m so excited. I’ve been seeing this man for a few months now and I’ve invited him and his son to dinner to welcome you home.”

This surprised you. Your mother had never successfully dated since your father left her.

“Yes okay, wow. Congrats mom. I look forward to meeting them.” You honestly were.

“I think you will like him, and his son is about your age and just a sweet young man.”

“Well I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you baby. You should go get settled in. They will be here in about an hour.” She then sent you off towards the stairs. The person you were just talking to was definitely not the person she was before you left for college. You purposely didn’t come home to visit all that often because you were afraid of who you would come home to.

After a quick shower, you sat at your counter to do your makeup. You were happy that you no longer had to wear glasses, because two years ago, your dad had gifted you laser surgery as a sorry for never being around. He still wasn’t around after that though, but you learned to expect that from him. After he left, you weren’t really much of a thought in his head.

You decided on a nice purple dress of yours and a pair of flat black booties for your feet and left your room. When you were halfway down the stairs, the doorbell went off.

“Y/n, could you get that?” Your mother asked from the kitchen.

“Yes.” You said, stopping in front of the door.

You flung open the door, instantly panicking as you saw who was on the other side. Colby Brock beside an older man, that must be his father. Your mom was dating his dad.

“Hello, come on in.” You moved out of the way so they could enter the house. Colby’s eyes were glued to you, which sent chills through your body. Oh god, tonight was going to be hell.

Your mother exited the kitchen and pulled Colby’s dad into a kiss. You grimaced and turned away from the scene. “Y/n sweetie, I want you to meet John Brock and his son Colby.” She introduced the men to you.

“I went to high school with Colby.” Colby was way hotter than you remember him being. He was sexy, tall, and muscular. He had this really sexy dyed blue hair upon his head. The man was perfect.

“Oh really? Do you remember her being so clumsy in high school? Her senior year, she broke both her glasses and wrist all in one day.” Your mother’s words made you blush in pure embarrassment.

“If I remember correctly, Y/n had her glasses stolen before she was pushed into a snowbank. So it wasn’t her fault.” Colby defended you, shocking you.

“Oh, looks like you had a friend in high school, Y/n.” You face grew red now.

“I think dinner is done. I’m going to go set the table.” You quickly dismissed yourself and ran off to the kitchen to grab the plates and silverware. You desperately hoped your mom wasn’t going to keep embarrassing you throughout dinner.

You were setting up the plates when your mother entered the room, followed by Colby and his father. You idly wondered if Colby had a girlfriend.  He had to have a girlfriend with how sexy he was.

“Thank you, Y/n. Can you grab the food for us?” She questioned while already being seated next to John.

“I’ll help you.” Colby said while following you into the kitchen. “How are you doing, Y/n?” He questioned.

You pulled the food from the oven and set it on the stove. “I’m alright. Not too thrilled to be back at my moms, but it’s okay.”

“I know what you mean. Living with my dad is hard. But I haven’t seen him much since he’s been seeing your mom.”

You began to put the other food into bowls for the two of you to carry. “How long have they been dating?” Your mother never said a length of time, only that she was dating someone.

“I’m not too sure, but I know it’s been over six months.”

“She kept it a secret from me.” You concluded. To be honest, it hurt that she kept something that big from you.

“My dad is the same, but he’s been that way all my life. I found out about his affair from someone at school. So that should tell you everything you need to know.”

That was rough. “I’m sorry, Colby.”

He just shrugged. “I’m over it now.” But you didn’t know if he was, but you weren’t going to push him.

The both of you carried the food into the dining room, where your mom and his dad were deep in conversation. The two of them looked up when you entered the room. You placed the food onto the table and took your seats, which happened to be right next to each other. Your mom and his dad were on one side and you and Colby were on the other.

You were still in shock that your crush was right here in front of you. You were double shocked that your mom was dating his dad. How in the world did that happen?

“It’s good to have you home, Y/n.” Your mom said as you started to plate the food.

“Thanks mom. It’s good to be home.” You didn’t know how truthful she was being though because the two of you haven’t gotten along for all of your life. She’s blamed you for your dad leaving and treated you like crap for it.

Dinner went on like that, with idle conversation and moments of silence. Truth be told, it was awkward as hell. You kept stealing glances at Colby, to find him pushing his food around before he would glance your way as well. You would always look away while a light blush appeared on your face.

“Alright kids, now that we have finished dinner, we wanted to talk to you about something.” John said once all the plates had been cleared.

“Sure.” Colby said, while you just nodded.

“We wanted to take a family vacation, so we can get to know each other’s family. So we booked a vacation to Boca Raton for a week.” Your mom said catching the two of you off guard.

“Oh, okay. But you know I have a job to start, right?” You stated.

“Yes sweetie, I know your job doesn’t start until next month and we leave in two days.”

“Great.” Colby’s voice was void of emotions. Like you, he wasn’t thrilled about your parents attempts to mesh the families together.

“You don’t sound too thrilled about this, Colby.” John noticed.

“I’m not. I’m being forced to get to know your new girlfriend and her daughter when I would rather not be involved. It’s not going to go anywhere, just liked the rest of them. You will probably cheat again.”

His words were harsh, but you could definitely see where he was coming from. But you couldn’t help but feel he had a dislike for you simply because your mom was dating his dad.

“That’s where you are wrong. I love Susanne and we are going to make this work whether you like it or not.” John was defensive against his moody son.

“Whatever you say. Are we finished here? I have somewhere to be.” He pushed his chair from the table and got up.

“I’m sorry, Sue, I don’t know where he got the attitude from. I promise he will be better on the trip.” You just rolled my eyes and stood up and started gathering the empty plates. Your mother followed John and Colby out while you started to clean up.

You were washing the dishes, when your mother entered the kitchen behind you.

“So Y/n, did you like John?” She questioned while you glanced over at her.

“I don’t know him enough to know whether I do or not.” You said truthfully.

“Well you should like him. He makes me happy and I’m in love with him.”

A sick feeling formed in your stomach.

“How long have you two been dating?” You needed to know how long she kept it a secret from you.

“Ten months.”

“You kept it a secret from me for 10 months!” You raised your voice as the anger took over. You put the sponge down and turned to face her.

“Yes, we didn’t talk much, and I didn’t think it was that big of a thing to keep from you. Besides, you were busy with college and whatever else you were doing at your fathers, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Her excuse was pure bullshit to you. “Save the shitty excuse and admit you didn’t think about telling me.” You growled turning away from her.

“What? No honey, why would you think that. You’re my daughter and you mean a lot to me.”

Once again you faced her, “I mean a lot to you? That’s a fucking lie. You blamed me all my life for my father leaving you, but you didn’t stop to think about that fact that he left me too. You made my life hell because you weren’t happy with yours. What kind of mother does that?”

She just laughed it off. “You’re overexaggerating it. Now finish the dishes, I’m going to relax.” Before you could say another word, she was out the door.

****

Two days later, you were sitting in an airport, with Colby beside you and both your parents in some seats across from you. Both of you were equally unhappy to be here, while both parents acted like lovebirds. It was honestly gross to watch.

“Holy fuck, do they ever stop.” You groaned, taking your eyes away from them.

“Nope, they are constantly all over each other.” Colby stated looking down at his phone. “You seem angry.” He noticed.

“I am.” You grumbled, thinking about the conversation you had with your mother the other day. Like always, she managed to make you feel like shit instead of acknowledging her wrong doings.

“What did she do?” His focus was now strictly on you.

“She didn’t think telling me about her new boyfriend was important. She practically admitted to forgetting I existed once I was out of the house. Growing up with her as my mother was hell and she has never once apologized for the shit she did to me. For years, she blamed me for her and my fathers divorce. I was 4 when they divorced.” You said making sure your voice was low, so she wouldn’t hear it.

Colby was silent for a little while. “That’s horrible. What kind of mother blames their child for a divorce?”

“Mine apparently. Now she wants to suddenly act like it didn’t happen.”

“Well I think that’s bullshit. I can see right through them, you know. They are just using each other for company. My father has never been able to be faithful, every woman he has dated were all just an excuse to have some fun. He also resents my mom for moving on from him and marrying someone whose better to her.”

“That’s fucked.”

“You’re telling me. My father is immune to commitment.”

“We have some fucked up parents.” He nodded and sent a glare to both your parents who were giggling to themselves.

The flight was called shortly after that, so the two of you followed your parents onto the plane. Colby and you were going to be sitting next to complete strangers, while your parents snuggled up together. It was not fun. Your flight was annoying, because the middle-aged man beside you kept checking you out and trying to talk to you, despite you politely telling him you weren’t interested in conversing. It was complete hell.

Arriving in Boca Raton was a godsend because you couldn’t stand being next to this guy anymore. The last half hour of the flight, he spent it trying to guess your name and persuade your number out of you. You were seconds away from punching him, but luckily the plane landed, and you were able to get out of there quickly. Colby sent you a look as you exited the plane, you just grumbled under your breath.

“Well that flight was wonderful, wasn’t it kids?” Your mother asked as John waited for the luggage to come around.

“Fuck no. That was the worst flight I have ever taken.” You said, holding your anger back.

“Oh sweetie, lighten up. We’re on vacation.” Her words sparked even more anger.

“The old guy next to me kept hitting on me and wouldn’t shut the fuck up the whole flight.”

“Watch your language.” Was all she said before she strolled up to stand beside John.

Colby just chuckled from beside you. You sent him a glare and walked away from the group. You didn’t want to be here with them. You didn’t want to spend a whole week with your mom and her boyfriend that you knew nothing about. You didn’t want to spend the whole week pining over Colby when you knew he would never like you the way you liked him. He and you were still in completely different circles and he liked his women blonde and gorgeous. You were anything but that. Okay maybe you’re pretty, but you still thought of yourself as the nerd from high school and you didn’t doubt he did as well.

John and your mother ushered all of you to a rental car, and you were off to the hotel. Colby and you were in the back, silently sitting beside each other. He was on his phone, probably talking to a girlfriend or something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. John upgraded his and I’s room to a suite, but you and Colby will be sharing a regular room.” Your mother said with a huge smile on her face.

“That’s great.” Colby grumbled from beside you, voicing your thoughts out loud.

“Don’t sound so sad. It will be good for you to get to know each other.” John stated sternly, showing authority over Colby.

“Sure, whatever.” Colby said under his breath. you hid your smirk from his words. He nudged your side when he saw that.

You were nervous as hell now. You would be sharing a room with Colby. The man you’ve had a crush on for nearly 10 years. This was going to be one hell of an experience; you were sure of it.

The car pulled up to the hotel, which was this huge building that looked like it had been here for a while. It was beautiful and right on the beach as well. It was surely a resort and perhaps it wouldn’t be a horrible place to stay. But your nerves were still on edge about this whole vacation. Your moms attachment to Colby’s dad scared you.

Colby and you were given the keycards to the room before your parents left both of you alone to fend for yourselves. Honestly, their behavior was disgusting to you.

“Let’s get to our room I guess.” Colby grumbled, picking up his suitcase and heading towards the elevators in the opposite direction of where our parents had gone. You quickly grabbed yours and followed after him.

The two of you stepped into a gold-plated elevator and he hit the eighth floor, where your room was located. You felt like he was resenting you, because he would have to spend the whole week with you.

“I’m sorry that you have to stay with me.” You mumbled as the elevator moved up floor by floor.

The angry scowl left his face as he glanced towards you. “No, I don’t mind staying with you. I’m mad at our parents for just springing all of this onto us last minute.”

You let out a sigh of relief when he said this. You really thought he hated you or something.

“Oh, I thought you hated me.” You admitted while looking towards the carpeted floor of the elevator.

“I don’t hate you, Y/n. I haven’t ever really hated you, even when I was dating Paige.” His words surprised you.

“Really? Then why was I treated like crap when you dated her?” There was no way he didn’t hate you then.

“Because Paige was always a huge bitch and blackmailed me into treating you that way.”

“Oh, well it’s okay then.”

He shook his head. “It’s not okay at all really. I should have never done some of the things I have done. But I was horrible in high school after my parents’ divorce.”

“Well it’s good to know you didn’t and don’t hate me. Also, don’t blame yourself for the way you acted as a result of the divorce. It was traumatic to you and you only did what helped you feel better.”

“I guess so. I wish I could take so much back.”

“That’s impossible, but you can continue to be a better person from now into the future.” It wasn’t good that he was beating himself up over the past.

He sent you a kind smile. “You’re right. Thank you for that, Y/n.”

You sent him a smile as well. “No problem. Now, should we get this vacation started?” You questioned as the two of you stopped in front of the door to the room.

Colby opened the door and the two of you entered the room. It was a surprisingly nice room for it being a regular room. There was two queen sized beds, covered in crème sheets and comfy looking pillows. There was a decently sized sitting area with a nice flat screen TV. The bathroom was gorgeous, with a huge, jetted tub and a beautiful walk-in shower. The best part was the private balcony we had that overlooked the beautiful blue ocean. Staying here wasn’t going to be so bad.

“This is way nicer than I expected.” He spoke your thoughts.

“Yes, I agree. But this is an upscale hotel.” You stated as you set your bags down on one of the two beds. The beds looked so comfy, you wanted to just take a nap at the moment.

“True.” He answered when his phone went off. He was silent as he checked it. “Our parents want us to meet up in the Lobby at 7 for dinner.” His voice was flat when he mentioned the parents.

“Oh great. Well, that means there’s time for a nap.” You moved your bags from the bed and pulled your shoes off. You pulled back the covers and got into the comfy bed. Your body was in bliss the minute you laid down on the bed. It was absolutely perfect. Your eyes grew heavy as soon as your head hit the pillow. The nap was much needed.

PART TWO >>

[dragonsareourfuture]

Light Yagami/GN! L’s Sibling!Reader — Protector

⚠️Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, manipulation, reader experiences grief, major character death, open ending.

requested by @darkrose33 ! sorry this took so long, I mostly finished writing it and then changed ideas halfway through, so I rewrote it all lol. I could not think of a way that the dynamic and story line that was requested could work in the context of a healthy relationship, so this isn't exactly a happy or romantic oneshot. I wanted to make this as realistic to Light's motivations and character as I could. I apologize if this isn’t what you wanted but you can always request something else if you would like :)

For as long as you can remember, your big brother was the person you looked up to the most. He was the brains, the one who had no trouble with the academics but every ounce of trouble with the social aspect of life. He wasn’t one to care what people thought about him socially, which in turn allowed him to behave however he wanted. He was an expert at leaving a room silent and stunned with just his words because of his lack of filter, telling only the brutal, honest truth when necessary. You couldn’t help but admire L Lawliet more than anything else in the world.

And because you held such admiration for the boy, you appointed yourself to be the role of his protector. Some kid called him a weirdo behind his back? Not to worry, with a little persuasion you can get them to apologize. He’s feeling overworked and you overhear one of the adults talking about a pile of paperwork they are about to drop off to L’s room? Huh, it seems that paperwork somehow ended up in the fireplace, nothing but a pile of ashes left of it. How strange. However you could protect him, you took on that challenge, even if it was simply being in the same room as him for emotional support. If you knew he needed to consume at least one vegetable that week, you were there to deliver, even if you had to hide it in a piece of cake. Whatever you could do, you did. Some told you that was what made you two so interesting – he was the brains, and you were the brawn, but you both needed each other to balance out. Like Yin and Yang.

So imagine your despair when, quite suddenly, L didn’t need you anymore. He was solving more cases, gaining in fame as the world’s greatest detective in his mere teenage years. He would, undoubtedly, need more protection than little ol’ you could provide once professional criminals found the desire to seek him out and kill him. And of course you wanted him to be safe, wanted him to thrive in the occupation that he excelled at, but…you missed your big brother with all of your heart. Not a day went by that you didn’t wish you could bring L his lunch or defend his honor out in the kickball field when some kid wouldn’t shut their big fat mouth. You missed those days.

You heard about the Kira case and how it was kicking everyone on the task force’s ass, including L’s. It only made you wish you could be there more. You kept up on the news, though. It was just about the only thing you could do. You tried to distract yourself with your own studies, but it was difficult to even try when you knew you could never in your wildest imagination come close to rising above your big brother.

You kept reminding yourself that you were grown now. You were fully capable of making a life for yourself that didn’t involve L – that didn’t include worrying about him every few moments. So you worked however pointless it may have seemed. You cooked, you did chores, even started taking up odd jobs to complete during the little free time you would have spent sleeping if you weren’t prone to dreams about the danger L could be in. Every moment in life was spent trying not to worry…only for you to realize that you had every right to worry all along.

The news itself was not particularly surprising. L and every single one of his runners up had to write out their will in advance – about a decade early. Death was to be expected in that line of work.

You had since moved out of Wammy’s house officially, but always stuck around to do the gardening, occasionally the cooking as well. Also the cleaning…you were basically the Wammy house maid, but you were grateful for the distractions.

When the news came, you were in the middle of planting a batch of bulbs you had bought at the store the previous day – white lilies. You had nearly passed them by in favor of a more colorful flower, but when your eyes caught the lack of pigment of the fully grown lily on the packaging, you couldn’t help but be reminded of your big brother’s pale as bone skin. You had chuckled at the memory, blinked away a few rising tears, and plucked the bulbs from the shelf. Now, with about half of the bulbs buried under the soil and half waiting to be planted, you listened to Roger’s words grow increasingly louder the closer he came to where you sat crouched in the dirt. You wished you hadn’t listened, though. For he only brought you sorrow.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Roger when he had come to tell you of your brother’s passing, it was simply that it was near impossible for you to imagine a world without the eccentric boy you’d grown up alongside. Sure, you’d been separated for some time now, but you’d grown used to knowing that even if he wasn’t with you, he was still somewhere fighting for the justice he believed in. To be told that he suddenly wasn’t in this world anymore…? You had to see it for yourself. So, despite Roger’s warnings, you ran inside and booked a flight to Japan as soon as you could. In your blind panic, you must have trampled the remaining bulbs you had yet to give life to.

…

The flight was stressful, the landing equally so. The drive to the task force building – torture. By the time you made it out of the car and through the doors of the task force building, you swore your throat was closing up. A glass of water was offered to you and, gratefully accepting the offer, you glugged the water down in a matter of seconds before someone else was offering you a seat.

You sat, pulling your legs up and curling them in. The chair was then pushed into place at a table and the man who offered it to you…placed a hand on your shoulder…?

You jolted, the empty cup in your hands almost toppling out of your grip.

“I’m sorry…! I should have asked first. My apologies…and my condolences.”

He appeared younger than everyone else around you. Young enough to be just about your age. His apologetic smile shone down on you like a beacon of light in the dark and dreary times you had seemingly been trapped in for so long. After that thought, you had stared in disbelief when he told you his name. Light. Fitting, you thought.

Light placed a hand onto the chair next to you, looking at you as if for permission. You nodded vaguely, hoping to convey your silent gratitude for him being so considerate. It wasn’t as if no one else had been this kind to you since hearing about the news, it was more so that you got the sense Light actually cared rather than simply spouting out the usual ‘I’m sorry’s you’re supposed to when someone experiences a loss. His words were not empty; they were full of life and intent. What that intent was, you didn’t know, but you wanted to keep feeling it over the usual hollow atmosphere you and your brother grew up in. So, before you knew it, you were spending hours at a time talking with Light Yagami, the very man who would be taking over the Kira case since your brother’s death.

It was indeed shocking to you how someone so young, even young in comparison to L, could lead an entire investigation. Granted, he had the rest of the task force by his side, but after only one day of observing their dynamic, you could feel the disconnection between them. Light was multiple steps ahead of them; there was no question about it. At times you got the sense he was keeping things from them. But, then again, you were almost certain L had done the same thing while he was leading them. It was difficult to blame someone so intelligent when they wanted to save time and not explain to everyone what their plan is, but lead them all like sheep. It would be faster that way, easier too.

With that final thought, the pedestal you were putting Light on became visible to you. But it couldn’t be a bad thing. It was normal for you to look up to your brother, yes? With Light, it was a different sensation altogether, but the same idea. You admired him, and you couldn’t see the harm in that when he was rubbing your back in comforting circles as you cried, talking to you and telling stories when you wanted to focus on something else. He was helping you, and because he wanted to, no less.

…

It was a strange sensation to wake up and have everyone you know suddenly become cautious around you, treating you like glass that would break if they said the wrong thing. After just a few minutes of this, you knew exactly what day it was. It somewhat startled you, your brother’s funeral being so soon. You wondered if the date had been pushed up, but no. You had simply been…distracted. In a good way, that is. When you first arrived in Japan, you thought that nothing but dread would accompany your visit. You had no clue how you would make it through the couple of days leading up to the funeral, how you would occupy your time. Sightseeing felt disrespectful. Besides, how could you appreciate fine architecture or lush greenery with such a weight in your heart, spreading throughout your body like a disease? What you hadn’t expected was to find someone who seemingly made everything more bearable. Someone who made the days pass faster.

This special someone helped you into your outfit – all black, casual yet put together. Light was gentle with you that day. Not skittish or cautious like the others were, but soft and loving. He would touch you, hands on your shoulders and a brush of his fingers through your hair every now and then, but it would be feather light and comforting all the same. He knew exactly how to make you feel noticed and cared for, but not in the least bit overwhelmed with affection – a perfect medium.

Driving to the graveyard was not as stressful as your initial drive from the airport. You originally suspected this was the case because you had time to accept the reality of it all; you were able to let the information ferment and sink in. But, as you got steadily closer to your destination and all the grief you had avoided for the last few days began to bubble to the surface of your mind, you realized this was not the case. What you had time to do was ignore the truth, become distracted as you always did. It had always been your way of dealing with your own problems. It was L’s problems you could face head on. But anything personal to you? No sir. You desperately wished you’d taken the time to develop a better coping mechanism as the car pulled into the small patch of asphalt among a sea of grass and graves.

You hadn’t even realized how fast you were breathing until Light clasped your hand, his free hand reaching to turn your head to face him directly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” You nodded. “Good. Now, I want you to take slower, deeper breaths, alright?” you nodded again and followed his instructions – in then out at a slow pace, inhaling as deeply as you could before blowing the air from your mouth. You squeezed Light’s hand and sent him a weary smile when you had gathered your wits.

The fresh air did you good as you stepped out of the car, shoes crunching in the loose grains of asphalt and soon gliding through blades of grass. You started to calm down, internally congratulating yourself for not freaking out with each step. This was the continued routine until the gravestone came into view. The task force was heading toward it, so no doubt it was L’S. It was marked by a fairly large, golden cross that reflected the setting sun like a mirror. You ducked your head, pretending that it was indeed the sun in your eyes that caused you to stop and cover your face. You waved for Light to go on ahead and assured him you would meet him there in a bit. You were absolutely sure no one bought your excuse, but they still respected your wishes and left you behind to gather around your brother’s grave while you turned your back to it.

You walked back to the car almost on autopilot. You could barely see, so you trained your eyes on the ground as tears freely flowed down your cheeks, not a sound leaving your lips until you were safely beside the vehicle you arrived in. You stomped your foot in the asphalt, kicked the loose pebbles around, feeling just like the child you used to be. Throwing a tantrum was not on your funeral to-do list, but there you were. You just didn’t know if you could bear it, seeing your brother for the last time as nothing but a slab of stone. You could sit by it, protect it all you wanted but it would never need you. Not like he used to. You could plant those lilies you had abandoned by it. That wasn’t actually a terrible idea.

You didn’t know how long you were standing there, pacing in the middle of the parking lot. Mustn’t have been too long, as the sun hadn’t even passed over the horizon, but it felt like an eternity.

Until…what was that? Something caught your attention, causing your head to snap up in search for the source. The others were nowhere in sight, all that stirred were a couple of birds from a nearby tree. That could have been another family visiting a grave, which would make sense given that the noise sounded similar to hysterical crying. Or…was that laughter?

You began to grow worried, deciding on a whim to check up on the others. You wouldn’t approach the grave unless you had to, you decided. Yeah, good plan, you managed to convince yourself as you took steps toward the grave. With every few feet, the noises grew louder, and you were soon able to recognize words. You sped up your pace until you made it over the hill that separated the parking lot from the field only to find…

What was Light doing on the ground? No, a better question would be: what was Light – the person who was working his ass off to catch Kira – doing kneeling on your brother’s grave, shouting that he would get rid of the police? That this is his perfect victory? That he wins?

You felt…what? What could sum up that feeling that filled your chest when that sight was exposed to you? You felt confused, you felt unsure. Then, with the realization of what was going on, you felt betrayal. Then, in a sudden wave intense enough to make you feel as though you would fall over, you felt furious. You felt a sudden need to protect your older brother just like you had done for years with playground bullies and critics, but this time with someone you thought you could trust. Someone you loved who had apparently taken advantage of your care for him – someone who had lied to your face about who they truly were.

Before you knew it you were sprinting across the field. You had no clue what you were going to do until you got to the grave and quite literally kicked him off the soil your own flesh and blood was buried under. The move was so swift you wondered if it had actually happened or if this was all some sick nightmare. God, you hoped it was. Although you almost didn’t want to pray to god now, as there was a self-proclaimed god sitting with the wind knocked out of him at your feet.

“You…you GODDAMN FUCKING TRAITOR—” you couldn’t tell if Light was actually looking at you with eyes glinting with fear or if the sunset lighting was playing tricks on you. “THAT’S MY FUCKING BROTHER—YOU CAN’T—I SHOULD NEVER HAVE—” It was impossible to finish a sentence or even a thought in your own brain. There were so many things you wanted to say and kill him for but right now everything was jumbled together.

The way Light was staring at you didn’t exactly help. Eyes that now looked red in the setting sun bore into your own pupils from the ground. He looked dead serious, almost angry that you had the guts to knock him to the ground in your fit of rage. But although your words were coming out in screaming stutters your movements seemed swift and sure, as the moment Light moved to stand up your foot flew to action once more and planted right onto his chest. His back met the ground for a second time. He wasn’t even trying to contain his fury, clawing at your ankle and baring his teeth like a dog trying his best to be intimidating, but still eager to know what you were planning to do next. After all, he could have easily shoved you off. But he was curious.

You spoke calmly now, mind set on what you wanted to ask. “You never cared about me, did you?” Light’s mouth opened to answer but you went on without letting him speak. “No, you cared about me, but only because my brother was L, and I could give you information now that he’s gone. Am I right?” again, his mouth opened, but when your heel unexpectedly dug into his chest he let out a pained and irritated groan instead of coherent words. It was like you were teasing him, not to get a laugh out of his pain but…for what? You barely even knew yourself. It wouldn’t do anything. It wouldn’t make you less humiliated for being tricked and it certainly wouldn’t bring your brother back. Either way, Light definitely didn’t like it.

Before you had the chance to react you were thrown onto your back. Light had pushed you back by your leg and rose to his feet, now above you in every sense of the word. He – Kira – had carried out his plan. Meanwhile, you had nothing left.

“You don’t have to go against me,” Light seethed, “All you have to do is let the new world take its shape, and everything will fall into place.”

“That’s a shitty sales pitch.”

“It’s an offer. You’ve done nothing wrong, committed no crimes. You’d do well in my world.” The look on your face made it apparent that you had no interest in his words. Light furrowed his brows, then the ghost of a smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I know you –”

“You don’t know anything about me. And I clearly didn’t know you.” You pushed yourself up onto your elbows.

“—you wouldn’t want your brother’s death to be in vain.”

“I—” you paused. “What?”

“L was an obstacle I had to pass to get to a world where less people would have to suffer the same loss you have. I expect you don’t want to just throw away his death and turn me in. you can make something out of his sacrifice—“

“He wasn’t TRYING to be sacrificed; he was TRYING to put a vigilante maniac to death.”

“But if his death could mean a better world for others, you would just throw that away for your own revenge?”

You blinked, once, twice, then rapidly, shaking your head as if trying to prevent dust from getting into your eyes, or Light’s siren song from getting into your head. “Stop. That’s not…Just stop.”

“You know I’m right.” He stepped towards you and for a second you thought he was about to repay you for crushing his lungs moments ago. All that followed was his hand shooting out, stopping in front of your face. You looked up at him in disbelief. “I’ll love and care for you as I did before. I can be the one you care for in his place. All I ask is that you help me create a better world, or at least don’t try and stop me.”

You nearly scoff, but some of his words actually catch your attention. He’d love and care for you…but it would all be fake. Still, what kind of person would you be to reject others a grief-less world just to avenge your brother? But who ever said Light would follow through, not become corrupt along the way if he wasn’t already? There were so many possibilities and so many possible outcomes, all influenced by this one decision that you had to make right now.

You choked on your words.

Familiar voices were approaching.

Time was ticking.

“I…”

[thewheezingwyvern]

The Fool - Day 1

Day 1: Exhibitionism

Present Mic x Fem!Reader

Rating: E 

Word count: 1.6 K

Kinks: Exhibitionism, public vibing.

Notes: The banner was edited by me, photo can be found here. If you would like to be tagged in future fics of mine and writing events, comment with the url tag you would like me to use on this post!

Tagging: @redbeanteax, @cherrycolabomb, @dabilove27, @aly-insanity, @khemz1312, @violeteyesandpurplehair, @mattiekins, @bnhaxxassociates​, @winterpersimmons​

♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫

“Welcome back listeners! We have a special guest that I can’t wait to introduce to you today! Say hi, baby.”

Hizashi flashed you a sly smirk over the table, his thumb pressing a button on a small remote clutched in his hand. The effect was instantaneous, the vibrator deep inside of you buzzing to life, stimulating the walls of your pussy deliciously. Acutely aware that you two were live, you bit your lower lip in an attempt to entrap the moan bubbling up in the back of your throat. Hips twitching in your seat, you managed to squeak out your name and a hello against the pleasure that Hizashi was tormenting you with.

“Awww I think she’s a little shy. It’s ok baby, I have some amazing listeners!” That smirk widened, eyes gleaming devilishly at you, “Why don’t you tell everyone who you are, baby?”

Mercifully he eased up on the vibrator, “H-hey everyone. I’m Hizashi’s girlfriend.”

It was a chore to reign in your ragged breathing, your pussy still quivering from the stimulation. The two of you had only barely started this little game and you already wanted Hizashi to bend you over the table and fuck you loud enough that the whole city had your moans committed to memory. The thought made your thighs rub together, anticipation shivering along your nerves. But knowing your boyfriend, he had no intentions of making this be a quick interview. A muffled moan stuck at the back of your throat when he flicked the vibrator on again, a low and languid pulse humming inside of your clenching walls.

“She’s really cute.” Hizashi praised, propping his chin up on his hand as he watched you squirm in your chair, “Especially when she gets really flustered.”

“I knew you were trying to embarrass me on purpose!”

He winked slyly at you, “I can’t help it, baby. You just look so adorable when you’re a mess.”

He had only just barely let that last word slip from his mouth when the vibrator spiked to a feverish pitch inside of you. A quiet, strangled squeak did manage to escape you then, a flagging thing that quickly dissipated as soon as it appears. But Hizashi heard it and the smirk he gave you was devious and hazed with lust. Growing a mind of their own, your hips began to rock, instinctively chasing down your orgasm, hands clutching the arm rests of the chair in a death grip. God it felt so fucking good.

“Well, how about we take in some calls? Anyone have any questions for us?”

The response was nearly immediate, so much so you were baffled that anyone could even dial the number that fast. Hizashi drifted a gloved hand over to press a button to buzz in the caller. The vibrator mercifully dulled to a low pulse, your boyfriend lifting a single finger to his lips in a gesture to encourage you to keep silent. You shifted in your seat, walls clenching tightly around the toy inside of you.

“Thanks for calling, Listener! What’s your question?”

“What’s your favorite thing about Presentation Mic?”

“His mouth.” Was your immediate and thoughtless reply, “I mean…some of the sweetest things comes from it. Mic can be so romantic you know?”

Hizashi was staring at you with a knowing grin, green eyes sparking brilliantly with desire for you. The blonde made a point of dragging his tongue across his lips, summoning up thoughts of him putting it to use elsewhere. Already you could feel his heated kisses pressing open-mouthed to your skin, mapping out the column of your throat. He would trail down towards your chest until his tongue flicked over a peaked nipple. Hizashi would laugh, trailing down your torso, slowly creeping closer towards-BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

Another strangled squeak slipped from you, hips writhing and bucking in the chair as the vibrator stimulated you mercilessly. A throaty chuckle emerged from Mic, the pro hero resting his chin in his palm. The sight of you twisting in pleasure had his own cock twitching in his pants, straining against the fabric keeping it trapped. Hizashi considered letting it spring free and giving it slow and languid strokes as he watched you descend into the throes of desire.

“Hello, Listener!” He finally greeted as he patched in another caller, “What’s your question?”

“How did you two meet?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, “He spilled his coffee on me.”

“She was just so stunning that I got distracted.” Hizashi purred, “I had to talk to such a beautiful angel.”

“See what I mean about his-”

BRRRRRRRRRR! The sudden buzz of the vibrator made you jolt, a surprised squeak escaping you before you hid your bubbling moans with a few coughs. Intense green eyes glinted with delight at seeing your aroused and flustered expression, mouth twisting into a playful smirk. A rich laugh, spun like honey, poured from his throat as you strained to hold yourself together.

“Sorry, Listeners, I’m just teasing her over here. Next caller!”

With a playful flick of his thumb, the setting of the vibrator shifted, switching to timed and controlled pulses to drive you nearly mad. An obscene and desperate moan threatened to spill past your lips, urging you to clap your hand over your mouth to keep it contained. Hizashi’s chest heaved visibly from across the booth, his hand stealing away to free his cock from his pants. The heat only throbbed hotter in you, a forge of molten metal surging to life as he stroked his throbbing length. You wanted his cock inside of you. Pearly white teeth caught his lower lip, golden brows furrowing beneath the wave of desire crashing over him. His breath was growing ragged as he strained to maintain his own composure for the next caller.

“Mic, what’s your favorite thing about your girlfriend?”

You were sure that the entire fucking city could hear the creaking of your chair as your hips rolled to achieve relief. But Hizashi didn’t let the vibrator up, the toy still pulsating deep inside of you. The stimulation had you soaking, underwear drenched as you were slowly pushed towards your own climax. The pro slowed his steady strokes on his cock and gave a hoarse laugh.

“My angel? I’d have to say her voice. She’s got…quite the range of sounds she can make and they are all so cute.” He flashed a smirk before bellowing out, “Alright that’s all we have time for now Listeners! Rolling out with a new playlist just for you!”

With a flick of his wrist on the switchboard, your boyfriend ended the broadcast.

“Hizashi.” You whined, letting loose the moans you’d been keeping imprisoned behind your teeth, “Please! God please fuck me. I need you.”

You barely had time to finish speaking before he was on you, golden hair a mess around his face as he pulled you to your feet. The kiss he gave you was near bruising, furious and rough, all consuming as he swallowed up your moans for himself. Hizashi kissed you so fervently it was like he intended to take your breath as a prize for himself. Gloved hands pawed roughly at the front of your shirt, ripping it up and off of you. The vibrator still hummed within you, your legs quaking as the blonde shoved you against the table. Before you could hardly process what was going on, you were bent over, pants and underwear around your ankles. Dexterous fingers pulled the toy out of you before replacing it with his throbbing cock.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Angel.” He groaned, cool leather skimming along the skin of your back.

The pace he set was rigorous, needy and desperate. The friction was delicious, dragging along your walls. You fluttered tightly around him, his length stretching you to a pleasant fullness, hips rolling to meet each one of his thrusts. Hizashi normally was an incorrigible tease, dragging on his pleasure torture until you were falling apart before him. But today he was just as desperate as you if not more. The sound proofed walls for the broadcasting booth, dulled your cries and moans but you were so far gone that you couldn’t care less who heard the two of you.

“Zashi pleaaaase!”

“Come on, baby.” Wicked fingers discovered your aching pearl, “Cum for me.”

He worked your clit in tight circles, hips slapping loudly against the flesh of your ass with such intensity that shock waves of pleasure rocketed along your nerves. The muscles in your abdomen tightened, quivering as you were so close to your own release. His cock twitched inside of you, signaling that he was close to climax himself. That drove you to buck back against him with more need, the two of you jerking in a more ragged rhythm until you were pushed over the edge. Spots of white burst in your vision, pussy quivering as you orgasmed around his dick. The feeling of you coming undone around him, muscles fluttering erratically as you soaked in your own ecstasy urged him to his release. Hot seed flooded you, his lips pressing kisses and groans to the nape of your neck.

His warm weight pressed down against you, his lips pressing tender kisses to your heated skin. Hot puffs of his breath ghosted over your neck and through your hair, a comforting sensation as the two of you came down from your afterglow. Hizashi traced slow patterns along your skin, inching your heart into a pile of mush. You hummed softly beneath him, content before you were freed. A low and languid laugh poured from your throat as you straightened.

“How long have you wanted me?”

Hizashi’s smile was brilliant, “All day, Angel.”

[dadsbongos]

*bows down to you* I would like to know your despair arc headcanons for antag reader! Literally love antag reader so much 😳

ahhhhhh nonny please let me treat you to my adoration, i can’t thank you enough for asking me about my despair arc hcs for antag reader

Request for: Fuck it, not even Hajime anymore it’s just antag reader. Girlboss moment Warnings: fuckin despair arc tings lmao there’s a lot to deal with, face cutting, abuse (emotional, mental, physical) cuz hi junko enoshima, manipulation cuz hi junko enoshima, self mutilation/harm, mikan/junko toxicity, gore, vomiting  ~~~

Headcanons:

🐇Okay so I’ve said it before but!! 🐇She was in that toxic relationship between Mikan and Junko 🐇Junko would make her and Mikan compete for any and all affections just to cause them both despair (which even if “won”, was still denied) 🐇And then anytime she could, Junko would just absolutely berate (Y/n)’s looks and talent, calling the Ultimate Copycat a “fake talent” and “just stealing” 🐇So after Junko died, (Y/n) found her body and cut off portions of her face and replaced them with patches of Junko to “be more like her Despair” 🐇She would find people who wanted to fight for hope and take them in, insisting that she was on their side and would lead them to her house for “safety” 🐇Then she’d just restrain them with Mikan so they could perform experiments and surgeries on them together 🐇Definitely helps Kazuichi build his bigger machines, using the more intelligence she has to make better plans for what they’ll do with them 🐇I imagine that as a copycat antag, she’s got a shitload of charisma so she prolly just gets a load of followers 🐇I’m not saying it’s a cult… but 🐇Probably was the influencer for Nagito’s decision to become Servant 🐇Since he was already serving her all the time pre-despair he decided to join the WOH as their servant  🐇As for when she got captured by the Future Foundation… 🐇Was probably one of the harder ones to capture like Nekomaru and Gundham since she could be the Ultimate at almost anything she wanted 🐇When being interrogated by the Future Foundation she was probably smug and cocky af 🐇A solid match for Byakuya, no joke 🐇Maybe worse, like at least he sort of mellowed out with responsibility 🐇Keeps her mouth tightly shut until they mention anything about her face or Mikan 🐇Because as much as she doesn’t truly romantically love Mikan, she’s not even sure she loved Junko, she does care about the nurse very deeply 🐇So it’s when they mention having captured her that they get any sign of emotion other than cockiness 🐇When they say they have Nagito, that also gets them some words from her 🐇But if they say anything about her face, she has a little breakdown and throws a fit about how she’s better than everyone else in the room and she could kill them all if she wanted and she’s more beautiful than any of them could ever dream to be 🐇Didn’t get the chance to help Izuru release Junko into the Neoworld Program, but definitely would have if she could

Stories:

“Would you kill for me?” Junko murmured, bringing a hand up to caress (Y/n)’s cheek, rubbing her thumb over the bone, “Would you die for me?”

“I would!” she cried hysterically, tears already streaming down her face, “Please, say it! Please, just say it! I would do anything for you, please, just love me… I love you! I love you! Just love me, please…”

Her brows furrowed, bringing her gentle touch back to whip the copycat in the face with a backhand slap, “You’re so ugly, a little piggy ripe for the slaughter.”

Sobs pulled at (Y/n)’s convulsing body as she heaved on the ground. Her throat closed and dried up, chest burning and stomach churning until she finally felt her gag reflex trigger. She spat out stomach acids as she wept over a love that was never hers.

“God, you’re so nasty,” Junko kicked her in the ass, knocking her down into her own puke, “Get out and don’t come back until I command.”

“Love me… love me… love me… please… I beg you…!”

~~

“Do you think if I crushed my hand, Junko would care?”

“No.”

“Sonia wouldn’t care if you crushed yours.”

Kazuichi’s eyes flickered from his work to (Y/n), “I know.”

“It’d be…”

“Despairful?”

“Absolutely morbid,” her tone was breathy, a grin easing up over her lips and heart beating faster as she set aside the half-finished Monokuma and pressed her hand onto the metal desk, raising her heavy wrench above her head. 

Kazuichi was quick to copy the moves, eyes wide in anticipation and muscles twitching as his brain desperately tried sending the signals for him to stop.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

Screams echoed in the warehouse following the sickening crunch of bones under the torturous weight of their wrenches. Kazuichi looked at the girl through his tears, “Again?”

In the midst of her agonized cries, she nodded, blubbering about how horrific the pain was, “Yes, yes, again!”

And so, the countdown started once again.

“One, two, three!”

More bones broken, more pain blasting through their hands for their beloveds to reject everything they were. For the loves they held so dear to look upon them and their injuries and roll their eyes - because they were meaningless in their loves’ eyes.

And that was the despair they craved.

~~

Nagito held out his chain, grimacing when it was Izuru who took it rather than (Y/n) before shoving that hatred back into his chest. Izuru may be a despair-filled faker with no real talent he’d been born with, but he himself, Nagito Komaeda - Servant - was worse. 

He wasn’t worth the air in his lungs. Not even human garbage as he was barely passable as a human being. 

Then, his eyes traveled once again to (Y/n). His dearest and closest friend.

Izuru may have had more talents mastered, but she was natural. She was genuine and had taken the time to master her Ultimate herself while Izuru had them all planted inside his brain as if he had a right to them at all. It was like watching a slacker get all the credit that a hard-worker had already done. Infuriating.

He wished to see (Y/n) ascend into hope once more, he truly believed she could pave the way above everyone else. She had to. She was better than everyone else, it was up to her to return them to hope, once she realized hope for herself.

He believed in her and her hope - once Enoshima’s metaphorical hands were ripped from her spirit.

And he liked to think she had fresh patches of skin that weren't hers, still red around the scars and peeling, were there for the same reason he had a new hand that wasn’t his.

~~

“She’s so much like Byakuya,” Makoto mumbled, watching through the glass as their newest captured Despair, (Y/n) (L/n), tapped her nails against the table her hands were chained to.

“First that troublesome imposter and now her, who do they think they are? They’re not even near being worthy of the Togami name.”

Kyoko scanned the girl, “She was screaming at the guards earlier when they pointed out the scars and patches on her face. Perhaps bringing it up again will get her to talk about some things.”

“We…” Makoto stopped, shivering at the memory of Junko Enoshima’s corpse when they’d found it on the side of the road outside their old school. Patches missing from a bloodied, pulpy face, “We already know what happened. What more could you want her to talk about?”

“Maybe she knows where some of her classmates are.”

“The nurse freaked out when we mentioned her, maybe if we bring Mikan up to (Y/n), she’ll have a similar reaction,” the Ultimate Hope offered up.

Nodding, Kyoko turned towards the door into the interrogation room, “It’s worth a shot.”

~~

Five minutes was all they got, Makoto Naegi said. He was compassionate and understanding and so sweet. Of course, he’d set up a meeting between the lovers who didn’t know if they ever really loved each other.

Mikan was always unusually cold and smelled of lavender with a hint of vanilla, her hands were soft and her lips a lovely shade of pink.

Now, as (Y/n) held the nurse’s hand over the interrogation table and basked in her presence, she could feel how much she’d changed in despair. She was still cold but now she reeked of dirt and blood, no matter how many showers she’d taken. Her lips were much paler; dry and cracked. Hands rough and calloused.

“They told me you took her womb.”

“You took her face.”

“You’ll bear her children?”

“You’ll bear her beauty?”

It was always a fight. It was always a competition. For more. For love. For the affection and attention they’d been deprived of all their lives.

“Have you… tried conceiving?”

There was silence. Mikan looked down at the table and then back up at (Y/n).

Her skin was no longer peeling along the jagged incision sites but her scars were infecting when she’d been taken in and it was obvious. They were puffy and oozed every so often.

She looked back down.

“With who?”

Shaking her head, Mikan tightened her grip on the girl’s hand.

“Why didn’t you get me to do the skin graft?”

“You were probably busy.”

“I would’ve done it anyway. I’d done Fuyuhiko’s eye.”

There was more silence. Stiffness building in the girls’ bodies the longer their quietness buzzed in the room.

“Am I still beautiful…?” it was rare to see vulnerability in (Y/n).

“Almost like our beloved herself.” it was rare to hear a lie from Mikan.

It wasn’t the scars or the blood or the skin patches, it was the act of how she’d gotten them. Scars and patches didn’t make a person ugly, but stealing pieces of a dead woman’s face and using them as your own did.

[crystalirises]

The World Moved On, but You're Stuck in the Past

Ah yes, Villain Dream who does not see himself as a villain my beloved <333 Honestly, I'm not really sure what Dream and Wilbur's current evil (are they still villains??? Dream probably not cause the poor guy got tortured oof and maybe not Wilbur cause... I don’t know, is he being evil??? Is he okay??? I don’t know what these characters are up to) plans so just... have this flimsy idea cause I don't know what they're planning XD

TW: Mentioned Blood, Implied Murder, Villain Dream who does not realize he's the villain and so justifies the crimes he did, and Insane Revived Wilbur Soot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/80235868

He was free.

Wilbur was the first face he saw once he took his first step into the outside world, splatters of green blood decorated the obsidian floor and walls. The revived man was standing with a sword, leaning against it while he waved Dream over with a smile. He tried not to be disgusted by him.

“How does the sun feel on your skin? I remember the day you brought me back, the sun was rising in the distance and I never felt so alive. It’s good to be back, right Dream?” He met the man’s eyes, those dark pools seemingly darker than the day that he had died. He still looked like he’d just recently gotten out of Limbo, and Dream had no doubt that the man had been neglecting his own care. He could only hope that he didn’t have to drag the man’s ass out of Limbo again due to his own negligence. Besides, Wilbur had a point. He looked down at his fingers, basking in the sunlight that shone down upon them. It felt nice against his cheek. “The warden had been difficult to fight but, I guess I just got lucky. You know, I made a new country.”

“D-did… you?” He coughed, pressing a hand against his mouth. It had been so long since he’d spoken. He felt cool glass touch his skin, glancing over to see that Wilbur was handing him a water bottle. Dream didn’t hesitate to snatch it from the man’s hand, drinking the water quickly even if it meant he’d had to pause every now and then just to cough. He hadn’t had clean water in a while. Wilbur watched him with narrowed eyes, a smile on his face before Dream noticed what the man was now holding. His mask. He reached out to grab it. “Another L’Manburg—?”

“L’Manburg is now a fucking crater.” He flinched, a memory of Quackity flashing in his mind. His scars still stung, even if he was used to the pain. Wilbur pressed the mask against his hand, rolling his eyes while a sneer stretched across his face. “This new country will be better. It will.”

“... if you say so…”

“But, let’s not get on the wrong foot here. We’re friends now, allies even, right Dream? You brought me back from that shithole and I paid my dues by setting you free? But who’s to say that our little friendship should stop there, hm? Y-you know? I-I mean you’re all alone now, like me.” Dream gritted his teeth at the reminder, his hands curling into fists. How far he’d come. Now he was at the bottom with Wilbur Soot of all people. No best friends to hang out with. No mother to cry to. No fiance to love and hold. And all because of children who couldn’t realize their place in his world. “So I was thinking. You need a place to stay, hm? Well, why not stay with me!”

He raised a brow at the suggestion. Allies with Wilbur? And with a country involved? That was not going to end well. Dream glanced over at the prison, his throat drying and his knees buckling under the weight of his fears. He didn’t care for Wilbur, but what choice did he have? “Deal.”

“Good man!” He recoiled when Wilbur wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Wilbur’s stare stayed on him for a while longer, and Dream could already tell what he was thinking. He scowled at the thought. He didn’t need the man’s pity. So what if he was thinner? He could still beat the resurrected fool in armed combat. “Y-you know, Quackity has his own nation too.”

“I know.” Las Nevadas, he’d heard Quackity mention it before, and even the warden had mentioned it once. Wilbur had a determined look in his eye, a dark one that Dream knew all too well. Except somehow he felt that they had swapped roles, Dream had directed Wilbur to cause L’Manberg’s destruction, and now Wilbur was directing him. He sighed but followed after the madman. It wasn’t like he had anything else on his schedule. But he wasn’t sure if he could even face Quackity after… Dream placed the mask over his face. He would not let Wilbur see his worry or his doubts. He needed an ally, especially now more than ever, even if it meant having to help Wilbur in the destruction of another nation. “What plan of attack are you proposing? What did Quackity do against you? I will join you Wilbur but I would like to hear an explanation first.”

“He didn’t want me in his nation.” And oh how the world changes. Dream tried not to scoff at the ridiculous answer. He’d felt the same way when L’Manburg was made, who was he to judge a clearly unstable man? Wilbur had stretched out his arms, resting them against the back of his head like a man who had nothing to stress about. Dream didn’t like how it felt to stand next to him. He felt short, weak. He clenched his teeth together, feeling them grind against each other. Dream could only hope that Wilbur didn’t make him his lackey. He would kill the man and send him back to Limbo if he so much used Dream like that. “He let Purpled, Sam, Foolish, and some weird slime monster into his nation. He… he even stole my son from me… the fucking asshole.”

Fundy was with…

“You created a new nation to spite him?” Dream looked away, wishing that he had his old lime jacket instead of the dirty prisoner outfit that he wore. The warden had made sure that the uniform didn’t come with pockets… after the first incident. “Must you get into another conflict?”

Dream stopped listening once Wilbur began his tirade on Las Nevadas and how he wanted a rivalry with Quackity. He didn’t care for the resurrected man’s shenanigans. Dream was free, and that was all he needed Wilbur for. Getting a home and an ally were added bonuses. He nodded along, pretending to listen while his mind drifted to what Wilbur had mentioned. Fundy was in Las Nevadas, and he sided with Quackity. His heart began to beat even faster in his chest, an ache spreading over his entire body. How long has it been since he’d even last seen his fiance?

He should pay him a visit.

 ---

 “Should I add breaking and entering into your list of crimes or should I message Sam and let him see for himself?” Those weren’t the first words he had expected to hear once he’d managed to sneak into Fundy’s little cabin. He had tried knocking, a lot, but nobody had come to the door. Dream had checked through one of the windows and had found Fundy curled up in bed. He hadn’t come there to talk… not really. He just wanted to see Fundy again. The fox hybrid glared at him from the end of the small bedroom, his claws out while he clambered to a sitting position. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and Dream only had a second to realize why Fundy hadn’t begun to growl at him. There was a baby fox hybrid next to Fundy, but they were fast asleep. “Get the fuck out of my house. Don’t think I won’t hesitate to call the warden on your ass.”

“I wanted to see you.” Fundy rolled his eyes at his words, shaking his head before plopping back down on the bed, careful not to actually disturb the sleeping kid. Dream tried to keep himself from prying, but it was hard not to. He hadn’t seen his fiance in so long, and now that he has, there’s a lot of details to take note of. For one, Fundy was living in a cabin far away from where anyone could find him. There were dark circles underneath his eyes, and despite being threatened, Dream had noticed the fox hybrid’s sluggish movements. The way his eyes seemed to blink open and close like he was processing that Dream was really in front of him. Not to mention, Fundy had a kid. When did that happen? “Wilbur broke me out a few weeks ago—”

“Why?” He stopped, glancing over at Fundy who had curled up again, a hand resting on the back of the kid’s head. Fundy’s eyes were closed, his breath harsh and filled with controlled rage. Dream leaned back against the wall, shoes scraping against the floor while he adjusted his mask. He used to be comfortable not wearing his mask around Fundy, but now, he couldn’t even fathom what they were to each other. He swallowed down the bitter taste in his throat. He did what he had to. No matter what he had to lose in the end. Still. Seeing Fundy this way, seeing the world move on without him, it felt like he had been drenched in lava. How dare everyone move on? Did his words mean nothing? Did his actions mean nothing? Had they not thought of what he had meant at all? Everyone moved on, and didn’t bother to listen to him. Fundy had turned to glare at him, a tired yet furious look in his gaze. “Why the fuck would you bring Wilbur back?”

“I needed someone to help me escape from prison. Wilbur would have done anything if I’d asked him to—” He jumped before a pillow could slam into his face, glancing over at Fundy whose glare hadn’t wavered. He wasn’t sure if it was his reflexes or Fundy’s exhaustion that saved him from getting hit. Dream sighed, placing a hand against his chest. This is why he hadn’t wanted to talk. He wasn’t a fool, he knew how his own fiance would react to him being free. “None of you would have helped me, anyway. Wilbur was my safest option. Besides, I memorized the revival book and I wanted to see if it worked. I know Eret and Phil tried to bring Wilbur back before—”

“You’re playing god again. I’m not surprised, you’ve always been like this, haven’t you?”

“What…?” Dream glanced over at Fundy, slowly moving to pick up the pillow that had been thrown his way. He handed it over to his fiance who quickly grabbed it from him. “I don’t…”

“Since the start, we’ve all been puppets in this game of yours, haven’t we?” He watched Fundy hug the pillow closer to his chest, the fox hybrid burying his face. Maybe he couldn’t stand to even look at him. “This whole world, our lives, we were just dolls for you to play and discard once you’ve gotten bored. Wilbur had been the perfect doll, doing what you wanted in the end. Tommy is your least favorite, isn’t he? Since he’s always getting in your way? You hate him.”

“I hate the trouble he’s caused.” He huffed. It felt like no one really understood him. Dream leaned back against the wall, knowing that the longer he stayed near Fundy, the higher the chance he’d get his mask scratched. “Tommy’s with Wilbur over at his new nation. He’s untouchable if I want to keep my alliance with Wilbur, but I believe that I might be able to co—”

“You’re still the same Dream who got imprisoned, glad to know you haven’t changed a bit. Gods, what did I ever fucking see in you…” That stung. Dream glanced over but Fundy had chosen to lay back down again, nuzzling his chin on top of the younger fox hybrid’s head. A part of him couldn’t help but envy the display, wondering if he and Fundy would be married if he had only succeeded and hadn’t been imprisoned. Whose kid even was that? Dream stood up, catching Fundy’s attention again. In a better world, he could have shown everyone that he had been in the right. Then his best friends would still be his friends. Then his mother would still see him as her duckling. Then his fiance would have still married him and they could be living in a quaint cabin together. “What was I to you Dream? I was a puppet too, I know, but what role was I suppose—”

“I want you back.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it was too late. He was only glad that his face was covered by the mask. Fundy stared at him, an incredulous look morphing across his face with every second that ticked by. He watched Fundy pull the kid closer to himself, like he was scared of… of what Dream would do. “Can’t we try again? I could show you my intentions. I-I could convince you why I’m in the right. We-we could work together! We don’t need Wilbur or Tommy, it could just be us! Everyone’s moving on, and everyone’s changing, so why can’t we try again? This would be a new chapter in our lives. Please. Please, come with me. Please, star.”

“You hurt my dad. You hurt my uncle. And now you’re asking me to go with you?”

Fundy laughed, shaking his head. “Fuck you.”

The fox hybrid sighed, turning away from him. “Get out before I call the warden.”

A heavy air fell over the room.

Dream sighed, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fundy. Goodbye.”

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

Yogurt, you are there in spirit

AKA sleeping while dads argue in front of you

[jenanigans1207]

You Felt Like Mine |BakuDeku| |1|

In the end, it’s not a villain’s quirk that gets Izuku, it’s the quirk of the woman he’s rescuing.

Katsuki was there, but he didn’t see it happen. He’s only heard about it from the police officers and the woman herself. All things considered, it doesn’t sound too bad. Izuku was able to land safely before losing consciousness and Katsuki finished off the fight and rounded up the villains just fine. Katsuki found Izuku’s body slumped on the ground and walked him to the hospital himself, the woman trailing a few steps behind him, knowing she’s important but too timid to approach Katsuki directly. The walk to the hospital was short and the emergency room doctors took Izuku immediately, calling Recovery Girl and carting him off somewhere to be treated, promising they’d come find Katsuki the moment Izuku was allowed to have visitors again.

So then, Katsuki  got to do the two things that he never wanted to do: call Izuku’s mom to tell her what happened and wait.

The first was distinctly uncomfortable but it was over quickly. She begged Katsuki for details that he didn’t have yet, so the most he could do was promise to call her again when he knew more. He did his best to be reassuring without lying to her and honestly, he was pretty shit at it. But Inko knew him well and appreciated his efforts all the same.

The second, though, that was nearly torture. Katsuki wasn’t known for being patient on his good days and shit like having his hero partner and best friend down was not considered a good day. He paced Izuku’s room restlessly, blatantly ignoring the chair that was situated right next to his bed and bristling every time somebody suggested that he take a seat.

In the end, the quirk wasn’t that harmful, although it did make Katsuki feel like his stomach was an anchor, sinking slowly to his goddamn feet.

The woman who had accidentally discharged her quirk on him was more than happy to explain all of the details to them, apologizing profusely for any trouble she had caused. She absolutely hadn’t meant to use her quirk, but she’d been so frightened in the moment that she’d briefly lost control. Katsuki wasn’t particularly inclined to forgive her, especially given the nature of her quirk, but he bit his tongue and swallowed the words because he was a pro hero and she was a civilian and he had no right to say the things he wanted to say to her.

“It’s sort of a memory loss quirk.” She at least had the decency to look sheepish and that alone was probably the only reason Katsuki didn’t flip the table between them. “But it doesn’t erase someone’s entire memory! It only erases their memories… of the person they love the most.”

The entire room got very, very still after that, everyone staring at her and waiting for her to say something else. Katsuki can’t speak for anyone else, but he’s personally waiting for her to take it back and say that this is some kind of sick fucking joke.

She doesn’t.

“They can get their memories back!” She rushes on, placing her palms flat on the table, likely to steel herself. Katsuki knows the weight of his stare can be pretty heavy but he couldn’t possibly be bothered to care. “It’s just that, ah, the person they love needs them to fall in love with them again.”

Katsuki sucks a breath in through his teeth, trying to use it to calm himself down. It doesn’t work, but he has enough practice at not cussing out people he’s meant to protect by now that he can at least get through his question with some semblance of civility. “So what you’re telling us,” He begins stiffly, his shoulders feeling tight. “Is that Deku is going to wake up and he’s going to remember absolutely everything except one person? And whoever that person he forgot is, that’s the person he’s secretly in love with? And that person, whoever they are,” Katsuki is so close to smashing his fist through the wall or exploding the table to smithereens between all of them. Holding his anger in check is getting physically painful. “Has to get Deku to fall in love with them again, or he’ll never remember who they are? Am I missing anything?”

Despite his clearly simmering rage, all eyes in the room remained glued on the woman as Katsuki talked, gauging her reaction and waiting for her to respond. She looked down at her hands on the table, bottom lip wobbling and it only served to piss Katsuki off further. She had no right to be upset right now. She wasn’t about to find out that her best friend and closest person  was in love with someone else. She got to walk out of here and go back to her life, all of this forgotten. But Katsuki was moments away from facing one of his worst nightmares. So fuck her and her wobbling lip, she wouldn’t be getting any sympathy from Katsuki.

“No,” She replies quietly, “You didn’t miss anything. You’ve got it all right.”

“Fucking splendid.” Katsuki growls, knowing he’s going to get reprimanded by Izuku for that when he hears about it. And he will hear about it because he somehow manages to hear about everything, all the time.

It’s not like Izuku’s scoldings have stopped him in the past, though. Although, Katsuki will admit that Izuku has helped shape him into a better person, one more fit to be a protector of society, if only barely.  Izuku spent his entire life at Katsuki’s side, enduring his scalding moods, getting his ear chewed off repeatedly and having his ass blasted to high heaven on more than one occasion. But Izuku also stayed at Katsuki’s side when he decided to become less of an asshole (less being the operative word), when he went through a rough few years trying to find out who he was. Izuku was still by his side, to this day, smiling through his verbal beatdowns and picking him up whenever he fell. The one constant in Katsuki’s life was izuku.

And yet, despite all of that, and behind everyone’s backs, Izuku had fallen in love with someone. At least, that was the only thing Katsuki could assume. There was a slim— very, very marginally slim— chance that Izuku didn’t love anyone and would wake up perfectly fine and Katsuki could let out a breath of relief and tease the damn nerd relentlessly for it. But the odds of that were so slim that Katsuki didn’t even let himself consider it. It was only reasonable to assume that Izuku loved somebody. The kid was warmth and sunshine and happiness and full of so much goddamn love that he just exuded it. It spilled over without him even trying, pouring from his heart like he just made too much of it to keep to himself.

Izuku not finding someone to love was nearly impossible to believe.

These thoughts burn through Katsuki’s mind as he stands from the table and stalks away, heading back to Izuku’s room. He has no further questions for the woman, doesn’t care what the cops end up doing with her. Likely she’ll get fined for using her quirk against a pro hero, even if it was an accident, but it doesn’t really matter. All Katsuki wants is some distance from this. He wants to simultaneously get it over with and run from it completely. He doesn’t want to find out who Izuku is in love with, but it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a choice in the matter.

The back of his throat tastes bitter with emotions he swallowed down a long time ago.

He pushes open the door to Izuku’s room and strides in confidently, halfway to the bed before he realizes there’s a pair of green eyes staring back at him from amongst the blankets. “Oh thank fuck.” he says, eyes landing on Deku.

The relief he feels is small, but he refuses to focus on the other emotion swirling in his gut, the dread. He doesn’t want to know who Izuku secretly loves, he thinks again, doesn’t think his life— or heart— needs that information. Doesn’t think he can handle that information. And he’s damn certain that he won’t be able to handle watching whoever it is make Izuku fall back in love with them.

And no, thanks, Bakugo won’t admit that he has feelings for Izuku. He won’t say anything of the like, mind your fucking business.

“Honestly, you chose the middle of the battle to try and catch up on some beauty sleep?” He gripes as he finally takes a seat in the chair next to Izuku’s bed. He’d been too restless before, too anxious for Izuku to open his eyes to sit. But now that Izuku was awake and Katsuki knew that nothing life threatening had come from that quirk, he could settle his nerves enough to sit relatively still.  “Leaving me to do all the hard work? That’s pretty low. Especially for you, Deku.”

The use of his name seems to surprise Izuku whose eyes suddenly become wide saucers staring back at Katsuki. “You know who I am?”

“The fuck?” Katsuki meets his gaze head on, eyebrows knitted together in frustrated confusion. What was the nerd on about this time? “Of course I know who you are, you idiot. What kind of question is that? I’m not the one who got hit with a quirk.”

“Hit with a quirk…” Izuku mumbles and immediately, Katsuki can see the gears turning in his mind, trying to piece it all together. It should be relatively easy, given what the woman had said. Izuku should, as far as Katsuki had clarified, remember every single thing but this one person. So he should know that he’s a pro hero, that he was in a fight, that he’s Katsuki’s hero partner and together they have been topping the polls consistently since they graduated.

He shouldn’t, however, be surprised that his childhood friend, middle school rival and then high school half-friend is sitting in his hospital room, aware of who he is and waiting for him to wake up. So truthfully, Katsuki’s not really sure what to do with that information.

“Real inconvenient for me, nerd.” Katsuki mumbles, but he doesn’t mean it and he’s sure Izuku knows that.

Despite the fact that they’d grown closer again, despite the fact that Izuku had forgiven Katsuki for all the terrible years of their past even without receiving a formal apology, they still interacted in much the same way they always had. It was just that the genuine bite and the underlying hatred was gone from it. But their interactions were a sort of comfort to both of them, a defining characteristic of a relationship that they both held dear, even if Izuku was the only one to ever really put that into words. Katsuki still used his nicknames for Izuku, still bristled when the man interrupted him. But now, Izuku smiled through those things, bumping his shoulders with Katsuki’s and laughing at the pinched expression on his face.

Katsuki certainly hadn’t ever succeeded at pushing Izuku away— not even at his worst— so he had resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t about to succeed at it now. And this resignation seemed to give Izuku a boldness and a sense of belonging that allowed him to nestle right in along Katsuki’s heart and refuse to apologize for being there.

“Is that why you know me, then?” Izuku asks, completely bypassing Katsuki’s comment. Katsuki has the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask Izuku what the fuck he’s on about again and to tell him what a stupid question that is when Izuku deals a blow that Katsuki did not see coming. “Because I don’t know you.”

The entire world grinds to painful, screeching halt around Katsuki as he stares at Izuku, mouth open as he tries to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to say back to that. Unsurprisingly, nothing really comes to mind, so he snaps his jaw shut and just stares at Izuku, bores into him, pleads with him to take back his stupid, sick joke. He glares at Izuku with as much force as he can muster under the situation and watches as the seconds tick by and Izuku wilts under the weight of it.

“I’m sorry!” Izuku rushes, reading Katsuki’s expression clearly and easily. “It’s obvious that we know each other somehow. I just— I don’t remember. Did I hit my head? Or— what does that quirk I got hit with do? Is that why I don’t remember you? I feel so terrible!”

“Deku,” Katsuki says evenly, hands gripping the arm rests of the chair with so much force that he might snap them right off. “This isn’t funny. This is a really shitty joke.”

Izuku is gripping the blankets in his lap with equal force, looking distressed. Katsuki knows that look, and can read how genuine it is with ease. He’s seen it on Izuku’s face so many times over the years. And truthfully, Izuku would never play a prank like this, Katsuki knows that, even if he can’t believe what’s actually happening. Izuku really, truly, has no idea who he is. “I’m not joking! Please— please tell me about the quirk. When does it wear off? What can I do to remember you?”

A long silence stretches between the two of them. It’s just quiet. Everywhere. In the room, in Katsuki’s mind, everywhere. There isn’t a single sound, not one fucking thing breaking their eye contact, but Katsuki waits. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for— something, anything to break the trance, to make Izuku admit that, for the first time ever in his entire goddamn life, he decided to play a practical joke. He waits for the woman to come in and say she explained it wrong, that Katsuki somehow misunderstood the information she had given him. He waits, he fucking waits, but none of that comes.

The thing to finally break the silence is Izuku, eyes cast downwards as he fiddles with the blanket and Katsuki’s heart is ripping open in his chest. “I really am sorry. I get the impression that we’re close.”

Finally, Katsuki releases the arms of the chair, scrubbing his hands across his face. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, but it doesn’t help. It’s not anger that’s swirling around in his gut, it’s something else. Something he doesn’t know how to deal with. It’s an emotion that he recognizes, even if he’s refused, repeatedly, to put a name to it. It makes him feel sick, jittery, wrong.

But he has to at least start giving Izuku some answers. “We’re hero partners.” He begins, moving his hands up to grip fistfulls of his hair so that way they aren’t muffling his words. “And best friends. We’ve known each other our entire lives.”

Izuku’s eyes are impossibly wide as they snap back up to meet Katsuki’s gaze. For a brief moment, Katsuki thanks whatever god has chosen to fuck him over for at least being kind enough to not make Izuku cry. It was something Izuku had— mostly— grown out of over the years and it’s the only blessing Katsuki has in this moment because he’s never been good at dealing with anyone who cries, especially Izuku.

“We have?” There’s so much tangible pain in Izuku’s voice that Katsuki immediately reverts back to wanting to punch a hole in the wall.

It’s pretty typically his go-to reaction. It’s a feeling he knows how to handle.

“Yeah. And your ass landed in the hospital leaving me with the job of calling your mom and telling her the bad news.” Katsuki grumbles, because he’ll tell Izuku damn near anything he wants to know, but he won’t tell him about the quirk. He can’t. He can’t even believe it himself, there’s no way in hell he’s going to say it out loud to Izuku. “So thanks for that.”

Izuku doesn’t say anything for a long moment as he considers all of this information. Katsuki knows it’s only a matter of time before he brings the quirk back up, so he needs to get out now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in another deep breath and trying to sort through whatever the hell is going on here. He knows what it all looks like, but he can’t believe it. He won’t.

He spent years being an absolute dick to Izuku and he never properly apologized. He doesn’t deserve Izuku’s friendship and he knows it, so he sure as shit doesn’t deserve his love, leaving aside whether or not he wants it. If there’s one thing Katsuki can say about himself, it’s that he doesn’t take shit he doesn’t deserve. He earns everything.

The only reason he accepted Izuku’s friendship without a formal apology is because he worked hard to stop treating the nerd like shit. He made a point to have his back, to support him, to encourage him. He may not have apologized, but he still put in a lot of work. And even then, he had days where he knew he didn’t deserve Izuku’s friendship, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get rid of it, either. He didn’t want to and there wasn’t a high hope in hell that Izuku would let Katsuki slip through his fingers a second time. He’d said so in no uncertain terms.

Despite Katsuki’s turmoil, Izuku is still being, well, Izuku. He’s smiling a little wistfully down at the blankets, clearly not put out by the entire situation. “I have a hero partner?” He says after a long moment, looking up to meet Katsuki’s gaze with shining eyes, “That’s so cool! I always wanted one of those! Are we any good?”

“You bet your ass we are.” Katsuki replies, smiling a little despite himself. Only Izuku could find learning about his one life exciting. “Number one.”

At that, Izuku’s face absolutely lights up. “Really?”

“Hell yeah.” Katsuki drops his hands down into his lap, suddenly feeling like he has no idea what to do with them. “But I can tell you more about that later. Right now you need to get better.”

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, realizing too belatedly that he brought up Izuku’s condition again and it would no doubt lead to the one question he was trying to avoid.

Sure enough, Izuku jumps at the opportunity. “Right! You still haven’t told me about this quirk. How does it work? What does it do? When does it wear off?”

Part of his curiosity is no doubt in relation to his own condition but the vast majority of it, Katsuki assumes, is because he’s Izuku. Which means that he’s basically a walking encyclopedia for quirks and makes it a point to know anything and everything about every quirk he encounters. There isn’t an ounce of doubt in Katsuki’s mind that he’s going to be asking for a pen and paper at some point and scribbling down everything he’s told, mixing it with his first hand experience to gain a comprehensive understanding. There’s a reason Katsuki calls him a damn nerd.

Just the mention of the quirk has Katsuki’s throat feeling tight so he grapples for an escape, knowing that sooner or later he’ll have to face what’s happening. He’s definitely picking later. “I’ll let the doctor explain it all to you once he checks you out. I’ll go grab him so just hold tight.”

Izuku nods, reclining in his bed comfortably as Katsuki stands stiffly from his seat and exits the room almost mechanically. He catches the doctor in the hallway, barely manages to choke out that Izuku’s awake and asking questions and then he does the one thing he does best when it comes to emotions— runs.

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

“Wait, he’s my boyfriend?”  Izuku asks in disbelief, falling back onto the pillows behind him. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Well, now, I’m not saying that.” The doctor was smiling at Izuku, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m saying that the quirk made you forget the person you loved the most. What you two are to each other, outside of hero partners, is not known to the public so I honestly have no idea.”

In truth, that makes the most sense. Izuku may not remember the guy who was in his room earlier— the doctor only refers to him by his hero name which helps, but not a ton— but he remembers absolutely everything else as far as he can tell. And he knows that he wouldn’t want that sort of information to go public. He wouldn’t want to put his potential partner in danger, even if they were another pro hero. Even if Izuku knew that they were more than capable of taking care of themselves— and that guy certainly looked and sounded like he could take care of himself.

And honestly, it’s better to find out what they are from Ground Zero— Izuku is left referring to him by his hero name, too, until he can figure out his real name— instead of the doctor anyways. That kind of conversation was no doubt laced with a lot of emotions on a good day, and could only be charged with even more emotions now that Izuku didn’t remember. He hoped that he hadn’t hurt Ground Zero’s feelings, hadn’t in some way made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. Izuku knew that didn’t make sense, but he wouldn’t feel better until he heard Ground Zero say it. So Izuku shelves his personal questions until he gets a chance to meet with him again.

“Right, okay, that’s fair.” Izuku agrees kindly. “So what’s the catch? How do I get my memories back? I can get them back, right?”

Izuku can’t honestly imagine many things worse than forgetting the person he was in love with. He can’t imagine what Ground Zero must be feeling, what he must be thinking. He didn’t come back with the doctor, but Izuku can only assume that he, too, is trying to keep whatever their personal relationship is under wraps and doesn’t want to expose anything, even to the doctor. Izuku appreciates the gesture, and the fact that, at the very least, they’re clearly on the same page about things.

“Yes, you can get them back.” The doctor replies, but then he hesitates for a long moment. His eyes finally drift away from Izuku, looking down at his chart, at the whiteboard on the wall next to his bed, pretty much anywhere but at izuku himself. “It’s just that, ah, you have to fall in love with him again.”

There’s a pause where the doctor is clearly waiting for Izuku to react negatively, but honestly? Izuku can’t see what’s so bad about that. He was in love with Ground Zero before, he can’t imagine it would be hard to fall in love with him again. And they’re hero partners, giving him plenty of time to spend with Ground Zero and to get to know him again. Really, as far as outcomes of quirks that Izuku has been subjected to, this is easily one of the most benign.

Even if falling in love with him again hadn’t been the catch of the quirk, Izuku imagines he would have done it. If he was so in love with Ground Zero that this quirk was able to sink its claws into those feelings and yank them away, he doesn’t know how anyone could expect him to be around Ground Zero and not immediately fall back in love. Izuku doesn’t even think he’s going to have to try, he thinks it’ll likely just happen.

“Okay?” Izuku breaks the silence, the question of why that’s a bad thing clear in his voice.

“Okay.” The doctor replies, clearly relieved. “That’s all the information I have for you. As far as everything else goes, you’re in perfect health. I’ll write a letter to your agency letting them know that you’re fit to return to your work and the rest is up to you.”

Easy enough, honestly. Izuku smiles at him, grateful. “Thank you so much for your help, sir.”

The doctor smiles at him again, scribbling a few things down on his chart before hooking it to the edge of his bed. “Oh,” He says after a moment, reaching into the pocket of his lab coat and fishing something out. “Here’s your phone. Ground Zero left it with me to give back to you.”

Izuku reaches out and takes the phone— completely unscathed somehow, despite the sheer number of times it’s been in battle with him— and he feels a little bit better with it in his grasp. He imagines that his phone is going to provide him a lot of answers and he needs those. Izuku has always felt better with more information and that was a million times more true when that information was directly about his life and his past— and the person he’s in love with.

The doctor nods in response to Izuku’s grateful smile and heads towards the door, pausing before he exits the room completely to turn back and look at Izuku. “And Deku? I promise word of this won’t get out. I’m sure you guys have kept your life private for a reason, and I’ll do everything in my power to help it stay that way.”

That is a really big relief. The last thing Izuku needed was their relationship coming out when he, personally, didn’t remember any of it. If they ever decided to go public, he wanted it to be just that— their decision.  “Thank you,” he says again, with so much gratitude it brings a smile to the doctors face.

Then the doctor does take his leave, promising to have the discharge paperwork handled in a couple hours so that Izuku can go home. Until then, Izuku is left alone with his thoughts and boy, does he have a lot of them.

The first thing Izuku does is move to unlock his phone. He doesn’t even get to put his password in before he sees Ground Zero again. As it turns out, his background is a picture of the two of them, Ground Zero scowling at the camera and Izuku at his side, smiling widely as he leans into him, one hand giving him bunny ears. Immediately, it makes Izuku smile. He spends a long few minutes just looking at the photo, tapping his screen every time it starts to go dark, just examining Ground Zero’s features, the closeness of their bodies, the clear and unadulterated happiness on his own face.

The guy in the room earlier— he seemed so… gruff, maybe. Izuku couldn’t put his finger on it right away, but he seemed like he was rough around the edges. Still, there had been worry in his eyes, so Izuku had no doubt that he had a kind and genuine heart. Izuku could see all of these things reflected in the photo. The way he scowled matched his callous exterior that Izuku had noticed earlier. But he was clearly not pushing Izuku away in the photo, wasn’t leaning away from him or trying to put any space between them. And honestly, if Izuku looked really close, he could see a fond edge to the frown.

He tapped on the screen again, giving him a better view to look at the photo. Ground Zero was handsome, there was no denying that. Sharp jaw, deep eyes and a well defined body. At the very least, Izuku considered himself pretty lucky to have won over the heart of someone so attractive.He flushed a little at his own thought, realizing that it probably only seemed foreign because he couldn’t remember the guy. He’d probably had a million thoughts similar to that in the past and he was pretty certain he’d have thoughts like it again in the future.

Still, his ears burned.

Quickly, Izuku forced himself to move past that train of thought, focusing on the next piece of information he had about the guy: they were hero partners! And childhood friends! It really is so easy for him to believe he was in love with this man. Everything he’s heard about this situation so far sounds exactly like the kind of situation that would lead to a fulfilling romance. He wonders when it happened— which one of them confessed first. He wonders about their first kiss, about the nights they have spent together. Do they live together?

His face flushes with the thoughts, a deep red to match the tips of his ears as he finally unlocks his phone and actually begins to look through it. The first thing he does is look through his text messages. The very top thread in his list is one labeled Kacchan with a picture of Ground Zero next to it. Okay, alright, that was definitely a big step in the right direction. At least he now had something to call him other than his hero name. And, Kacchan… that was clearly a nickname, something that he’d only use if they were close.

Izuku smiled to himself as he opened the thread and scrolled through it. Nothing hugely important inside, mostly discussions about work and details of plans they’d made. No love declarations, nothing particularly mushy. It struck Izuku as a little odd, but he could still believe it. These sorts of things got leaked all the time— it was one of the biggest hazards of being a hero. And if what Kacchan had told him was true, being number one heroes just made them more susceptible to this sort of thing.

And for all he knew, they did live together, so there was no need for romantic things through text messages. If they lived together and were also hero partners, they probably spent all day every day together, leaving them with plenty of time to have those sorts of conversations in person.

While still in the thread, he clicks in the box at the bottom, bringing up the keyboard and firing off a quick text: Are you coming back?

Next, he moves on to his camera roll, not surprised to find it filled to the brim with his friends, Kacchan included. In almost all of the photos, Kacchan is scowling the same as his background photo, but the more Izuku looks at it, the more endearing he finds it. He keeps flipping through photos until he pauses on one, heart stuttering to a stop in his chest. In this photo, Izuku isn’t looking at the camera. The photo is clearly taken by someone else and must have been sent to him, but he can understand immediately why he saved it.

He’s not looking at the camera, his gaze somewhere off to the side. Kacchan is sitting by his side, gaze turned on Izuku, eyes so soft they look like molten lava. The edges of his lips are quirked up in the first smile Izuku has seen on him and the genuine affection is so visible that Izuku can feel it rolling over him in waves just looking at it.

With his heart filled to the brim, Izuku locks his phone, pressing it against his chest tightly, as if he could place that specific photo in his heart forever. The smile on his face is so big, his cheeks nearly hurt. He closes his eyes, feeling a little better. He learned enough from his phone to at least understand that what the doctor and Kacchan had told him were true— not that he doubted either one of them!-- but there are still so many things that he wants to know. So, he gets comfortable in his bed, never letting his phone stray far from his heart, and spends the hours waiting for the discharge paperwork fantasizing about their life and what it’ll be like to fall in love with him again.

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

Katsuki doesn’t even bother knocking. It’s been ages since he felt the need to knock at Eijiro’s place and he isn’t about to start now. He’d sent a quick text to Eijiro on the way just to let him know that he was coming. He hadn’t explained anything, hadn’t told him what happened. He wasn’t honestly sure he was ready to tell him what happened but he needed to tell someone.

He probably should’ve told Inko when he called her back, but he didn’t. He had bitched out and lied to her. Okay, so he’d told her a lot of the truth, actually. He’d just said that it was a quirk that caused random memory loss and nobody was sure exactly how deep it went, but that it should be pretty easy to reverse. So it really wasn’t a complete lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.

Because the truth— the real truth, not just the truth of Izuku’s condition— was that Katsuki was terrified that Inko would tell him he wasn’t good enough for Izuku. She’d be absolutely correct and he knows that, but he doesn’t think he could handle hearing it from her.

Though, really, he knows she’d never say that to him.

Izuku has always gotten his forgiveness and his kind nature from his mother. She had been more than willing to forgive Katsuki in the same way Izuku had, inviting him over for family dinners and sending him gifts on his birthday. She would never see the bad in him and would never tell him that he didn’t deserve her son, no matter how much it was true. And maybe that’s the thing that scared him most of all. Maybe he was even more afraid of being given a chance and fucking it up, because that’s what he did with most chances he was given.

It takes him a moment to kick off his shoes once he’s inside Eijiro’s apartment, trying to fend off thoughts of Inko, Izuku and what they both think of him. Although he’s about to be bringing that topic right back up. And honestly, he wasn’t going to be successful with his attempts, anyways, and he’s fully aware of that. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to think of anything else for a long time, if ever.

“Hey, bro!” Eijiro greets, raising a hand up in the air. He’s sprawled out on his couch, just enough room for Katsuki to come and join him.

Katsuki stops by the fridge on his way, grabbing a bottle of water before joining Eijiro in the family room. He’s not particularly thirsty but holding the bottle will give him something to do with his hands and a way to delay answering if he really needs to. With a gruff sigh, he flops onto the couch, whacking Eijiro’s feet away so they’re not right next to his face.

Eijiro just laughs, pulling his legs back and propping himself up a little. “What’s up, man? You look stressed,”

“It’s Deku.” Katsuki begins, trying his best to seem composed. He’s never been one to beat around the bush, so he figures it’s probably best to just dive on in. Like ripping off a bandaid— just get it over with.

Eijiro rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “It’s always Izuku.”

Katsuki bites back a snarl, trying to figure out how in the hell he’s supposed to explain any of what happened today to Eijiro. The villain attack— that part will be easy. But everything after that… “He’s in love with me.”

Immediately, Katsuki flinches away from his own words, hand fisting so tightly that the water bottle nearly explodes in his hand. Eijiro stills next to him, his entire body freezing in its place. And then, all at once, a smile spreads out across his lips, turning into a grin that Katsuki has seen far too many times. It’s the kind of grin that’s knowing, the grin he gives when someone else finally finds out the thing he’s known all along.

“He finally told you, huh?” Eijiro asks, and he almost looks proud.

“You fucking knew?” Katsuki explodes, slamming the water bottle down on the table in front of the couch. “You knew and you didn’t ever say anything?”

Immediately, Eijiro is holding his hands up in front of him in surrender, but he’s still smiling and clearly not even the least bit bothered by Katsuki’s outburst. “I assumed. I mean, dude, come on. It’s pretty obvious. He’s been in love with you since we were in school. Probably even longer.”

Katsuki is fuming, and he thinks smoke might literally be coming out of his ears. What in the actual fuck. There is no way that Izuku has been in love with him since high school and definitely no chance he was in love with Katsuki before that. They weren’t even that close for a large part of that time. There’s absolutely no way— the idea is just asinine— Katsuki doesn’t even know how to express how utterly stupid Eijiro sounds.

“That’s such shit.” Katsuki spits, turning his gaze away. Eijiro’s smile has turned into more of a shit eating grin as he watches Katsuki’s reaction to the news.

“Whatever. So how did he tell you?” He asks. When Katsuki bristles and doesn’t respond right away, Eijiro nudges him with his foot, earning a wicked slap to the ankle.

“He didn’t tell me, that’s half the fucking problem!” Katsuki finally says, grabbing a pillow and using it to pin Eijiro’s feet to the couch. “He got hit with a fucking quirk that made him forget the person he loved the most.”

It doesn’t take more than half a second for the information to click into Eijiro’s mind. Katsuki can see the exact moment he registers what he’s being told and then he’s just staring at Katsuki in disbelief instead of anything else. “He forgot you?”

This time, when Katsuki responds, it’s not angry or bitter or any of the usual scathing things. If anything, it’s dejected and a little bit broken. “Didn’t have a fucking clue who I was.”

Eijiro sits up properly finally, scooting so he can bump his shoulder with Katsuki’s, his tone softening to match the same emotions. “Well, this is a good thing, isn’t it? That he loves you?”

“Why the hell would that be a good thing?” Katsuki asks, but he still can’t put any conviction behind it,

“C’mon, bro.” Eijiro nudges him again. “I know you don’t want to admit it but you’ve also been in love with him since high school. Maybe you guys can finally make it work.”

No, not even to Eijiro who is, aside from Izuku, Katsuki’s closest person will he admit that he has feelings for Izuku. He absolutely will not say that he’s been in love with him since high school, that he was probably in love with him in middle school too but his habit of picking on Izuku for being quirkless was too ingrained to stop. He won’t say that he was probably in love with Izuku in middle school but mad at himself for treating him like such shit for so long that he denied and repressed those feelings and it only led him to treating Izuku worse. He will not say any of those things, not even when Eijiro is looking at him with soft eyes that clearly already know all of these things, even if Katsuki has literally never put words to them before.

“Fuck off.” Katsuki replies instead of acknowledging anything Eijiro said. His tone is defeated and he’s staring down into his lap.

With a sigh, Eijiro moves on to the next logical question and Katsuki honestly isn’t really glad about that. “Can he get his memories back? Does he remember everything else?”

“He remembers everything ‘cept me.” Katsuki hates the way the words hurt, hates how upset he is that he’s no longer in Izuku’s mind. He hates the way the words taste bitter on his tongue as he spits them out like venom. “And there’s one way to get his memories back.”

“But?” Eijiro prompts when he doesn’t immediately continue.

“But it’s fucking ridiculous.” Katsuki grabs the water bottle again, snapping the lid off and bringing it up to his mouth to take a drink. He’s still not thirsty but he really doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He’s quickly regretting ever bringing it up. Eijiro watches him the entire time, clearly aware of what he’s trying to do and determined to wait him out. Once Katsuki chugs half of the bottle and Eijiro is still waiting for an answer, he lets out a growl and finally just puts it out there. “He has to fall in love with me again.”

He expects Eijiro to burst out in delighted laughter and is surprised when he remains somber, eyebrows drawn together as he studies Katsuki’s expression. “This quirk is literally forcing you to shoot your shot.”

“I don’t want to fucking shoot it, though.” Katsuki grimaces, realizing too late that it hints towards some emotions that he’s denying.

Eijiro kindly pretends he didn't hear it. “You don’t want him to keep forgetting you, either.”

No, Katsuki doesn’t want that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stand that. After everything he’s gone through in his life, his anchor is Izuku and the way he says Kacchan so brightly. He doesn’t know how to face a day without Izuku by his side. Seriously, he’s never had to do it. Even in the depths of his worst days, Izuku didn’t give up on him.

Katsuki knows that the least he can do— the literal bare minimum— is to refuse to give up on Izuku now. But not giving up on Izuku comes at such a strange price.

“You’ve met the guy, right?” Katsuki says instead. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability and he already hates it, already feels uncomfortable, like his skin is crawling and he needs to get out before he gets in deeper. “He’s actual fucking sunshine. Have you ever seen him do a mean thing? To anyone? He is kind and he cares.” Eijiro is nodding along, clearly having no idea where Katsuki is headed with this but agreeing with his assessment of Izuku all the same. “And have you ever seen me be nice to somebody? We don’t match. I would just make him miserable.”

“What are you suggesting?” There’s a dangerous edge to Eijiro’s voice.

Katsuki crushes the water bottle in his hand. “Maybe he’d be fucking better off without me. Maybe I’d be doing him a favor—”

A pillow makes contact with his face before he can get any further into his idea. Immediately he’s ripping the pillow away from Eijiro, whirling on him with wild eyes. He’s about half a second away from blowing Eijiro to the moon, palms feeling hot with the desire to set off some explosions when Eijiro replaces the pillow with his own hand and smacks Katsuki upside the head.

“You’re an absolute idiot.” He says sternly, completely unflinching in the face of Katsuki’s burning anger. “Besides the fact that it doesn’t make sense logistically, that’s an absolutely terrible idea. Do you really think that’s what Izuku would want? After all those years, you really think he’d want to forget you?”

“It’s not always about what he wants!” Katsuki slams the pillow down on the couch between them before launching to his feet and taking angry laps around the room, clenching and unclenching his fists as he goes. “I know I don’t have a habit of looking out for people, okay? I fucking know. But try and tell me this wouldn’t be better for him! Try and tell me his life wouldn’t be better if I wasn’t fucking in it.”

“Okay,” Eijiro says and he’s clearly getting riled up, too. It’s a rare sight for Katsuki because Eijiro is typically very calm and the first to bring someone to a peaceful place. “I’ll be happy to tell you. Izuku’s life wouldn’t be better if you weren’t in it. I mean, seriously? Are you fucking stupid?”

And that is even rarer. Eijiro certainly never balks when Katsuki swears, but he rarely does it himself. “Excuse me?”

“Listen, man. I get that you feel like shit for how you treated him in the past. I get that you’re scared—” Katsuki opens his mouth to protest vehemently but shuts it the moment Eijiro’s angry gaze settles on him. “But he’s in love with you. You know him better than anybody else, do you really think it would be better for him to give that up? If you want to do right by him, get your head out of your ass, straighten your spine and be a man. Own up to your feelings and try to make it work.”

The outburst stopped Katsuki dead in his tracks and he stands completely still, staring almost blankly at Eijiro. He’s never had anyone talk to him like that. All of the anger deflates out of him at once and he sinks to a crouch in the middle of the room. He knows Eijiro is right— to do right by Izuku he needs to stop beating around the bush. After he’d made the first steps all those years ago, they’d managed to get closer. Maybe it was time for the next step.

“I don’t deserve him.” Katsuki is outright broken now, Eijiro’s verbal beatdown landing more than a few winning blows.

“That’s his choice to make, not yours.” Eijiro stands and crosses the room, crouching down, too, and placing a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. “And you have to let him make that choice. You can’t make it for him.”

“When the fuck did you get wise?” Katsuki barks and Eijiro laughs, all of his rage from earlier completely gone. “I didn’t come here for a goddamn therapy session.”

“Promise me you’ll talk to him? Talk to him, not yell at him, belittle him and then try and push him away.” Eijiro squeezes Katsuki’s shoulder fondly as he says it.

It takes a moment for Katsuki to respond, too busy thinking about how well Eijiro knows him, about how badly Eijiro just wants the best for him. He’s grateful for his friendship and makes a mental note to tell him so one day. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking promise or whatever.”

“Great.” Eijiro stands back up, groaning and stretching out his legs. “Now quit your moping, we’re ordering pizza.”

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

It’s barely even a few hours later when the doctor comes back in his room, flanked by two of Izuku’s closest friends, discharge paperwork in hand. He talks to Izuku briefly again, reminding him that there isn’t anything else wrong with his health but nobody is sure if the quirk could potentially have other side effects so he needs to keep a careful eye on himself while he navigates whatever he chooses to do next. Izuku understands, stating as much, and thanks the doctor for all of his help. With a smile and a pat on the shoulder, he takes his leave and suddenly it’s just Izuku, Ochako and Tenya in the room.

“Why does it seem like you end up in the hospital once a week?” Ochako says, taking his paperwork from his hands so that he can slip his shoes on easier.

“It’s not that often.” Izuku defends, although it really does feel that way some days.

Call it an occupational hazard.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Tenya says, clapping him on the shoulder once he’s upright. “And I’m glad the doctor came to discharge you because I’m starving.”

“Yes!” Ochako agrees immediately, “Lunch before we take you home! We haven’t seen you in forever!”

The interesting thing that Izuku has noticed in the last few hours is that it feels like parts of his memory are missing entirely. He can only assume that those chunks of time were times when he was with Kacchan and losing the memories of him made Izuku lose the memories of that entire time. It’s still a strange sensation though, to feel like he has so many large holes in his memory.

Despite that, though, he knows it really hasn’t been that long since he’s seen Ochako and Tenya. He can remember seeing them about two weeks ago when they’d come over to his apartment for movie night. Which raises the question of where Kacchan was during that time. Or maybe they didn’t live together, Izuku still wasn’t sure.

That aside, he’s not going to disagree with his friends. “Lunch sounds great.”

Technically it’s a little late for lunch, but it’s still too early for dinner. It’s the middle of the afternoon and the sun is beating down on them, not a single cloud in the sky. Izuku falls into step with his friends as they lead him down the street and towards a new cafe that Ochako had heard only good things about. Ochako and Tenya were in street clothes, this being their day off apparently, but Izuku was still in his hero uniform. It got him a lot of smiles and friendly waves on the street that he willingly returned.

“Am I really number one?” He asks after a group of girls ask to take their picture with him. “Like, actually?”

“I know, it’s hard to believe,” Ochako teases, nudging him playfully. “Especially since you’ve got to make up for Katsuki and his bad attitude.”

She’s obviously kidding— it’s clear in the fond way she says it— but it still gives Izuku a moment of pause. His brain’s immediate response is to snag on the name Katsuki and to immediately see how he shortened that to Kacchan. Alright, he tells himself, another step in the right direction. He now actually knows the guy's name. Or most of it, anyways. The next moment, though, he’s thinking about the bad attitude she mentioned. It’s probably just that callous exterior. She said it with enough kindness that Izuku can tell immediately that she doesn’t actually think he has a bad attitude, or at least, it’s not enough to sour her image of him.

“He’s not that bad.” Izuku says despite himself, realizing that he doesn’t really know Katsuki well enough anymore to be making such a statement. Still, it rings true in his head and even though he doesn’t know Katsuki, he knows he’s right. He wouldn’t fall in love with someone who was awful.

“To you.” Tenya replies as they finally make it to the cafe. Tenya holds the door for the other two of them, trailing in after Izuku and adding. “He has a soft spot for you now.”

That brings a smile to Izuku’s face as he waits for the hostess to direct them to a table. The move towards their designated table in a single file line so as not to leave room for other patrons to pass them by. They end up in a booth, Ochako and Tenya taking one side and leaving Izuku to have the entire other half to himself.

“He’s always had a soft spot for you,” Ochako comments as if their conversation hadn’t been put on pause during the walk to their table. “He’s just better at actually showing it now.”

“Really?” Izuku wishes he could remember it. He wishes so badly to remember what it was like, when things changed. He could only assume that he was elated when the shift began and this soft spot started to become more obvious. “When did that change?”

Tenya gets halfway through his sentence before Ochako cuts him off. “Why, can’t you see—”

“--wait.” She is leaning forward onto the table the tiniest bit, palms flat against the top of it as she scrutinizes Izuku’s face. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I want to know?” Izuku replies first before realizing that he hasn’t told them anything about the quirk that was discharged against him so they don’t have the context to understand. “Oh.” He says next, shaking his head. He glances around quickly to make sure nobody is eavesdropping on their conversation before lowering his voice a little to explain. “Sorry, right, you don’t have all the info. That quirk that landed me in the hospital? It made me forget the person I loved the most. Everything about them. So I don’t remember anything you guys are talking about right now.”

There’s a long moment where Tenya and Ochako exchange a very pointed look. Finally, Ochako turns back to him, her face a large grin. “You forgot Katsuki?”

“Yeah?” Izuku can feel a knot forming in his stomach at her expression. “Is that— should I not have? Is that weird?”

“No,” Tenya replies instantly, “It’s not weird.”

It makes Izuku feel better, but only marginally.

“Were we—” he pauses, taking a deep breath. His heart is fluttering in his throat and he can feel it all the way down to his fingertips. He doesn’t want to ask the question but he supposes it’s less mortifying to ask them and know than to have to face Katsuki without the knowledge. “Were we not dating?”

“No,” Ochako says kindly before quickly adding, “But I’m not surprised to hear it was Katsuki you forgot! You guys are incredibly close and we’ve all been waiting for something to happen between you for awhile.”

That makes Izuku feel more than marginally better. He could work with that. Maybe they hadn’t gotten to officially dating, but they were obviously close and on those tracks. “Why aren’t we dating then?”

“That is something you have to ask him.” Ochako begins, the rest of her thoughts cut off by the waitress showing up to take their order.

Izuku scrambles, having not actually looked at the menu yet. Ochako and Tenya both order as Izuku quickly scans the options, picking the first thing that sounds good and thanking the waitress as she takes the menu from his hands after he’s ordered. She promises to bring them back their drinks right away, so the lull remains in their conversation until she returns with three glasses of water in hand, doling them out and leaving a pile of straws in the middle of the table.

“So,” Izuku fiddles with his straw wrapper, trying to put his thoughts together. Talking to Ochako and Tenya is probably the safest place he can get information. They would never lie to him, but they’d also never judge him. And, being his two closest friends— besides Katsuki, as he understood it— they would have nearly all the information he needed. “We’re hero partners.” Ochako nods. “And best friends?” She rolls her eyes but nods again. “We’ve known each other our whole lives, he said—”

“Wait, you’ve seen him since this happened?” Tenya cuts in, eyes growing wide behind his glasses.

“Yeah? He was in my hospital room when I woke up. Doctor said he’s the one who carried me to the hospital.” It’s increasingly weird to have to learn about his own life from someone else. But on top of that, it’s unnerving to have them think things he never even questioned are surprising. He feels like he has absolutely no semblance of control over his life at the moment and it’s not a great feeling.

“It does make sense.” Tenya agrees quietly. “I’m sure you were on the scene together. And it’s not surprising that he’d take you himself instead of waiting for an ambulance.”

“But?” Izuku isn’t honestly sure he wants to know what is going to come next.

Ochako glances at Tenya before taking over and answering his question. “But, as far as we know, you’ve never told him that you love him.”

Yeah, Izuku definitely did not want to know that. Just great, he thinks bitterly, he doesn’t even get to confess his own feelings. Katsuki had to learn about them from a quirk. Talk about the worst way to ever get confessed to.

“Well that explains why he isn’t answering my texts.” Izuku replies dejectedly, leaning back in his chair with a groan.

Both of his friends are looking at him sympathetically, but it doesn’t do anything to change what a terrible situation this has suddenly become. He’d spent all those hours in the hospital coming up with such wonderful situations where they were happy together and now they were being ripped out of his hands and smashed to bits at his feet. How was he supposed to face Katsuki now? Not only did he still not really know anything about the guy, but his secret feelings had been outed.

Maybe he could just avoid him.

No. He mentally smacked himself as soon as the thought came. They were hero partners and best friends, he couldn’t do that to Katsuki. On top of that, he couldn’t get his memories back that way. Sure, it would be awkward to fall in love with Katsuki (again) if Katsuki didn’t feel the same way which was now a very real possibility, but Izuku couldn’t go on without at least trying to get his memories back. And yeah, Ochako had said that they were all waiting for something to happen between them which boded well on his behalf, but wasn’t solid proof of anything. For all he knew, Katsuki was going to push him away, upset with his feelings, and Izuku wouldn’t have the choice but to say goodbye to his memories of him permanently.

“Hey,” Ochako reaches across the booth and snags one of Izuku’s hands in her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. He’s not going to shut you out completely. And if he tries to, I’ll kick his ass.”

Tenya chuckles next to her. “That’s a fight I’d love to see.”

With another roll of the eyes, Ochako wedges her elbow between Tenya’s ribs, causing him to flinch away, swatting at her arm. Izuku lets out a shuddering breath, knowing that stressing about it right now won’t do any good. He can’t make any assumptions until he at least gets a chance to talk to Katsuki. Until then, he resolves himself to enjoying his friend’s presence, eating the delicious food that is brought to their table and just waiting.

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

It’s damn near the middle of the night by the time Katsuki finally stumbles back to his apartment, tired and in the midst of an emotional torrent. At some point in the evening, Ashido had showed up, kicking Katsuki off of the couch and onto the chair that sat next to it. Katsuki had gone willingly, but he’d grumbled the whole way. It had taken Eijiro all of two seconds after that to spill Katsuki’s entire dilemma to her and Katsuki could still hear her squeals, even as he flipped on the lights to his very empty apartment.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket as he kicks his shoes off and it takes everything in him to suppress a groan. The damn thing has been going off all day and he knows that he’s being shitty by ignoring it, but he’s just not ready to face anything yet.

Ashido had been quick to jump on Eijiro’s side, threatening Katsuki with certain death if he dared try to push Izuku away. Katsuki wasn’t afraid of anyone, but if there was one person he didn’t want to square up against, it’d be her. He’d sneered at her in response, shoving a pillow in her face and hoping that his face wasn’t flushed.

A second vibration of his phone draws Katsuki back out of his thoughts and he growls as he finally pulls his phone out. His screen is littered with notifications, most of them text messages. He sees Eijiro and Ashido’s group text in there, some from Ochako and even a few from Tenya, which is surprising. The least surprising though, are the series of texts— including the two newest ones— that are from Dumb Deku.

With a heavy sigh, Katsuki unlocks his phone, ignoring the texts from everyone except Izuku. He can already imagine pretty clearly the kind of threats he’ll find in all of them if he’s not kind to Izuku, so he doesn't waste his time reading them.

Are you coming back?

Ochako and Tenya came to get me from the hospital, you don’t have to worry about it.

Those two make Katsuki’s gut clench as he is forced to face what a dick he was to leave Izuku at the hospital alone. Leave it to Izuku’s other friends to clean up his mess. They’d done that for him back in high school, too, constantly trailing Izuku to pick up the broken pieces that were left behind when Katsuki tore him to shreds time and time again. Their forgiveness had been harder to earn than either Izuku’s or Inko’s, but he had eventually done so. He can only assume they’re less than thrilled to see him slipping back into his old ways though.

It’s okay, though!! Don’t worry about it!! I’m sure you were busy!

Classic Izuku, giving Katsuki an out he doesn’t deserve and refusing to blame him for anything. Katsuki’s heart feels heavy in his chest as he keeps reading, only three texts left.

I hope we get a chance to talk soon.

And then, the two he’d just sent.

I hope you had a good day.

Goodnight, Kacchan.

The very first thing Katsuki wants to do is blow his phone through the fucking roof. Even when Izuku can’t remember him, he’s being unfailingly kind and trying his best to meet Katsuki in the middle. It was this exact thing that made it impossible for him to shake Izuku— impossible for him to want to shake Izuku, even if he hadn’t said it back then.

One truth that Katsuki will admit is that he never honestly wanted to be rid of Izuku. Even at his worst in middle school, he knew that he’d never forgive himself for actually pushing Izuku away. He always worried that he’d gone too far, that it was finally the time that Izuku would disappear for good. For a while, he’d thought that he really had succeeded at scaring him away. And then that slime villain had gotten hold of him and Izuku hadn’t even thought before jumping in to try and save him.

Sometimes, Katsuki still played that memory in his mind, thinking back to how frantic Izuku had been, fighting desperately for him despite the tears streaming down his face. Katsuki had yelled at him, even then, but Izuku hadn’t relented. That was probably the first time Katsuki first thought that he owed it to Izuku to try and change. It was still a long time before he actually put in that effort, but from that moment on it was in the back of his mind. It would nag at him when he’d start to say something scathing, catching the words before they left his mouth, forcing him to just turn the other cheek and walk away instead.

And it was probably that change that encouraged Izuku.

Leaning into the wall next to his door, Katsuki types out a text of his own.

What are you still doing up, Deku?

He doesn’t even have a chance to lock his phone before he sees the bubble pop up to indicate that Izuku is typing back to him. In truth, Izuku has every right to make some scalding remark about how Katsuki had been ignoring him all day, leaving him to cope with this all on his own. To be fair, even though it’s shitty, Katsuki knows that this has to be harder for Izuku than for him. He’s not the one with all of his memories gone.

In fact, it’s precisely because he still has all the goddamn memories that he’s suffering so much in response to this.

Can’t sleep. Have a lot on my mind.

With another bone deep sigh, Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose again. He can’t deal with this shit. Old him would’ve blown Izuku off, refusing to talk about it. But if Izuku had sent him this text yesterday, before this happened, Katsuki knows he wouldn’t have even responded. He would’ve tucked his phone away, slipped his shoes back on and headed straight over to Izuku’s apartment. He would’ve gotten there to find out that the door was already unlocked, that Izuku would have been expecting for him to show up.

Because all of their fucking lives they’d been orbitting each other like that. One pushing and the other pulling, constantly together, never apart. It was always the two of them.

Want to talk about it?

He hesitates for only a moment before he hits send. He hovers in his entry way as he waits for the response that he knows will still be just as quick. Sure enough, a second later, he sees the new message appear on his screen.

Not over text.

Well, fuck. He’s absolutely not ready to have this conversation with Izuku— he’s not ever going to be completely ready but he’s not even mentally prepared for it right now— but he knows he can’t just leave him like he did at the hospital. The friendship that they’ve developed, their partnership as heroes, and his unnamed place in Katsuki’s heart won’t allow that. So Katsuki slides his shoes back on, scrubbing a hand over his hair in frustration and typing as he opens his door.

Open up. I’ll be there in ten.

Truthfully, he has the spare key to Izuku’s apartment. It’s on his key ring, right next to the key to his own apartment and his locker at work. He rarely uses it, though, because Izuku always leaves the door open for him. He could use it now, but he doesn’t want to freak Izuku out. He has no idea what information Ochako and Tenya had given him, what pieces his brilliant brain had put together. He had no fucking clue what the picture looked like in Izuku’s mind and he hated how terrified it made him feel.

The walk to Izuku’s place wasn’t ten minutes, but the extra time was for Katsuki to stop at the convenience store on the corner and grab his favorite snacks. He fucking hated himself the entire time he was plucking them off the shelf. How in the hell did he get to know Izuku this well and not think anything of it?

He knows the answer to that, though. It’s not that he never thought about it, never tried to read into his own feelings and put names to them, but rather that he refused to do exactly that. Every time the question arose in his mind, he squashed it vehemently. Every time he caught himself thinking about how fucking gorgeous Izuku was, he mentally berated himself until the thoughts were gone. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t figure it out, but that he didn’t want to.

And now his feelings have been shoved in his face plain as day and he has no idea what the hell to do with them. How is he supposed to acknowledge something he’s been purposefully ignoring for so many years?

With the bag of items firmly in his hand, Katsuki steels his will as much as he possibly can and finishes the walk to Izuku’s. He finds the door unlocked, just like he has so many times before, and takes a deep breath in through his nose before entering. He kicks his shoes off and heads straight into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and depositing a few of the extra drinks inside.

“Kacchan?” He hears from the other room and it sounds so normal to him that it takes Katsuki’s brain about five seconds to catch up and realize that Izuku shouldn’t know that nickname for him anymore.

His heart aches so deeply that it feels like it’s pulling itself apart in his chest. “Who told you about that nickname?”

As he says it, he realizes that Izuku had used it in a text message, too. He hadn’t even noticed, he was so used to seeing and hearing that. There were so many times that the nickname had been his lifeline. He’d heard Izuku call it in the middle of a battle to warn him of danger, he’d heard him say it, ragged and broken, as he feared that he’d lost Katsuki. But he’d also heard it soft and tender, with Izuku on the brink of falling asleep, and brighter than the morning sunshine when Izuku greeted him first thing in the morning.

“Oh,” Izuku crosses into the kitchen finally. He’s in pajamas, hair messy as if he’d tried to sleep but failed. “That’s the name I have you under in my phone. I hope that’s okay?”

Katsuki snorts. Of course he’d put him in his phone that way. “ S’fine.”

It’s more than fine, actually. It’s both a comfort and an assault to Katsuki’s heart, but he can handle that. It reminds him that Izuku isn’t a stranger to him, even if he’s been caught entirely off guard by Izuku’s feelings and forced to see him in a new light.

“I appreciate you coming.” Izuku doesn’t come any further into the room and it’s very easy to tell just how nervous he is. It’s rolling off of him in waves, doing it’s best to knock Katsuki off of his feet.

“Here,” Katsuki extends one of the drinks in his hands to Izuku, forcing the man to come further into the room to take it from him. And no, there’s definitely not a feeling of electricity skipping across his fingers where Izuku’s hand brushes his own.

Izuku takes the drink and retreats back to the doorway, clutching it close to his chest. “This is one of my favorites!”

Katsuki knows, that’s why he bought the damn thing. It’s the drink that Izuku loves but won’t let himself drink unless he’s had a bad day. Normally, Katsuki wouldn’t give him something with caffeine in the middle of the night but these are special circumstances. Plus, Izuku had already said that he couldn’t sleep.

“Listen,” Katsuki doesn’t turn to look at Izuku as he talks. He methodically takes the snacks out of the bag, piling them on the counter. His heart is thumping painfully against his ribs, each one like the beat of a drum. Instinctively, he wants to run again, to get away from this, but he had promised Eijiro that he wouldn’t do that. At some point, enough had to be enough. “I know we have a lot to talk about and that’s— fine.” It hurts, every word hurts. “We can start it right now, if that’s what you need. But can we at least save the thick of it for tomorrow after the press conference?”

Fucking excellent, Katsuki tells himself sarcastically, he’s already trying to run away again.

“Press conference?” Izuku echoes, popping the lid of his drink.

“You’re not going.” It’s a finality. Katsuki won’t allow Izuku to attend the press conference. They have shit they need to work out on their own and he will not let it leak to the media. “I’ll handle it myself.”

“Do you always insist on doing everything alone?” Izuku sips from his drink. Katsuki can feel the weight of his gaze burning a hole between his shoulders but he doesn’t succumb to it. “Is it really that hard for you to let someone in?”

A bitter laugh, a burning in Katsuki’s chest. His heart is on fire and it’s burning him down to ashes. “So you haven’t really forgotten me then, eh?”

That seems to startle Izuku. Katsuki still isn’t looking at him, hands pressed against the cool countertop, but he hears Izuku shift and he knows that he’s trying to figure out how to word his thoughts. He knows Izuku so goddamn well that he can tell what he’s doing without even looking at him. It makes a sick feeling fill Katsuki’s gut.

“I don’t think it’s that.” Izuku says after a moment of silence. “I think I’m just… good at reading you.”

Yeah, that’s for damn sure. “You’ve been good at that since we were kids. It’s annoying as fuck.”

Izuku huffs out a laugh and it stokes the fire that’s currently consuming Katsuki. He loves Izuku’s laugh. It’s bright and warm and full of so much happiness. It’s contagious— and that’s coming from someone who doesn’t laugh. Katsuki can feel the tension in his shoulders, can feel the ache up his neck and into the base of his skull. He knows he’s pressing all of his weight into the counter, knows that he’s seconds away from losing his cool.

He just has no idea what he’s going to do when he loses it. He suspects, for once, it’s not blasting Izuku off the face of the earth.

“And yet,” Izuku finally moves a little bit further into the room. Katsuki can feel his presence approaching. “Here you are, at one in the morning, coming to take care of me because I couldn’t sleep.”

“If you’ve got something to say,” Katsuki tries to snarl, to bite, to put anything behind his words. They come out breathless. “Spit it the fuck out.”

He hears Izuku take the next step as much as he feels it. And then he takes another, and another. From where Katsuki is glaring down at his feet, he can see Izuku’s shadow growing larger, engulfing his own. And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, tripling the tension that Katsuki feels. All of the fire that’s been enveloping him shoots to the spot where Izuku is touching, the concentration of it so intense it’s almost unbearable. Katsuki knows immediately that he never wants it to stop.

“I think you care about me.” Izuku whispers, his breath a warm ghost across the back of Katsuki’s neck. What small grasp Katsuki had on his self control was slipping by the second. “I know I’m your best friend and your partner, I get that. But I think you care about me even more than that and you just don’t want to admit it.”

Slowly, so fucking slowly it hurts, Katsuki spins in his spot until he’s facing Izuku. Izuku moves his hand from Katsuki’s shoulder as he begins to move and it hangs in the air between them as Katsuki finally meets his eyes. His breathing is ragged, like he just got out of a fight. His lungs ache with each breath he takes in. Izuku is staring up at him with a determination that Katsuki knows well. It’s an expression of no apologies, an expression that says he knows the potential consequences for his actions but he’s not going to back down.

It’s the expression he gave Katsuki over and over again, year after year when he refused to give up on him or let him go.

“And what makes you think that’s the case?” The tension between them is so thick that it could be cut with a knife. There’s a sizzle in the air between them and Katsuki thinks he could probably blow the whole place to bits with just a small spark.

Those goddamn green eyes have always been a weak point for Katsuki. They’re so expressive, full of so much emotion. To meet Izuku’s gaze was to see the depths of his heart, the inner workings of his mind and the colors of his soul all at once. It was impossible not to crumble under the weight of his gaze on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day.

Today Katsuki had not only been forced to confront his own feelings— a battle he was still, currently, in the midst of— but he’d also been brought face-to-face with Izuku’s. Today wasn’t the kind of day where he could hold strong under those eyes. Today was the day where Izuku chipped his way past the final of Katsuki’s defenses, pushing the walls to the ground and tearing open the locked doors. Today was the day where everything collapsed and all that was left was for Katsuki to decide how to— or even if he wanted to— rebuild it.

“Like I said,” Izuku’s hand stretches a little closer to him, then. It doesn’t touch him, but it’s there, almost like he’s asking permission. His tone is still a quiet whisper that's charged with emotions and Katsuki feels the exact moment his final wall turns to dust and blows away in the wind. “I’m just really good at understanding you.”

Without even thinking first, Katsuki reaches up to grab that hand hanging in the air between them, yanking Izuku forwards until he’s flush against Katsuki’s chest, head tilted up so he could still read Katsuki’s expression. His lips were parted in surprise, his other hand thrown out to the side to avoid spilling his drink. But still, despite it all, despite the fact that he doesn’t remember Katsuki, that whatever feelings he did have are temporarily erased, his eyes are smiling as he waits for Katsuki to do whatever it is he’s going to do.

And god damn it all, Katsuki wants to kiss him.

It’s a deep and immediate want, reaching all the way to his bones, flooding through his veins. He wants to kiss that look right off the damn nerd’s face and then kiss him again just for good measure. He wants it so badly that it physically aches in his chest, but he can’t do this.

This isn’t the time for something like that. They still need to talk, he needs to give Izuku a chance to regain his own feelings. If— when— he kisses Izuku, it’s going to be the Izuku that’s actually in love with him. It doesn’t matter that this one staring up at him looks like the Izuku he knows, it doesn’t matter that he has the same warm eyes and the same kind smile. It isn’t the Izuku he’s known for all these years and he refuses to do anything until he has that Izuku back.

With a low groan, Katsuki wraps his free arm around Izuku, leaning down to bury his face in a sea of unruly green. Izuku lets out a content noise, setting his drink down on the counter behind Katsuki before wrapping his arm back around Katsuki and fisting it in his shirt at the small of his back.

The physical ache is still there, the burn still smoldering in his lungs. This isn’t what he wants, but it’s more than he’s ever let himself have and for now, it’s enough.

[anika-ann]

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 5600

Summary:  Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

You knew for a fact that it was a load of BS. The truth is that words can break your heart. And that realization hits you full force the day you have your last exam to earn your bachelor degree.

If you pass, it will be a cause for great celebration. Spoiler alert: it’s not.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the series. Will be in two (or three) parts. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: I did something in here which I’m usually trying to avoid at any cost; in this story, I used Y/N Y/L/N. Does that count as a warning? 

Warnings II: name calling, humiliation, panic attack!, bad poetry, mentions of vomiting and  alcohol, the briefest mention of self-harm, angst, swearing, threats of violence

Story masterlist

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You released the breath you had been holding, all your willpower put into not sinking into the chair in relief as Professor Phillips announced your grade – one that meant that you hadn’t failed.

In fact, you had just passed your last exam of your bachelor program so you were entirely in the right. In your head, an overexcited monkey started playing cymbals and you didn’t mind the noise despite how sleep-deprived you were from the past few days. A barely contained mad smile fought its way to your lips instead.

Mind you, as you thanked Professor Phillips and rose to your feet – your knees almost giving out, because HOLY SHIT YOU JUST GOT YOUR BACHELOR’S – you would swear you saw a brief smile on the professor’s face too as if he was amused at your antics.

But who cared if he was having fun at your expense?! You PASSED! You had been losing sleep, terrified of this exam, because everyone knew Phillips was a hard-ass – a fair one, but still a hard-ass – and you just passed his examination!

Time to pop the fucking champagne! The one Penny had been saving at the dorm from yesterday when she had finished her own degree; she insisted that she would wait for you, because you were in this together.

You couldn’t leave her waiting any longer and you didn’t have any intention to do so.

Leaving the room and walking into the empty hallway – because of course you came the last as if to prolong your torture – you breathed in and out and deliberately let the grin finally spread on your face fully.

You were free, you were ready to take on the world despite not being ready at all and you had Steve, who you suspected would be proud as hell and would celebrate with you tomorrow, graciously letting you and your roomie do it first-- and gosh, life was beautiful.

Making your way down the corridor, with a grin ever-present, a leaflet that hadn’t been there before caught your attention. It appeared a handwritten note, styled in a regular column – a poem perhaps.

Still smiling, the curiosity took the best of you and you walked to it, peripherally noticing that along the walls, there was even more.

You froze in your step when your gaze fell on the first line; your very own name was staring back at you and it confused you at first, a brief surge of excitement lighting up your body, a naïve belief that perhaps Steve somehow decided to surprise you.

But Steve’s last name came next, which you found strange.

And then came the word ‘whore’ and your heart stopped, your gaze automatically flickering all over the page.

Your stomach made a painful somersault, your mind turning blank.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of that nightmare materializing in front of you, reading and re-reading the poem that almost resembled a twisted nursery rhyme over and over.

Y/N Y/L/N Rogers’ whore Bet she’ll get The highest score For sucking dick Having fucked her ass Let’s hope she’ll soon Be eating grass

Darkness battled to cut off your vision, the world swaying off of its place. Involuntarily, your trembling hand reached out and touched the paper, smooth under your fingertips, your frantically beating heart and the vertigo threating to overpower your sense of balance tying you to the reality, screaming at you that this wasn’t just a really fucked-up dream.

You tore the paper down, lump growing in your throat as you looked around for watchful eyes in sudden paranoia of being followed, only to find the hallway deserted aside from you.

Just you and many papers hanging on the walls.

As if you were just a puppet to a spiteful master, your feet carried you to the next leaflet, tears filling your eyes as you found the very same words written on it; a precise copy.

Your breathing picked up a furious pace, your chest crushed under a weight of an invisible elephant stomping on it. The corridor swam in the dampness of your eyes, your mind too quiet and yet screaming with millions of question marks and exclamation points, panic squeezing your lungs, nausea attacking your stomach.

What the hell was happening? Who would do that? Why? What was the goal? Was it just to ruin your triumph?

Because if that was the goal, it was a roaring success; the thousands of questions swirling in your head and the unexpected sting in your heart turned the fact that you had passed an exam into a faint memory.

All you saw was the words.

Rogers’s whore

Was that what you were? Was that how people who knew about the relationship saw you? Was that how Steve saw you?

The highest score for sucking dick

Was that what you were doing? Using Steve’s position to your advantage? Was that how you got through every exam including the one today, even if unwittingly? Was that what Phillips’ little smile had been about?

Hope she’ll soon be eating grass.

Was that a threat? Was someone wishing that happened to you or were they actually about to hurt you? Why?!

Hearing your own wheezing and feeling your fingertips prickling, your foggy mind did the only reasonable thing it could come up with; it led your steps into the nearest bathroom at lightning speed with no regard for how shaky were your feet.

You stumbled into the open stall, smashing the door shut and leaning onto them with your suddenly damp forehead, feeling the cold beads of sweat gather in your hairline, your cheeks drenching in tears.

When did you start crying so hard?

When did the trembling in your limbs begin?

What the fuck was happening?

What-how--why-but-

Your palms rested on the door as you desperately tried and failed to ground yourself and take control of your breathing. Your temples were pounding irritatingly, your gut painfully clenching--- and exactly in that moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, your fingers brushed over a piece of paper stuck on the door.

Darkness curled around your brain like a treacherous friend, another wave of nausea twisting your stomach.

It took you one blurry glance at the paper and you knew precisely what it was, choking on your sob, ripping the offensive poem off and tearing it to pieces which you blindly threw to the toilet, the flushing sound deafening to your ears.

Your shaky legs finally gave out, knees buckling, your body sliding down the stall wall, fingers pulling at your hair as you felt the dizziness engulfing your head, a bitter taste in your mouth.

You gripped tighter, hoping that the pain on the surface would overpower the pain and gaping hole inside, as another violent sob erupted from your throat.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

An eternity later, you felt your whole being float.

Your breathing was still frantic and interrupted with sobs, but a sensation resembling serenity spread in your very core—or perhaps it was just numbness?

You couldn’t seem to be able to tell the difference anymore.

The creak of a door made you cover your mouth to muffle the noises still escaping your lips for the fear of being caught – either being found in this state in general or found as in found by the person who wrote---that – being stronger than the subdued power of your previous breakdown.

It was probably too late for the newcomer to miss your presence, but over the slowly fading ringing in your ears, you could hear a few steps that came to a halt and then they sounded a bit quicker as the woman left.

Thank FUCK. You couldn’t do human interaction of any kind right now.

You removed your hand and breathed out shakily, blinking away the tears.

Shaking your head wildly, you gritted your teeth in a feeble attempt at bolster yourself. You had to get up off your ass and leave before there would be no longer way of avoiding a confrontation – god forbid a confrontation with Steve, who was probably still in a class, testing his own students.

You climbed to your feet, wiping the remains of your tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand and went to fix your ruined make-up, hopefully enough to look little less suspicious when walking through the campus.

It was probably a vain effort, because you were a walking epitome of a mess.

Rogers’s whore, sounded in your ears and you shook your head again, inhaling sharply through your mouth.

It was time to run and then break down again at the dorms. With Penny preferably--or did she think you were a whore too? You were fucking a professor after all-

Stop that!

Penny wasn’t like that. She understood. She’d be willing to listen all about this outrageous act of terror and would sympathize. Right?

Yeah, you’d talk about it with Penny, your amazing friend, who needed a celebration and a very generous amount of alcohol, which happened to be exactly what you needed too.

Yep, that sounded pretty good.

With one last determined glance on your horrible reflection in the mirror, you headed out.

The door nearly hit you in the face on its way back as you threw it open and froze in the doorway.

You did not expect to see someone so soon after leaving your improvised safe space… let alone him.

“Prof-professor Wilson,” you choked out, clearing your scratchy throat as he stood there, unmistakably waiting for you.

Because that was what you needed at the moment. The university counsellor and professor of psychology in one person.

Fuck.

He said you name in a mild tone, almost as if trying to tame a wild animal, but not quite – all his voice made you feel was shame at getting caught. And a bit of anger at the whole fucking world, because why couldn’t you have a tiny piece of peace after seeing that? Just a little shred of luck, huh?!

Oh, right, you were a whore who were only using Professor Rogers, paying for it in sexual favours.

“Mind if we talk in my office for a bit?”

“Not like I really have a choice…” you mumbled automatically, the realization of how rude it sounded dawning to you oh too slowly, your brain too tangled up in a web of self-pity and self-loathing. “Sorry. Of course. Lead the way.”

“Good. Thank you,” he replied, appearing unoffended. “And for the record, you do have a choice.”

Hadn’t you been a wreck with burning tear-stained cheeks, your face might have felt hotter at the kind remark.

At the slowest pace possible, you followed Professor Wilson to his office, dread and exhaustion filling every fibre of your being.

You noticed however that the walls that had been lined with odes about you, put up for everyone to see, had disappeared; possibly Wilson’s own work.

Somehow, it didn’t make you feel much better, the image of the previous addition to the corridors’ decor stuck in your brain. But hey, it was supposed to be the thought that counted, right?

And Professor Wilson was a nice guy. He offered you a drink – sadly a non-alcoholic one – attempted a joke saying that no, it was no trouble getting you one, which was the reason he offered.

Generally, he treated you as if he wanted to provide you with a safe space.

And then he kindly told you that he knew about the poem, because his cousin who’s in her first year here at the uni, texted him what the heck was the e-mail she received on her uni account about.

In other word, he gently broke to you that whoever had done this possibly sent it to every student in the database too.

You nearly threw up hearing that; the pit you had climbed up from and of which edge you were balancing, deepened. But you didn’t fall back there.

Yet.

It was probably because you were still too shocked at the information.

“I hate asking that question, but do you have any idea who did this?” Wilson asked quietly and you had nothing but a helpless shake of a head for a reply. You felt your vision blurring, dizziness fogging your brain again. “Can you think of anyone who holds a grudge against you for some reason?”

A scoff escaped your lips, cynical as you found the answer obvious from the verses.

“Besides dating Steve, you mean?” you noted sarcastically. Wilson waited for more, his eyebrows twitching in surprise and expectation before he got it under control. “Sorry, I meant Professor Rog-“

“Hey, you can call him Steve,” he assured you, so damn sweet and diligent. “I met him, you know, I’d go as far as calling him a friend. And right here, right now, he is not your professor, but your boyfriend. I’m talking to you as a counsellor so feel free to call me Sam if you’re comfortable. And to answer your question, I assume that it is as good motive as any, but the fact that the two of you are dating is practically a public knowledge at this point, so it doesn’t really narrow our field of suspects.”

Despite his openness and kind approach, you once again could only shrug, growing desperate by the minute. The urge to leave – because suddenly it made even more sense, him taking you here, he was friends with Steve, he was stalling – became unbearable.

You didn’t have the strength to see Steve now. You couldn’t. You would question every gesture, analyse everything and perhaps came to the conclusion that he agreed with the author of the poem and you desperately didn’t want that. You needed to forget about this, preferably with an unhealthy amount of alcohol, you needed to cry some more, you needed ice-cream and a hug and to bitch about everything and you needed a fucking nap that would last at least a week.

“I don’t know who hates me that much, I swear. Can I please go now?”

Sam cocked his head to side, a minute frown creasing his brows. “Is that what you want?”

Do you really want to leave before Steve gets a chance to get here?

You should probably feel guilty. You wanted to feel guilty, because that was you being a coward and it was downright mean to Steve, who would no doubt learn about this very soon and from someone else, but you didn’t have the capacity to think about anything at all besides feeling like you were going to explode any second.

“Yes. Thanks for being nice and all, but I—I’d rather go.”

“You have a roommate? A friend you live with and who’s in?” he fussed, voice gravely, amiable chocolate eyes observing you with worry. Did he think you were about to hurt yourself? Did you look like the type? Were you? You mentally shook your head. Jesus.

“Yeah,” you creaked, already rising to your feet, endlessly grateful that he was letting you go. “Penny. We— uhm, we were supposed to go celebrating.”

You nearly choked on the last word, feeling like everything but going out tonight. The idea of going out and facing all the stares cause by the widely-spread e-mail made your stomach clench.

You kinda lost the appetite to celebrate anything to begin with; all the relief and joy, which had filled every last bit of your being post-learning your grade, vanished and was replaced by a dark sticky substance filling your lungs, your gut, your veins, muffling the outside world.

Perhaps Penny would agree to a loud night in?

“You can still do that, that’s up to you. But please, get some sleep and don’t be alone. Here,” he stood up as well, handing you a card. “My number, even if you just need to talk to a sort-of outsider and word-vomit all over someone, okay?”

You couldn’t argue with his offer – you had a feeling you’d vomit soon, either verbally or literally. Still, you charmed a shaky smile that probably turned out a grimace.

“K. Thanks… Sam.”

“Any time.”

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Of course, Wilson’s unspoken question about moving quick to avoid an encounter with certain professor was painfully on point.

You bailed on Steve whom you were supposed to wait for even if just for a hug and congratulations, practically running to the dorm, your unsteady feet and tears still clouding your vision be damned.

You ignored the ringing of your phone, assuming it was Steve himself; bile rose to your throat at the idea of hearing his voice at that moment. He tried twice before you smashed the power button and threw the phone back to your purse, breathing out in relief and wanting to puke at the same time.

You truly couldn’t find the capacity to deal with him momentarily – you needed to be alone and safe from any prying eyes, preferably in the comfort of your shared dorm with Penny. You cried harder when you finally reached it, your feet hurting from attempting to run in heels.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Penny somehow already knew, probably from the e-mail – it was written all over her face. And hadn’t her expression been enough, instead of a celebratory champagne she handed you a shot of a transparent liquid the moment you opened the door.

You turned it bottoms up without questioning it and asked for another. Penny grabbed the bottle of vodka waiting on the shoe rack and poured one for you and one for herself. You didn’t bother clinking the glasses.

Though the burn in your throat felt pleasant, it did nothing to sooth the burn in your eyes and heart. Penny’s embrace made it a bit better.

So did the third shot of vodka.

You didn’t switch on your phone that day again – and when it was nearing midnight, after a four-hour nap, you convinced Penny to go celebrate to the Freddy’s as you had originally planned to do. You pretended that no one stared at you and instead you danced and drank until your mind was swimming enough for the sorrow and anger to drown.

You were one lucky bitch to have Penny walk you home.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰ 

Steve was sitting at his desk at the faculty office he shared with Bucky and was working hard at what he excelled at for these past days despite his genuine efforts at not doing so; getting absolutely nothing done at all.

His hands had grown somewhat unsteady, a reflection of how he was feeling, how torn and absurdly broken he had become. He was spilling drinks on a regular basis, items kept falling from his flimsy hold. His brain felt foggy these days as well, most likely a consequence of the shitty sleep he was getting.

His bed felt too big despite his rather large frame and too cold despite his body temperature usually running almost too high; the sheets smelled strange and foreign despite being his own and the bed screamed with emptiness on a volume that kept interrupting his already deficient sleep.

Four days.

Four days since one stupid poem knocked his world out of its orbit and everything that mattered crashed down. Well, perhaps not everything, Steve happened to like his job too and he still had it, but such detail seemed insignificant; it certainly did in comparison to the fact that he had been attempting and had failed to reach you.

Calls.

Texts.

Few e-mails when he felt particularly helpless and frustrated.

His messed up sleeping and eating schedule and the irregularity that came with the exam period would make a perfect case of him losing any notion of time – yet Steve knew about every second without you, practically counting them.

He could still see Sam Wilson standing outside the classroom he had been testing students’ knowledge in as if it happened yesterday. He could recall with painfully stark clarity the unreadable expression on his face and the ominous “Steve, man… we need to talk.”

Steve still remembered Tony Stark waltzing in the next day with a baby in some sort of a front backpack, agitated that someone had gotten into the database, let alone to send all the hate-emails, and how he announced he found the culprit and their accomplices in an hour, which apparently happened to be too long to his liking.

Steve would smile at the memory of the technical genius’ antics, but the gaping hole in his chest caused by the deafening silence from you prevented it. Hell, not even the vivid picture of Carol Danvers from the faculty of law, moonlighting like a member of the legal department of the university, made the corners of his lips rise.

And hadn’t it been quite a show, a downright uplifting experience.

Steve was watching the screen with a frown, a stone-solid clench to his jaw and a firm clench to his fists.

It was almost amusing really; Bucky kept going about Fury being a creep and not a spy, but despite the lack of a one-way glass, the space Carol and the girl was in – just like two other rooms, each with one man – resembled an interrogation room. Steve never had been more grateful for audio and video feed in his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t laughing in delight at being proved right.

In fact, it had been taking all of his willpower not to burst into those rooms and give a piece of his mind to every single person guilty of being involved in hurting you. In causing his life to collapse on itself.

Steve couldn’t quite recall the brunet Carol was roasting, but he suspected he had seen her in one of the classes he was teaching. She didn’t stand out from the crowd of students and he didn’t see anything special about her worth remembering; then again, he tended to forget to take notice of other pretty faces ever since he had laid his eyes on yours.

And right now, all he saw was a face of a vicious bitch who forced you into pushing him away and a single look at her had his blood boiling.

Steve truly wanted to punch the living daylights of her and that said something, because he prided himself in having moral objection to hitting women, especially from sheer anger.

However, the desire was growing with each piece of information he learned. Because Yvonne Whatever-Is-Her-Name was a piece of work for fucking certain.

She talked a guy number one, whom she was attending Introduction to Social Studies 101 and who had a very apparent teenage-like crush on her, into reaching out to his friend, guy number two, whom he often played some online video game with, into hacking the database, sending the e-mails and finding out when and where exactly your exam was, just so Yvonne herself could redecorate the corridors and bathroom and make sure you wouldn’t miss her work of art.

Carol was alternating between visiting each of the ‘suspects’ and man, did they sing like birds.

Steve wanted to strangle them all, but fuck, the hatred for Yvonne Burton specifically was already consuming him and gnawing at his very soul; yes, he found out her last name just so he knew his mortal enemy. He was going to burn her to the ground, one way or the other… not that Carol hadn’t been doing a fine job so far.

That damn brunet had tears running down her face, sobbing occasionally, but still rarely sassing back. Somehow, seeing her like that wasn’t half as satisfying as Steve hoped, because his mind kept wandering to you and wondering if you looked about the same and every time such picture formed in his head, he hated Ms.Burton a fraction more.

She had used a guy who liked her, which Carol blatantly pointed out. The lawyer didn’t seem to hold back her own snark if the question about how the culprits met – via some forum for bruised ego, was it? – was anything to go by.

“I might be a lawyer, but I’m begging for every art professor and author I know – stay away from poetry. What you wrote is a child’s rhyme really, but like every writing, it says a lot about who you are. And it gives me a plenty of ammunition. We have two names, one full, one last name pointing out a specific person from the context. If I play my cards right, we have defamation on our hands, libel to be precise. Congratulation,” Carol remarked in a surprisingly calm voice. The other woman visibly paled. Good. “And what about the last line? Is that… is that a threat of violence? I can make it harassment, but if I try hard enough, perhaps we can consider it something more serious…?”

“You don’t get to threaten me! You’re lying! I’ve done nothing wrong and so serious!” the girl – and really, in Steve’s eyes, she was nothing but a stupid girl who somehow managed to kick his life in its balls – exploded, jumping to her feet.

Carol levelled her with a glare and an irritated hiss. “Sit down.” Burton did, clammy hands curled up in trembling fists. “And you’ve done more than enough.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh don’t I? Be my guest then. Explain it. Your motivation, the legal side, anything. I’m all ears.”

“I love him!” the girl exclaimed and Steve grinded his teeth as a surge of rage shooting through his veins.

Like fucking hell she did. He didn’t remember even talking to her if he ever had to start with and she loved him?!

Was that really what this was about? This girl somewhat liked him and got obsessed? Decided to wreck his girlfriend? To what end? To drive the two of you apart? To make you hate him so he would run to her? To simply ruin your future? What the fuck was wrong with her?! She was a damn kid with hurt pride and zero efforts put in so far, because he couldn’t even remember her-

“Oh you really don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have done this,” Carol responded with a cold edge to her voice, apparently agreeing with Steve’s thoughts and being equally unimpressed with Ms.Burton dramatic confession.

“I’m fighting for him! Ain’t nothing wrong-”

Oh Steve would argue with that so hard. He could feel Sam watching him from the corner of his eye, but neither of them said anything as Steve gripped the edge of the table the monitors were on.

He was sure he was going to be sick, the edge of his vision doing something he only read about; as if truly turning red, crimson with hunger for blood. He never ever craved tearing someone in half, not a single one of the guys who bullied him in school, not the girls that laughed at him when he said he liked them; and make no mistake, he had always felt mad enough.

But right now, he tasted undiluted rage and it tasted like acid with a bitter aftertaste of iron and copper, searing hot on his tongue and spreading through his body, turning it heavy and nauseatingly light at the same time.

“No, you’re ruining his life,” Carol emphasized, leaning onto the table and glaring murder at the girl. “If this is your idea of fighting for someone, it’s pretty twisted. You could have done literally anything to make him notice you, hell, pick you, but leave if he still said no, because that’s a sensible thing to do. But instead, you hurt someone he cared about. And that means you hurt him too – not to mention that his name is in there, possibly putting a scrap on his reputation. If you did love him, you’d want him to be happy.”

Steve gulped and looked away, unable to bear the weight of Carol’s words, feeling the jab on his own person. Because he was familiar with being accused of ruining someone’s life and future despite seemingly loving them. God knew that on a rainy day, he wondered about his own ‘love’ and its purity too – and now, it was fucking pouring and Steve had been forced to question everything he knew.

Was this little brunet Satan a godsend in fact? Was she supposed to tell him to stop lying to himself about not being your doom? Just what kind of a mess this stunt would have made had you been working a steady job and this got to your employer?

A gentle hand reached for his shoulder, a silent support, and Steve found himself torn between irritated, grateful and deeply ashamed.

No matter how much he hated it, he should be on the list to get punched for hurting you too.

“So, sorry to break it to you, but you don’t love him,” Carol continued and with Sam’s palm on his shoulder, Steve forced himself to watch the scene, the grand finale. “You’re just a little girl with attitude issues, a crush that got out of hand, and a ton of luck for knowing a guy willing to help you. Guess what – you just ran out of that luck.”

Heavy silence fell on the interrogation room and Steve’s eyes slid shut, hearing Carol and Yvonne’s parting words.

“And just so you know, she didn’t get the highest score. She got a B.”

Steve didn’t even know that and despite all the shit they were in, he felt a surge of pride for his g- hopefully still his girl.

At the same time, the fact that he learned it from Carol and not from you as he still couldn’t reach you, felt like a punch to his solar plexus.

Carol entered the monitoring room with a discontent expression on her face, wordlessly telling Steve and Sam that the conversation, no matter how harsh, wasn’t satisfying enough.

Still, Steve glanced at her and nodded with severity.

“Thank you, Carol,” he rasped, surprised by how hoarse his own voice sounded; for the burn of rage in his stomach and the tension in his muscles, he almost forgot about the lump gradually growing in his throat with each hour of silence from you.

“My damn pleasure,” Carol huffed with slight irritation, one clearly not aimed at Steve. She subtly raised her eyebrows. “I kinda want to punch her, but I guess I’m not the only one, huh?”

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, his hands almost shaking with the said need. Still, it was surprisingly relieving to be called out on that and to learn that he wasn’t the only one. And when he opened his eyes again, the look on Carol’s face told him that she wasn’t blaming him one bit.

“You have no fucking idea, I- Jesus, I never wanted to—to-- so much in my life.“

The rise of one corner of her lips was sympathetic. “We’ll handle this, Steve. I know it’s hard to hear, but you can’t really help us here. Go home. Rest.”

The lump in Steve’s throat grew nearly suffocating at the idea of going to the empty apartment, where his uselessness became even more evident. Steve eyed Sam, searching with hope for any sign of a better advice, but the counsellor only nodded to second Carol’s thought.

“Go home and try to call your girl. She’ll pick up eventually.”

At that time Steve had done exactly that – however, the result had remained identical to those with his previous attempts. You hadn’t picked up and he had left a voicemail and a pathetic text that somehow seemed to be reflecting all of his insecurities and doubts about your relationship and it hadn’t turned out at all as he had planned – and then it had been too late to take it back.

He had sent another and another, almost hour after hour and he was gradually realizing that he was forgoing all hope and his faith in what you two had and what it could become in the future; and god, did he want the future so badly.

But he couldn’t always get what he wanted, could he? He thought that a miracle had happened when he had first met you and later heard your yes to the date. But here you were.

Four days from that terrible incident.

Did Steve even believe that you two were supposed to be together? He didn’t even know anymore. Perhaps it was an intervention from some higher power and you two breaking apart was meant to be, saving you a heartbreak and disillusions which were about to come later.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought and the sensation that felt like a punch to his gut, his insides cramping.

That was not true. You two loved each other. You had found something truly amazing in each other and you were about to reach out to him any minute so you could continue to your brighter future together.

…right?

Except a minute passed by and nothing happened, the phone Steve was toying with remaining silent.

No received text or e-mail.

No incoming call.

Another minute and then another ten, the phone still spinning in his hand in almost a reflex at that point and still not lighting up.

The knot in Steve’s gut turned tighter and tighter, the tension in his shoulders and jaw growing, his mantra of you surely contacting him gradually falling silent.

Finally, he came to the decision that only fools kept doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

He was supposed to do that a long long time ago, the moment he had convinced himself that coming knocking on your dorm could be considered harassment… and would break his heart in case you’d shut the door to his face telling him you were done with him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve swept through his contacts and dialled your best friend and roommate in one person.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading!

Let me know what you thought! I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ doing something with randomly timed shots to a series, so… you know. I’m a bit nervous. And I guess that this is very different from what this series was so far too, so I hope it’s okay. Thank you :-*

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Twelve: What Are These Feelings?

AN: Up until now, this story has been rather lighthearted hasn’t it? Well, this chapter is not. I hope the chapter isn’t too confusing to read, the italics denote memories/the past.

Word Count: 4.4k

Trigger Warning: period era racism, racial abuse, racial slurs, sexual assault, torture, physical and mental abuse

Taglist: @azayamari​

Chapter Thirteen: The Ballad of Claudia Walker

After the silent establishment between Erik and I on not discussing our night time conversation or the bathtub incident, things went back to normal between us. Well normal for us. I continued to find new ways to sass Erik and he still pretended I annoyed him. It was childish but fun. Pretty soon, the days turned into routine, days turning into a week, and then some. In fact, the dates would have blurred if it weren't for the constant announcements from the radio and the television. The routine was set and constant, running in the morning followed by physical training. After that, we went on with our individual training.

Today was no different, Charles had spent the day working on different tactics and ways of controlling the younger mutant abilities during their individual trainings with him. While I found myself entranced with the weight room. I had been dying to do something other than venture around. Something to waste time. I immediately went to the punching bag. I tied up my hair, wrapped my knuckles and feet, then got into my stance.

I closed my brown eyes, letting my surroundings fade, letting only the serene feeling of it just being me and the punching bag. I first just worked slowly on popping out each hand, as it carefully, but swiftly, hit the air. I did this for a minute, until I felt my hands were ready, and I began to move on to the bag. My left hand shot out, striking the bag with a fist, I was about to hit with my right as my fist threw forward, and connected with thin air. Dumbfounded, I opened my eyes in shock, and saw the bag levitating over my head. I whirled around, and found Erik with his brows raised at me.

"Give me back the bag," was my only demand.

"I think I might just leave it here," he snickered softly.

I pinched the brim of my nose, "Erik, I hope there's a reason for you coming in here other than being an annoyance,"

"As a matter of fact I do," Erik replied, the bag dropping to the ground behind me, as he started to move closer to me. "I was hoping to find you here actually," he stated, with his hands in his pockets.

"Why?"

"I have a question," Erik began. "Could you look into my head and know what moves I'm about to use on you?"

"Maybe, I could predict your movement by reading your emotional pulses," I guessed, shrugging my shoulders.

"How easy would it be to not do it?" Erik asked curiously.

I looked at him confused, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you see other people's emotions naturally? Or would you be able to stop yourself seeing how I'm about to attack you?" Erik elaborated.

I thought about his question for a while. I have never put that much thought into reading emotional pulses during a fight, I was mainly focused on everyday emotions and feelings.

"I could stop it. Block you off, so to speak," I finally replied, and he nodded.

"Good, do that,"

"Is this round two from our last little spar?" I asked, a grin on my face and Erik rolled his eyes, but he mirrored my grin.

The two of us stood for a moment, I was unsure of what exactly to do next, until Erik suddenly launched his fist towards me. I barely managed to block him, but didn't catch the kick to my shins, causing me to stumble. Erik continued to push me back, I could tell he was noting each failed block and each successful attack that I landed. Breathing heavily, I stepped back slightly and used my legs to my advantage, lashing out with a powerful front kick, spinning on the ball of my foot with a roundhouse kick, and continued the spin for a back kick.

That's when I felt Erik's foot on my rear and he pushed me off balance. Falling forward, I rolled and came up with fire in my eyes – and saw his smirk.

"Oh Claudia, for all your talk you're still simply a pretty face, not a force to be reckoned with," he taunted.

He was playing with me, trying to get a rise out of me.

"Damn this man to Hell," I thought.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I hopped up to my feet and raised my hands into a fighting stance, pure determination on my face to wipe the smirk off his face. I just needed to knock him on his ass one good time. Erik's fist blurred in front of my eyes and I nimbly slipped past the punch. The advantage was mine now, with a bob in my stance I unleashed a series of punches. Erik grinned at me, seeming proud that he caused me to show visible signs of frustration on my face. I think Erik was much too happy about it and dropped his guard because my fist flew right into his right eye. He slumped down on the ground with his hand to his eye momentarily stunned by the force of the punch I'd thrown.

"Oh my God! Erik I'm so sorry!" I hurried down to his side taking his head into my hands. "Let me see it!" I demanded, worry evident in my voice.

"I'm fine I swear!" Erik insisted taking his hand from his right eye.

"I'll be the judge of that thank you very much," I commented, placing my hand softly to his temple stroking his eye softly. "Does this hurt?" I asked, feeling guilty, but also an inkling of gratification at the same time.

"No, but that doesn't you should stop," Erik answered cheekily with his eyes closed contently.

"Ugh, I can't believe you!" I exclaimed smiling, letting his head drop with a soft thud.

I stood up and slipped my sneakers back on walking out the gym. I shook my head at Erik's antics and I could hear him coming from behind me. An arm wrapped itself around my shoulder and I peered up at him with an eyebrow arched.

"You always hit harder when I insult you," Erik commented, a grin on his face. "I guess I know what I need to do now," he added, and I rolled my eyes.

I folded my arms together as we made our way down the hallway, "Why, so I can end up like you?" I asked, a smirk forming on my lips. "Always running head first into everything and almost getting yourself killed," I pointed out, looking up at him again. "Although, I will say you had one interesting technique earlier..." I trailed off.

"And what was that?"

I stood on my tiptoes and leaned into Erik, "When you kicked me...I felt that you wanted a different...body part there instead," I whispered, drawing back from him.

Erik froze and laughter bubbled from my throat at his face. His eyes were wide, a stunned expression played on his face as I watched his cheeks slightly flushed with red. I clasped my hands together in front of me, smiling wildly as I moved away from the stock-still body of Erik.

"Thanks for the training Erik!"

~~~x~~~

It was late in the afternoon, and it was finally my turn to fine tune my abilities.

"I know you hate the idea of doing this, but it's for your benefit Claudia," Charles began, holding my hand in his own and I furrowed my brow as to where this was going. "I need you to lower your barriers for me," he continued, making my eyes widened and nostrils flare.

"What!" I yelped, my breathing began to quicken, becoming shallow. "No!" I exclaimed, shaking my head as I attempted to tug my hand away from Charles', but he kept a firm, yet gentle grip on it.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be afraid. I've got you," he assured, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. "It will be one quick test and then we'll be done, okay?" Charles asked, a soft smile on his as he gave my hand a small squeeze.

He looked at me waiting for my response, but I turned my head away from his gaze. Still breathing rapidly I clenched my eyes shut, remembering the last time I trusted someone with my barriers lowered. But this was Charles. Charles was kind. Sweet. The opposite of him. He'd never have any ill-intentions with me. I took a deep, shaky breath as I calmed myself down. Suddenly, I felt two soft hands cup my face and slowly opened my eyes to meet Charles' eyes. I could see the twinkle in his eye that would cause many women to simper.

"Claudia," he breathed, looking at me. "I would never hurt you," Charles promised, using his thumbs to stroke my cheeks.

I opened my mouth to speak, but paused and looked down. I took another few deep breaths before looking up at him.

"One test?" I repeated softly.

Charles nodded, "You have my word," he stated.

I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly nodding my head, "Okay...I'll do it," I agreed, mustering up a weak smile.

Charles smiled as well, "You're going to be fine," he reassured, before planting his lips on top of my head.

Removing his hands from my face, he backed away from me just as the sound of footsteps came to a stop at the entrance of the library.

"Everything alright in here?" Erik asked, raising an eyebrow and looking between Charles and I before resting one arm on the frame of the door.

Charles flashed him a smile, "We're fine, I was just reassuring Claudia about her training," he explained, rolling up his sleeves

"So, we're all set then?" Erik questioned, pushing off the frame and closing the door behind him.

I arched an eyebrow, "You knew about this too?" I asked, my eyes slightly widening.

Erik nodded, "Charles knew you would be uncomfortable with this, so he asked me to be here as well to lessen your anxiety," Erik explained, walking over to where Charles and I were.

"Now Claudia, I want you to focus very carefully. Use your emotions to try and block me out," Charles instructed. "I want to see how quickly you can raise your mental shield on command,"

My expression was tinged with worry, "And what if it goes wrong?" I asked, looking between the two men.

"It won't," Charles comforted me.

I took a deep breath, my brows knitting together, "Fine," I sighed, closing my eyes I began to slowly lower my mental shield letting my mind be filled with the raw sensations and feelings coming from everyone in the mansion. Reopening my eyes I faced Charles. "Ready?" I asked nervously, starting to play with my hands.

He nodded, "On my count okay?" Charles asked, and I exhaled loudly while nodding my head as well. "Three...Two...One..." he counted, before he lifted two fingers to his temple as I raised my mental shield.

My eyes fluttered closed as I summoned all of the anger and fear that was coursing through me to block Charles from my mind. A sharp pain ripped through my head and a gasp escaped from my lips as I opened my eyes. The room started to spin and slow down, and the next thing I know, it's gone black. When I wake up, I am lying on soft grass. Grass? I sit up, rubbing my head. Looking around I see Charles and Erik do the same. What happened? Where are we?

"Claudia!"

I turned around and saw a caucasian teenage boy with brown hair gelled to the side and horn-rimmed glasses walking towards me. He looked about seventeen. I gasped as I realized who it is.

"James?" I asked the boy, bewildered.

But he doesn't stop, he runs right through me, as if I wasn't even there. Standing up, I looked around. Everything's slightly misty and fuzzy, and it takes me a while to realize where we are. We're in the meadow I used to play in as a child. I watch as my childhood friend, James, ran towards a teenage girl with medium length, black hair.

"Who is that?" Erik asked, arching a brow.

"It's me," I whispered, as a lone tear slipped down my face as I recalled happier times.

James was the first person outside of my family I ever told about my mutation. We became very close friends. I always felt my mother and father thought I was a freak even though they said that I wasn't. Still, I isolated myself, spending hours in this very meadow, lying in the daisies next to the river. I watched as James and my younger self laugh about something hysterically, and a small laugh escaped my mouth.

"This is most peculiar..." Charles muttered.

Erik and Charles moved closer to me, unsure of what is going on. I smiled at my younger self's happiness. What I'd give to be like that again.

James rolled over to his side, and wrapped one arm around my younger self's waist and leaned down, kissing her. His kisses were always soft and comforting. James rolled over to lay on his back and said something that caused them both to laugh. Suddenly, five teenage boys appear in the meadow.

I recognize them immediately, and my mouth fell open in horror as I realized what I'm about to witness. Again.

"No..." I whispered, almost breathlessly. "No!" I screamed, much louder, and Charles grabbed my hand.

The leader of the teenage boys, stalking towards them and they both stand up as James pushed my younger self behind him. Within a blink of an eye, the leader of the group landed a vicious punch on James' face and he fell to the ground, his nose bleeding. The three teenage boys yanked her from her spot as the other pair of teenage boys grabbed the struggling James and pinned him against the tree on the river bank. While my younger self was having a heated debate with the teenage boys.

Although I couldn't hear it. I knew exactly what they're saying. The four boys had heard that James and I were dating, and they had to teach this "negro lover" a lesson. They wanted to get rid of him and I knew, I was next. I don't have time to close my eyes as the knife is thrust into James' stomach. I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the seventeen-year-old me. I could feel Charles recoil in horror and out of the corner of my eye I saw Erik had the same reaction. I watched, all over again, as James' body slumped lifelessly to the ground and the boys turn on me. Knowing what happens next.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and roughly threw her onto her back so that she was staring upwards into the faces of the three boys that were her age. One of them crouched over her, the one with those dead blue eyes, only now they were laughing in a way that made her scalp prickle with dread. The ringleader grabbed her by the arm and tugged her roughly off the ground.

"You know what, maybe our buddy James was onto something. She's pretty easy on the eyes for a negro," he rasped, an evil smirk forming on his lips as he tightened his grip around her arms.

And then before she knew it, he had grabbed her face in one of his meaty hands, and forced her mouth to his.

"Get off! Get off, get off, get off!" her thoughts screamed.

She tried to pull back with a mixture of shock and utter revulsion, but his friends were all around her, hands seizing her coat and hair, eager voices egging him on, laughing and leering as she struggled to break free. No one had been this close, without her permission. No one. And no one had the right to ever be this close, to ever touch her as he was doing now. His hand was on her waist and traveling even lower, and all she wanted was for him to stop it, stop it right now. She wriggled, clawed frantically, bucking and juddering against iron-clad hands like a rabbit caught in a snare, but he only mashed his face further into hers.

And suddenly there was so much rage contained inside her head, so much pure anger and hatred seething within her skull, that she felt that she might burst. Heat raced through her blood, a fire that she never felt before, that she hadn't allowed herself to feel in the pretense of being normal. But now this monster had crossed a line, was touching her in ways that left her feeling exposed and violated, like her skin had been torn away from her very soul to be gawked at. Murdering the boy she loved because he had the audacity to not care about her skin color and wanted to date her.

So perhaps this once she was at liberties to cross her very own line.

All she could see was red, as she pulled back furiously, lashing out in any way possible much to the amusement of my audience. Her skin grew warm, then hot, then boiling, thrumming with energy, the hairs along her arms rippling from the magnitude of it, far stronger than she could have possibly comprehended. Seventeen-year-old Claudia, in an enraged frenzy, outstretched her palm and a jolt of crackling purple energy roared from it, the distant ring of screaming in her ears, a warm tingle that played over her skin as the remaining energy fizzled and dissolved, melting back into the nothingness from which it had erupted.

Then...silence.

When the filter of red was lifted from her eyes and she dazedly took in her surroundings. One of the boys was at the base of a the tree, he wasn't moving and his neck looked deformed, the other boy was knocked into the river unconscious. Their ringleader's face was puffy and blistered, having borne the brunt of the attack, pus oozing from the more severe of the burns. She turned her head to see a deputy sprinting towards her, yelling for me to run. It was James' older brother John. By this point, John had reached her and she had a horrified expression on her face, matching the other teenage boy's as John tried pulling her away.

"Not only is she a negro, she's a freak!" One of the two remaining boys hurled the insult toward her.

She snapped back and yelled something at them and instantly one boy turned toward the river. Then, with no explanation, lowered his head into water and he drowned himself. The boy that murdered James took the knife that he was holding and slid it across his throat, silting his throat from ear to ear and a crimson liquid spilled from his throat, before he dropped to the ground.

She grabbed John by the chin and began to speak to him in a hurried tone, as if he had fallen into a daze, he gave a sluggish nod, and then slowly walked back towards his car to call in the crime scene.

My stomach churned and my heart pounded fiercely against my chest just as the image shifted and I let out a shaky breath, gasping for air. The memory had always haunted me, but I never thought I would have to witness James' murder again. As our surroundings change into a busy street. I had tears in my eyes, and I furiously wiped them away as new ones came trickling down my cheek. I turned and saw that Charles and Erik were staring at me. Charles' eyes were glazed as if he wanted to cry and Erik just looking at me with something like pity.

"What's happening?" I yelled at Charles.

"I must have pushed into your mind, your empathy mutation is allowing us to see your memories," he speculated.

Slowly, I spun around taking in our new surroundings, it was growing close to springtime and the streets of Washington D.C. were chalk full of busy people, rushing to get to somewhere they needed to be. Men and women hurried from work to get home, the elderly fed pigeons, and kids ran off out of their schools. It seemed like everyone had somewhere to go.

I let out jagged breaths as I shook my head now remembering why this day was a significant memory for me. A large hand laid down on my shoulder and I whipped around to see Erik standing next to me, looking mildly concerned.

"I'm fine," I stated automatically, pushing my hair out of my face with a shaky hand.

Erik looked unconvinced, but unsure of what exactly to do. He opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted when I gave out another gasp. I stepped closer to the wide window in front of us and peered in.

There was a young woman sitting at a table, absentmindedly running her finger along the rough wood of the tabletop next to her novel. She had lived there for almost two years and frankly was growing rather restless. It had been about a month, or maybe two since her boyfriend broke up with her because she was a mutant. She looked out the window that she was seated next to, watching as people walked by enjoying the company of others.

That was until she felt like she was being watched, her head snapped from the window and landed on a tall, tawny brown skin man. His dark brown eyes watching her curiously behind his round frames. His crisp white shirt stood out against the dim lit bar along with his smart grey slacks. Slowly, the man approached her and slid into the empty seat across from her, now she could fully see how handsome this stranger was. It was clear that the man was fit, you could the outline of his muscles underneath his shirt.

"Hello. Are you Claudia Walker?" she nodded slowly, and the man watched as her eyes became guarded.

The open book lay forgotten next to her.

"Who wants to know?" Claudia asked back, and the man smiled despite her rude and blunt attitude.

"My name is Professor Harry Lewis, I teach at Howard, and Miss Walker I believed you are a very gifted young woman," he complimented, flashing her with another smile.

She wanted to tell him that what she has wasn't a gift. It was a curse. But she didn't.

"Um, thank you Professor, but I-uh I promise that I'm not that gifted. My academics are great, but it's not better some of the students at the university," she pointed out.

"You think I'm talking about your academic performance Miss Walker? Oh, no, no, I'm talking what really makes you special, my dear,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated, feigning a perplexed expression which was also expressed in her tone of voice.

Professor Lewis reached across the table and gently grasped her hand, his cold hands caressed her heated skin.

"I really do know what you are, Claudia Walker. I am here to help you, not hurt you,"

She jumped, it was Professor Lewis' voice, but in her mind? Maybe it wasn't, maybe she was going crazy.

"I can assure you, your sanity isn't to be questioned,"

There it was, again.

"Whatever you want. I want no part in it. I just want to live a normal life!" She whispered harshly, and went to stand up.

Professor Lewis gently tugged her back down with his hand, "Listen, let me explain first," he said, and Claudia slowly sat back down as he let go her hand. Professor Lewis slid from his seat across from Claudia and sat next to her. "Thank you," he sighed, turning his body to face her. "I didn't mean to intrude, but I heard your thoughts a few days ago about not having enough money to finish college, and I thought I could be of assistance,"

"How?"

"I'm running a lab for people like us, all you have to do is participate in some tests and then poof, your financial aid problems are gone," he explained, a charming smile appearing on his full lips, where a tiny gap between his front teeth could be seen. "And who knows, maybe I can teach you how to control your abilities better," he added, with a shrug. "I am a professor, after all," he joked, maintaining his smile.

And now he had her intrigued – what if there was a way? What if she could manage some semblance of control over this? What if some day she could look into someone's eyes without the fear of experiencing pain and rage and despair and love and roiling, frothing emotion trying to burn her alive?

"Sign me up," she answered quickly.

Professor Lewis clapped his hands together, a smile on his face, "Wonderful!" he cheered happily. "Now tell me about your powers Claudia," he stated.

"Well with my empathy, I guess I entrance people if I focus hard enough," she answered unsurely. "And there are times when my emotions affects everybody I'm in the room with," she explained.

"Wow," Professor Lewis commented, almost like he was very eager to please her. "So, you can control people?" he questioned curiously.

She bit her lip, "I've always hated that word when it comes to describing my ability," she said, letting out a nervous chuckle and turning away.

Professor Lewis grabbed gently by her chin with one of his cold hands. A shudder went through her and heat flushed in her cheeks.

"Embrace it Claudia, because you have the power to influence the world around you," he encouraged, before releasing her chin. After another deep look into her eyes he took her hand and raised it to his lips. "My dear, you and I are going to accomplish great things together," he whispered and his lips softly touched her knuckles, which caused her cheeks heat up even more. He rose elegantly to his feet and with a last look at her he turned around and started to walk away, leaving her confused.

My ankles wobbled to the side as I stumbled back a few steps from the diner window. I would have fell to the ground had it not been for two pair of arms steadying me onto my feet.

"Claudia, who is he?" Erik asked softly, and I looked up at him with effort.

"A horrible mistake,"

Chapter Fourteen: A Never-Ending Nightmare

[samstree]

You are too well tangled in my soul (5/5)

(Geraskier, 1.6k, time travel, hurt/comfort, soft geralt, now complete, cw: mentions of abuse)

Inspired by The Time Traveler’s Wife. 

Read on AO3

Yennefer comes in a whirlwind of buzzing magic, a portal opening up in the middle of the empty courtyard, blowing up the melting snow everywhere.

Of course she can come through the protective ward around the keep like it’s nothing.

She steps onto the ground of Kaer Morhen with her usual poise, all shiny raven curls and sparkling eyeshadows, breathtaking as ever. Only her proud demeanor shifts into something marginally softer when those enchanting violet eyes fall on Ciri.

The princess approaches the sorceress in tentative steps, before picking up the pace and running into her embrace. Yennefer is visibly taken aback by the sheer force of it but soon gives back a loose hug. The girl, being a head shorter than Yennefer, steps back and smiles brightly.

“I saw you in my dreams.”

Those violet eyes become more curious.

Beside Jaskier, Geralt’s voice rumbles deeply. “Yen, this is Ciri. My Child Surprise.”

The corner of her lips quicks up. “Nice to meet you, Ciri.”

*

In the main hall, Jaskier sits in front of the fire and watches the three of them talk quietly at the table.

A lost princess with immeasurable chaos in her body, a witcher who protects humanity with nothing but two swords on his back, and a sorceress so powerful she scorched an entire Nilfgaardian army all by herself.

They make a perfect family, beautiful, powerful, and well-matched.

Lost in thoughts and the wine in his cup, Jaskier never notices the young princess going off to sword lessons with Vesemir or even Geralt settling down on the thick carpet next to him.

The witcher adjusts the blanket draped on Jaskier’s knees absent-mindedly. “By the way, Yen, what did you think of our ward?”

“It’d be a good idea.” The sorceress looks down at Geralt, posture elegant from the vantage point of the chair. Her hand flattens the folded wrinkles on her embroidered dress. “Don’t worry, Geralt. I’ll enhance it for you so no mage can get through. You child will be safe in here.”

Geralt’s voice turns solemn. “Thank you, Yen. And thank you for coming.”

“I came for her.” Yennefer’s gaze studies Geralt up and down with a piercing curiosity, and softens ever so slightly. “Fatherhood looks good on you.”

Geralt hums without answering.

“Did you ever doubt destiny’s decision?” Jaskier challenges her, regrettably drawing attention to himself.

Yennefer finally looks at Jaskier for the first time since she arrived, amusement creeping into her expression. Geralt sighs long-sufferingly next to Jaskier, braced for the usual snarky jabs between these two.

“Bard.”

“Witch.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow. “The gray hair suits you.”

“Not being tortured by Nilfgaard suits you.”

From his peripheral, Jaskier sees Geralt tense but keeps his eyes on the sorceress. Framed by the flickering candlelight, everything beautiful about her now is a sharp contrast to the last time Jaskier saw her – tied up, depleted of magic, and covered in blood.

Her lips curve dangerously. “Still saved your sorry ass, didn’t I?”

This time when Jaskier returns her smile, it’s genuine. “You are right about that one. I never got to show any gratitude.” Geralt’s questioning gaze is burning a hole on Jaskier, but he’ll have to wait. Jaskier continues the peace-offering. “So thank you, really. It’s good to see you again, Yen.”

“Don’t call me that.” She takes a jab at him but there’s no malice. “And destiny often makes shit decisions. You should know.”

Yennefer looks between the two of them and Jaskier’s breath hitches. Somehow the sorceress knows about their bond. Jaskier turns to look at an equally startled Geralt. “Did you tell her?”

“Oh, please,” She cuts in, “The temporal magic is all over you two. I felt it the day you first barged through my door.” She pulls a sealed letter out of nowhere and holds it before Jaskier’s face. “I only meant this.”

The Pankratz insignia carves into the scarlet wax seal.

The buzzing of the world drowns Jaskier’s heartbeat. It’s been years since he received news from home. Distantly, he knows Geralt is asking if he’s alright, the warmth from the witcher’s large hand seeps through the fabric on his back.

He reaches for the letter and tears through the seal in an instant, and pauses.

“You know what it says.”

“The news traveled faster than a letter.” Yennefer offers a tight smile. “My condolences, Jaskier.”

*

Jaskier is perched on their shared bed while Geralt paces around the room. He clutches the thin piece of paper, reading the words again even if he’s stared at them for so long they’ve begun to blur.

…Alfred Pankratz, Count de Lettenhove, passed away in his sleep three days ago.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier rubs his eyes when they lose focus, and that’s when he notices how stiff his joints are for staying in the same place for too long.

He blinks and Geralt has come to sit next to him on the mattress, gently prying the letter away from Jaskier’s tense fingers. His knuckles are turning white for gripping it so tightly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Shaking his head, Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, who instinctively wraps an arm around him. “I don’t know.” He adds, “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmurs.

“Why?” Jaskier nuzzles, seeking comfort. “You never had kind words for the man.”

The pain from childhood flares up again. Memories of sitting by the lake crying and nursing his hurt as a child almost make panic bubble up Jaskier’s throat. He has to calm down by focusing on Geralt’s solid touch and the rise and fall of his breathing.

It does the trick, as always.

“You still mourn him, despite everything.” Geralt answers, drawing circles on Jaskier’s back slowly.

Jaskier lets out a tight chuckle. “I should hate him, and maybe I did for many years. But…in the end, he was just my father.”

They sit in silence. Jaskier melts into Geralt’s continued soothing touches, letting reality sink in. A plan comes together in his head.

“I should go back.”

“To Lettenhove?” The movement on Jaskier’s back stops.

When Jaskier pulls back, there’s apprehension in Geralt’s eyes. His brows furrow in distress so Jaskier eases it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m still the heir. There are things that require seeing to. I don’t want his title, so I’ll have to be there to renounce it. The estate and all the fortune will go to my cousin – Ferrant is quite a natural leader. He will do well being the head of the family. As for my mother, she’ll want to see me. It’s been too long since I wrote her.”

Geralt frowns again at the idea but reluctantly agrees after a moment.

“I don’t like the idea of you being back there.”

“Oh don’t you worry, my love,” Jaskier says. “It just got me thinking. My father died and they didn’t even have a way of reaching me. If Yennefer hadn’t come across this funeral invite at some random court I would still be in the dark. Not that I’ll be back in time for the funeral of course. It takes too many days just to get down this mountain. Still, it could be nice to see my family again. I’ll be fine, really.”

“Hmm.” Geralt runs his fingers through the hair at Jaskier’s temple, where he knows a strand is peppered with silver as Yennefer so kindly pointed out. “Speaking of. Since when are you best friends with Yen?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaskier teases him. “I’m sure you’ll have all the time in the world to get the story out of her, now that she’s around to give Ciri magic lessons. I’m sure she won’t paint me in a heroic light in our little Nilfgaardian prison adventure. Too bad I won’t be there to save my image.”

“Jask.” Geralt blinks, taking Jaskier’s wrist in a gentle hold. “You know I’m going with you, right? You are not going alone.”

“But Ciri’s training…”

“Yen is taking her to a safe house just outside of Novigrad. Triss will be there too. The chaos Ciri carries is raw power. It’s so complicated they’ll be lucky to figure it out within a couple of months.”

“Don’t you need to go as well? To stay with them and protect your daughter?”

Geralt smiles at the word daughter. No matter how many times everyone or even Ciri herself uses it, the word still brings him so much joy.

“I’ve had her all winter, taught her a lot about being a witcher. Now she needs to learn from real magic users. Besides, I think she’s getting tired of being cooped up with five men for this long. Staying with the ladies might do her good.”

Jaskier stares at the warmth flowing in those ember eyes, suddenly feeling lighter like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t have to do this alone.

“You’ll come with me,” he muses the sentence.

“You’re hurting, Jask. I would never leave you like this.” Geralt’s tone is so casual it’s like he’s stating the weather. Gods, this ridiculous man has no right to make Jaskier’s heart swell three sizes like this.

He picks up Geralt’s hand and presses a kiss to his calloused palm. “We’ll go straight to Novigrad soon as business finishes at home. Even I’ll miss her too much.”

Jaskier gets pull into Geralt’s embrace again, breathing in the smell of the chamomile soap he insists on the witcher during baths. It feels like Geralt is marked by him somehow, covered in his signature scent.

“I love you, Jask.”

“Mm-hmm. Enough to face all the nobles for me.”

Geralt hums, perhaps surprised.

“You know there’s gonna be a lot of them, right? Many will be there to pay respect. I’m a noble, in case you forgot. If you can barely tolerate me, imagine the chaos when we get there.”

The laugh rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest, and soft lips press on Jaskier’s hairline at his temple.

“Only for you, Jaskier.”

*

(Feedbacks are much appreciated! Tell me what you think of it!)

[holdin-out-for-a-hero]

Creep- FFVII Biggs X Reader Ch.13/?

A/n: Sorry it’s late again. I feel like a broken record saying there will be weekly updates and not delivering. Not gonna lie, I’ve been going through it™️ this year, but this series has been my escape. Thanks for the patience

You figured you would find her here, but the sight still made your breath catch in your throat. She rarely let her guard down like this. She often put on an act, always there to help others with their problems but never sharing her own. Seeing her this vulnerable meant something was really wrong- and of course it was. Cloud was an old friend. The only piece left of a burned-down hometown. And now he was gone.

Her shoulders shook slightly, you noticed. She must've been crying, which made your job much harder. You had came in to tell her the carriage was waiting, but it seemed like the carriage would have to wait a little longer. It felt wrong to delay or pause Tifa's grieving process just to help you get your ass out of trouble, but she did volunteer and no matter how hard you tried to talk her out of it, she always stood her ground.

You took a quiet step closer, and then another, and another, until you were just a foot away from her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, you smoothed a piece of her hair behind her back. She jumped the slightest bit, but didn't turn. She knew she had been caught; there was no use in hiding it.

"The carriage is here," you said. You hoped it didn't come off as insensitive, but there really was no time. Her eyes traced the sheets a moment more.

"I think I messed up my makeup," Tifa whispered, ashamed. She turned to you but didn't make eye contact, instead focusing on your necklace. Her eyes were red and watery, and just like she said, there was a small trail of black under each eye.

"I can fix it," you reassured, "But are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to."

She finally looked into your eyes, wiping her tears away and plastering on a smile.

"You can't talk me out of this."

You led her to the bathroom, taking some tissue and cleaning up the black smudges from under her eyes. Thank God she wasn't wearing foundation or else the whole thing would've been ruined.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think I was gonna cry..." she said, "I shouldn't have come in here in the first place. It was a bad call..."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, Tifa. It hasn't even been a day since it happ-" you stopped yourself. It was best not to remind her.

She didn't reply. Instead, she seemed to get stuck in her own head, torturing herself with memories new and old.

"Tifa," you said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She stayed in her trance a moment more.

"Huh?" She finally turned to look at you.

"Don't do that to yourself."

"...You're right."

She looked herself over in the mirror, examining her eyes to see if you had fixed the smudged mascara. To her relief, the makeup left no remnants; it looked as though it had never been messed up. The redness had started to fade away, but whether or not anyone would notice was another issue. There was no time for it anyway.

"Are you two ready?" A muffled voice asked from behind the door. It was Biggs.

"Almost done!" You replied. Then you looked back at Tifa, silently waiting for her confirmation.

She let out a held breath, "let's go."

You opened the door of the apartment, meeting eyes with the three people standing just outside it. Jessie stood to the far left, leaning on to the railing with her side to help support her weight: her leg was still hurting her a little, so it was best to stay off of it. Biggs was in the middle, his back against the railing and his arms crossed over his chest. And Wedge stood to the right of him, awkwardly looking between the four of you. After what he had just seen a few minutes ago, you couldn't blame him.

Wedge must've kept his mouth shut, because Jessie wasn't pestering you or Biggs. You'd have to thank him later. Speaking of Biggs, he was playing it off as well. Nothing in his demeanor was different than usual. From Jessie's perspective, nothing had happened between you.

"Oooh~ you two sure clean up nice!" Jessie said, "I really am the ugly one in our friend group."

You rolled your eyes. The nerve of her to call herself ugly...

"Chocobo's waiting just around the corner," Biggs said, "Can't keep 'em waiting."

Tifa led the way, speed-walking down the steps with relative ease in order to avoid any questioning about her red eyes. You were about to catch up with her when Jessie spoke up from behind you.

"Damn, Y/N, I really think you should keep that dress! It really accentuates your best features."

And then she slapped your ass.

"Jessie!" You yelped, turning around to glare at her.

"Just saying..." she smirked, passing you and walking down the stairs. You stood frozen as you watched her walk away. The nerve of that girl...

Another body took her place beside you, Biggs, and he seemed to wait for you to continue. You glanced over at him and noticed his hand was outstretched as if to help you down. A small smile formed on your lips when you took it.

"Thanks," you said, grabbing some of your dress with your other hand so you wouldn't trip on it. You took careful steps down the stairs; one bad move in your heels and you could faceplant, "I really can't stand her sometimes..."

"I know what you mean. She's a real character, that's for sure."

You both reached the bottom of the steps and you unclasped your hand from his, giving him a nod before catching up to Jessie and Tifa.

Just up ahead was the chocobo carriage and a stable hand checking his watch in annoyance. A look of relief washed across his face when he saw your group walking towards him.

"Hurry up! We ain't got all night." He said, ushering you, Tifa, and Jessie over. He must've remembered there were only supposed to be two girls going to to Corneo's, because his brows furrowed as he looked between the three of you.

"I'm assuming you're not coming with us," he said, looking Jessie up and down. While Jessie was naturally gorgeous, she really wasn't dressed the part, especially when put next to you and Tifa.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" She questioned. He only ignored her, instead looking behind at Biggs and Wedge. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Didn't know you two were having a farewell party. Make the final goodbyes quick, will ya? I've got a schedule to keep."

"Final?" Biggs questioned. The man didn't care to answer him either.

The stable hand turned around, muttering to himself in annoyance as he went to tend to the chocobo at the front of the carriage. It gave your group a small amount of privacy.

You said goodbye to Wedge first, pulling him into a tight hug. He was like a brother to you, and though you knew you would make it back to see him again, the thought of a 'final goodbye' shook you to your core. And though he never explicitly agreed, you could tell he felt it too. 

Next was Jessie. She had just gotten done with wishing Tifa farewell and was waiting not-so-patiently for Wedge to get done. As soon as he walked away, Jessie tackled you with a surprise hug.

"Jessie!" You shouted.

"Sorry," she smiled, pulling away to stand in front of you. She took your hands in your own, her playful expression fading into something more serious, "Kick his ass. End his life. I don't care. Just makes sure this ends tonight, ok?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding your head. Hopefully you wouldn't have to end any lives tonight.

"And you better come back here in one piece so I can pick on you some more."

"Wouldn't want to take that away from you. Your purpose in life," you said, trying to lighten the mood.

"It sure as hell is."

She pulled you into another hug, a real one this time. Holding on tight, you prayed that this wouldn't be a final goodbye. Her hair still smelled of green apple. You were sure yours did too, since you used her conditioner last night. After all this was over, you'd have to buy a bottle yourself. After this was all over, you thought. That was the phrase getting you through it all.

Biggs stood just a few feet away, watching you and Jessie's goodbye. He had already said goodbye to Tifa and was waiting for his turn to get to you.

Jessie noticed his presence, and though she knew he wasn't trying to rush her, she got the hint. She took a step away and looked over at Biggs.

"I'll give you two your privacy," she said, walking back to Tifa and Wedge for a second goodbye.

Biggs took Jessie's spot in front of you. Something was different about this encounter with him than all the others, it was tense, awkward even. Well, that's what happens when you almost kiss a guy but get interrupted. Things get awkward.

But you could tell that wasn't what made him so uncomfortable. It was about the mission itself, something that you two had fought over many times. The tension was only grew as you stared into his eyes. It was becoming too much; you had to clear the air.

"Look, I know you're not happy that I'm doing this, but do you at least trust me?" You asked.

He hesitated, and as the moments passed your heart started to sink. Why couldn't he just trust you like everyone else? Did he not believe in your capabilities?

"...I do. I trust you." He finally said.

Relief hit you like a wave. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding as a smile settled on your lips. You pulled him into a tight hug and he reciprocated with the same urgency. His hand ran over your hair, then cupping your head as he leaned in to whisper something.

"Like Jessie said, if you have to kill him, do it. You'll probably be helping out a lot of other women."

Your smile faded at the thought. You didn't want to kill him or anybody. Sure, you wanted to deck him right in that stupid smile of his, kick him in the balls so hard he wished he were dead, but you didn't want to kill him. Why did one asshole's life matter so much though? Your hands were already covered in blood: the blood of Shinra troops and the unfortunate casualties of the bombing mishap. Those were innocents, this man wasn't.

You shook the thoughts away; you didn't want to face that reality yet.

"So you were listening," you replied, and you felt his body stiffen under your fingers. He pulled away and you released your grip on his shirt.

"You caught me," he said, trying to play off his obvious embarrassment. There was another uncomfortable silence as you both separated; you shifted your weight from foot to foot as he rubbed the back of his neck. Wow, almost kissing someone really makes things tense.

"So I guess this is goodbye," he said.

"Yeah, I guess it is," you trailed off, another beat of silence, "but not a final goodbye."

"Yeah... no, not a final goodbye." The air was still thick, filled with the weight of all your feelings and confessions left unsaid.

You couldn't leave like this, not without him really knowing how you felt. But you couldn't just confess, not in front of everybody. You didn't think you had the balls for it either.

But a gut feeling told you that you had to do something. So, with all your built up courage, you placed a quick kiss on his cheek. And though it only lasted a moment, you had memorized the feeling of his stubble against your lips.

You turned away immediately so you wouldn't have to see his reaction, and luckily for you, the stable hand was walking towards the back do the carriage. He opened up the wooden gate, ushering you and Tifa in.

Picking up the invitation that was in your seat, you held it in your lap as you sat down. Tifa seemed to do the same, giving a last smile and wave to the group. Just a moment later, the stable hand took off.

————————

The gate of sector seven creaked open, revealing the mess that was sector 6. At least that's what you assumed, since you couldn't really see anything that wasn't directly behind the carriage. There was an old playground just outside the gate, you remembered. It was mostly untouched from the destruction of the sector 6 plate. Lots of children still sneak into the abandoned playground since it's so close.

Looking back at Tifa, she seemed distant, an empty look on her face. She was probably thinking about her friend, the mercenary. It was a shame what happened to him.

You placed a hand over her own and she looked came out of her daze, looking up at you. As soon as she did, your mouth went dry. There was nothing you felt like you could say to make her feel better, so you stayed silent instead.

"Tifa!" A voice called from outside the carriage. It sounded familiar. You and Tifa turned to the voice. A man was keeping up with the carriage. His spiky hair, his flourescent eyes, and that ridiculously large sword strapped to his back... it couldn't be...

"Cloud, Your alive! I thought we'd lost you!" Tifa said, crouching down on the floor of the carriage to speak to him better. Cloud jumped onto the back railing of the Carriage, holding onto the wooden bars as it continued through sector 6.

"What's going on?" He asked. Tifa shushed him.

"I'll explain everything later. But now, we're on our way to see Don Corneo. You should head back to Seventh Heaven, meet up with the gang."

"But-" Cloud started, but Tifa cut him off.

"We'll be fine!" She reassured, "you've seen how much ass we can kick."

Cloud looked between the two of you, creating a small dip in the conversation.

"I have..." he sighed, before jumping down from the carriage.

Watching his figure grow smaller in the distance, you let out a laugh of disbelief.

Tifa did the same, a massive weight taken off of her shoulders. She couldn't hide the smile blossoming on her face. Cloud, her childhood friend, was still alive.

————————

The two of you were dropped off at the door of a large, wutainese-style mansion. It was both gorgeous and disgustingly lavish; a real slap in the face to anyone in the slums. You knew this Corneo guy was a jerk, but you didn't realize the extent.

There was a shady aura to the mansion; something to be expected from a crimelord, but it still put you on edge. You could tell Tifa noticed too, as she grabbed onto your forearm. You looked down at the invitation in your hand, the ticket in. Then you looked back up at Tifa.

"You ready?" You asked her. She nodded, a soft hum escaping her lips as she did.

You both hesitantly opened the door, revealing a small hall and another ornate door with three men guarding it. Your heartbeat rose as you saw them, and you sighed in relief when you didn't recognize any of them. No creep yet.

You walked towards the man in the middle; a young, skinny guy with silver hair. Despite his age and stature, he carried a presence like he'd seen some real shit and was jaded by it all.

"Invitation?" He asked apathetically, and you gave yours to him. Tifa did the same, and he read the invitations, "Two from Sam, huh? That's unusual."

"Looks like he's tryna get on the Don's good side. I mean, look at 'em!" The guard on the right side said, gesturing to the both of you.

"He's gonna have a hard time picking, that's for sure," The other guard, a large, gruff man, said, "Hell, he might just pick both!"

"He'd better leave us some leftovers!"

What the hell did he mean leftovers? As much as you wanted to tell them off for objectifying you and Tifa, you held your tongue. A lack of discretion was what got you in trouble in the first place; you didn't want to screw up again.

The silver-haired man looked up from the invitations, taking a few steps forward and signaling to the two guards to open the fancy double doors.

"Your room is the third room up the stairs. Don't touch anything."

Taking a few apprehensive steps forward and into the main room, you noticed two more Corneo lackeys who stood in the very center of it. You didn't recognize either of them as the creep or any of his men, which was a relief. But you would have to face him sometime. That was the whole point of you coming here: to put an end to your torment, whatever means necessary.

The piles and piles of junk caught your eye. Valuables were scattered all around the room, from expensive furniture to bricks of gold. You remembered what you'd heard about this Corneo guy- a lot of people were in debt to him. So maybe all of this was his payment. The sight sickened you; no man should have this much.

"Hey! Keep your eyes to yourself. You know where to go." One of the men said. Tifa took your arm again, leading you up the stairs.

"It's disgusting," you whispered to her.

"I know," she agreed, "Corneo's a sick man."

"Damn!" One of the men shouted, "Take a look at that ass!"

"Yeah," the other man laughed, "Did you see the other girls' boobs?"

You stopped in your tracks on the staircase, considering whether or not to march back down and slap the shit out of them.

"Come on," Tifa whispered, tugging softly on your arm, "let's just go."

Thank God for Tifa, cause if she hadn't snapped you out of your trance, you might have just followed that urge and gotten yourself into more trouble.

You turned away from those gross men, attempting to tune them out. Following Tifa up the rest of the stairs, you remembered why you were here: to figure out what Corneo wanted with Barrett and to end your creep problem. It wasn't your job to teach these guys to respect women.

Tifa pushed open the third room's door and held it open for you. Stepping inside, you rolled your eyes. It was another room filled to the brim with junk. Corneo was disgusting.

"Seriously, who needs this much stuff?" you sighed.

"Apparently the Don of the slums," She replied, glancing around the room, "How much of this stuff do you think is rightfully his?"

Before you could reply, a click caught your attention. The sound came from the double doors behind you.

"Shit!" You hissed. Turning quick on your heels, you ran to the knob, trying to force the door open. Tifa joined you, having no luck either. She groaned as she struggled against the door.

A soft hissing sound began.

"Y/N!" She said, her eyes wide as she looked across the room. You followed her gaze and noticed a pink, opaque gas pouring out of the vents.

This was a mistake, this was a huge fucking mistake. You walked right into this trap. And you got Tifa into this mess. Tears were starting to prick at your eyes as you banged on the door. You couldn't tell if it was fear, guilt, or the gas. It was probably all three.

"Let us out!" Tifa shouted, to no avail. Nobody was gonna get you out; they planned this. The gas had filled the room now, and you were starting to get dizzy. You tried to cover your nose and but it was a futile effort. There was no way to avoid it. Backing away from the door, you couldn't believe what you had gotten yourself into, what you got Tifa into. You screwed up. You screwed up so bad.

Tifa lost her balance, dropping onto her hands and knees. You tried to help her, but you were so dizzy you had to kneel down onto the floor to keep from falling.

"Tifa!" You called, nearly choking on the gas. She didn't respond.

The doors bust open. And then there were figures and voices, fuzzy and distant. You could barely hear them because of the loud ringing in your ears. That awful ringing, and the splotches in your eyes. They were growing worse and worse, until they took over your eyesight; your consciousness slipped away with it.

[de-facto-slut]

Release Me Into Orbit

(Dark!Bucky x Black!Female Reader)

Summary: Bucky and the Reader are trying to heal from the trauma of their pasts.

A/N: Here we dive into the past. The true beginning to our characters stories. This story takes place both in the past and the present so get ready for that. I do plan on releasing the next Chapter of Invisible Chain soon! Stay tuned.

Warnings: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Violence, major character death, Manipulation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, eventual Kidnapping, Breeding Kink, and angst etc later in the story.

Honestly More tags will be added.

Ch 2: 2014

Longing.

It was hard for Bucky to see anything through the small opening in his cell door. He had lost count of how many years he had been locked up a long time ago. There were no windows that allowed him to even guess when it was night and when it was day. Inside his cage they made sure he had no human interaction; they left Bucky completely alone. As the years passed the only thing keeping him company was his own thoughts. Bucky would try his hardest to focus on his fragmented memories before the war. Those memories contained the few good things he could remember about being human. His first kiss behind Sal’s Diner. The smell of his mother’s home-made cherry pie. The scary thing was he couldn’t even remember his mother’s face, just the smell of her fragrant pie. To be honest he couldn’t remember any faces. They were all just blurs. When it came to his captors all he knew is that they had the same routine in place for him every day. They would feed him his one meal, then they would return to remove him from the cell. The strong ones would drag him through a maze of corridors until he reached a room filled with bright fluorescent lights. The lights illuminated the dreaded device they used for their experiments.

Rusted.

The experiments were the only time he interacted with anyone outside of his cell. Bucky could never see them properly as they always hid behind the bright lights. All he ever got to see were their shadows as they moved about speaking their foreign tongue. Nobody ever spoke to him unless they were reciting the very words that caused him great mental distress. Those words were a curse that was cast on him a long time ago after the war. One that followed him, captor to captor. They would often drug him, just enough so he’d be a little disorientated, but they made sure he’d still be able to feel and hear everything. Once drugged, that’s when they would begin torturing him. The only thing they would change in his routine is the method in which they tortured him. Each time they would try a new method to test the limits of his body and the limits of his mind. Unfortunately for Bucky, the day didn’t end until he physically and mentally could not take anymore. Eventually, they didn’t even need to use pain or the dreaded spell to get him to comply.

Seventeen.

It was a strange sensation to not be in control of one’s own body.  It was a sensation that Bucky should have grown used to, but he never could. It was as if his own consciousness was taking a back seat while someone else controlled him over and over, each driver just as brutal as the next. He was always vaguely aware of what atrocities they made him commit in the name of science, and that in itself was torture to live with. When they would return him to his cell, he could barely get a wink of sleep as the images would replay over and over in his mind. Their screams ringing in his ears. This was what they had reduced him to, he was just a tool to them. Eventually, he had to do everything in his power to keep himself from going completely mad and that just meant numbing himself to it all. The bright-eyed man from Brooklyn that was just trying to save the world was gone years ago. In his place was a murderer. A weapon. A monster. And that’s all he’d ever be.

Daybreak.

It was a day like any other, except it was storming outside. Bucky could tell by the sounds of the fierce winds howling against the facility that and he had finally been moved to a cell with a small window. Bucky had learned that he had been with these particular captors for several years. Honestly, everyone that ever ‘owned’ him was the same in his eyes, so it didn’t matter how long he was kept. Eventually, he’d just be handed off or kidnapped again by someone else that wanted him. Luckily for him, years of compliance and loyalty earned him an upgraded cell and some limited freedoms. Along with some of the smaller changes he was finally able to speak their tongue, just another language to add to his impressive portfolio. There weren't a lot of things Bucky could do to entertain himself. If he wasn’t on an active mission, he was pretty much tied to his room unless they allowed him a break from his cell. In his free time, all Bucky could do is entertain himself by working out. And that’s all he ever did.

Furnace.

He was face down as his palms supported his weight in a push-up position.

“Two hundred and Forty-Nine.”

“Two Hundred and Fif-”

Nine.

He suddenly paused looking towards the door of his cell. He could have sworn he had heard a voice. Bucky waited patiently, but there was only silence in return. Perhaps he had imagined it, or maybe he was truly going mad. He returned his gaze to the floor before he heard it again. It was a voice, it was faint, but it was definitely a voice.

Benign.  

“Hello?” it called out softly as if in a whisper.

Homecoming.

 The voice was suddenly followed by the sound of the metal slot on the door sliding to reveal two eyes peering at him. Bucky was unsure of how to respond, mainly because he was unsure what was going on. The men who came to retrieve him from his cell never spoke to him, and this person was clearly speaking English. English felt foreign to him now, he hadn’t heard it in so long. Bucky suddenly sat up watching the eyes on the other side of the door. Again, there was a moment of silence before they spoke again.

One.

“Can you understand me?”

It was a woman.

Freight car.

---

“Mom! Hurry, I’m going to miss my flight!”

You rushed down the stairs with your bags in your hands. Your shoes caught on the last step almost causing you to trip. A quiet curse left your lips as you attempted to stabilize yourself. Your father watched as he tried not to laugh at your misfortune. Carefully, you handed him your bags and he tossed them into the trunk of his truck.

“Fragile!” you shouted at him.

You crawled into the back of the car as you patiently waited for your parents to join you. Eventually, after what seemed like another 30 minutes gone by, they entered the car. “Do you have everything?” your father asked one last time.

 “Yes, now let’s get going!”

It felt like freshman year of college all over again. Instead, you were a graduating senior and you had just accepted an opportunity of a lifetime. A few months ago, your professor, Mr. Brigmova, had presented your class with an opportunity. The top five students in the program would be able to join him in a work-study program. You were still unsure how you beat out several other students, but you did. You felt extremely lucky to be able to partake in such a program. To be among the top 5 students in your area of study was everything you could have hoped for. It showed your parents that it wasn’t a waste of time or money to send you out of state for school.

 Ever since middle school, you had always wanted to study genetics and biology. When you reached high school, you learned about Bioinformatics and molecular genetics and you made up your mind on what you wanted to do. When you told your parents, they began immediately running numbers in their heads. Feeling guilty about your career choice and the school you chose to attend; you worked your ass off to get and keep a 4.0 GPA. In turn that promptly led you to the 3rd spot among the top 5 students. And not to toot your own horn, you were the only double major among them. Double the hard work, so deep down you felt as if you were #1 anyway.

As a result of all your hard work, you were flying across the world for the first time. You’ve never been so nervous before your professor had revealed the location, you had never heard of Sokovia. You wouldn’t have been able to locate it on a map either, it was such a small country. This was also the first time you had to travel without your parents, and you’d be away for them for five months. You would have no safety net out there. Before you knew it, you had arrived at the airport and you could feel the butterflies settling at the bottom of your stomach like a heavy rock. You felt like you had to use the bathroom, but you knew better than that. Your parents helped you remove your bags from the car as the other cars honked impatiently. You flipped the respective vehicle off before embracing your parents one last time. You exchanged your goodbyes before you disappeared behind the airport doors.

It was the longest flight you had ever been on. After getting off the plane, you were tempted to kiss the frozen ground, but you had seen enough cartoons to know what would happen. In Sokovia, the winters were harsh around this time, and thanks to your research beforehand you were prepared. Or at least you thought you were.  You exited the airport to be greeted by the harsh Sokovian winter.

The bitter cold of Sokovia nipped at your bare cheeks and the tip of your nose. Slowly it seeped into the pockets where you kept your gloved hands numbing your fingers slowly. The cold was nothing like you were used to back in the south. Immediately, regret settled right beside the nervousness as you realized you wished you had stayed behind the airport doors just a moment longer as you waited for your ride.

The streets were not as busy as google images made it seem. It was probably due to the fact that it was unbearably cold, and it was late.  You desperately wanted to return to the warmth of indoors, but you feared missing your shuttle. You moved about in hopes that it would warm you up while you waited for the shuttle as you watched it grow dark.  Not wanting to expose your hands to the cold you peeked at your pocket for the time before you left you made sure to adjust it for the time difference. The shuttle was running late and that worried you, you knew nothing of the language to get help if you ended up stranded.

Eventually, you took a seat on your suitcase, holding onto it tightly. The last thing you would want is to be robbed in a completely different country. You waited for what seemed like almost an hour in the cold before you saw the shuttle pull up in front of you. Slowly you stood on your two feet stretching as you watched the shuttle door slide open, only to reveal your professor. Mr. Brigmova was a tall man with an average build in his early forties. He had dirty blonde hair and striking gray eyes. If not for the slight wrinkles near his eyes, he could have easily been mistaken for his early thirties. He motioned you inside as he jumped out to grab your bags for you.  You did as you were told climbing into the vehicle as the warmth inside embraced you. You watched as Mr. Brigmova carefully placed your bags in the back seat of the shuttle. He flashed you a smile as he slid into the seat next to you. “It is good to see you, Y/N.” He greeted you. “It’s nice to see you too, Mr. Brigmova,” you replied.

“Please, call me Peter. We’re colleagues now.” He responded.  You noted it was just you, Your professor, and the Driver. Out of everyone you were the last from the program to make it in. Your professor turned towards the driver tapping the back of his seat, “My gotovy k rabote.” He mentioned in his native tongue. You weren’t completely sure what he had told the driver but the fact that the shuttle started moving probably was related. Peter turned to you noting how tense you were placing a hand on your knee and squeezing it lightly. His action surprised you, but he only flashed you a smile in return,

“Relax you’re in Sokovia now.”

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) kadala STAR WARS

Fox wakes up.

After everything, he's not expecting to. Not after what he had done - how uncharacteristically stupid he had been. He had done what he had, expecting to die, to be killed so that the nightmares would end and his brothers would be saved - it's what he deserves, after what the Chancellor had made him do. His brothers would see a future, he had made sure of it, but it wasn't a future for Fox, not with all the people he had killed, even if he hadn't meant to.

They haunt him. They scream in his dreams and he can feel their blood on his hands, he can see their faces every time he closes his eyes. He sees them as they were as they died, killed by his hands and with his weapons. It’s not always the same people haunting his nightmares, they’re interchangeable and they blend together - there’s been so many of them - but there’s always one that stays, clear and loud and there.

Fives.

Fives with his frantic voice, with his wild conspiracy and dilated eyes, and the gaping, burning hole in his chest, blackening the otherwise plain plastoid. The hole Fox put there. It never should have happened - it was supposed to stun, he had turned his blaster to stun as soon as he heard it was a brother the Guard were going after - and maybe that’s why Fox couldn’t forget his words or chase the ghost of the dead ARC from his thoughts. The more he thought about him, the less crazy Fives had seemed. The hate-filled eyes of his brothers followed him through his days, accusing - because he had committed the worst sort of crime against his brothers, he had killed one of them - and Fox doesn’t bother trying to keep them at bay. They hate him, and Fox doesn’t blame them. He hates himself too. It could have been the weeks of lost sleep or maybe the patchy memories he couldn’t string together, but Fox found himself continuing the dead man’s investigation, chasing rumours and diving into the darkest parts of the Republic.

What he had found only made Fox hate himself more.

Fives had been right , and Fox had killed him. He had killed the brother who had been trying to save them all.  His brothers were dying in droves, and it was Fox’s fault. By killing Fives before he could bring the knowledge of what the Chancellor was to the Jedi, Fox had all but signed the death warrant of the Republic and allowed Palpatine to keep the power he was using to control the war from both sides.

Fox had known immediately what he had needed to do. He had compiled all the data into a single file, written out his goodbyes, and set it all to send on a timer. Then he had left to confront the Chancellor, never letting on to the Guard what was going on - but with Thorn marching on no one gave him a second look, no one would worry about his comings and goings - and looking to buy his brothers time to receive and read the results of his investigation. They would pass it on, Fox knows, because it was a threat to their men and their Jedi. Fox had never had a Jedi, never understood the love his brothers had for them, but he’s seen the way so many look at their Generals, how many of them love their Jedi Commanders, and he knows that they’d protect them.

They would be able to save themselves, and build the futures they all hadn’t dared to dream of. Fox wouldn’t be part of it, didn’t deserve to be part of it, but he was fine with it. He would die to ensure his brothers would be free, as a final apology to Fives, and to Rex, who had had to watch his vod’ika die in his arms - something none of them deserved, and it was especially heinous that he had had to deal with the trauma of knowing his brother was killed by his ori’vod. They may never have been especially close, not like he had been with Cody or Wolffe, but it was hard not to remember the little blond cadet Cody had brought back to their bunks all those years ago whenever he looked at the confident and scarred Captain Rex’ika had become. Rex couldn’t look at him anymore, not without a burning hatred in his eyes, and Cody and Wolffe were rarely ever on Coruscant, even if they had wanted to see him - which Fox doubts. Neither of them would love a brother-killer, not after the Malevolence and not after Sergeant Slick’s cold-blooded betrayal.

He doesn’t deserve their forgiveness, would never receive it, but apologizing for what he had done took some weight off his shoulders before his inevitable death. He had marched into Chancellor Palpatine’s office prepared to die, but at least he’d been able to warn his family, to share what he had found. He had thought that, at best, the Chancellor would have him killed then and there, that he would summon his Guard like he had with Fives. Fox hadn’t been expecting the man to throw lightning out of his fingers, and it hadn’t even registered until the burning pain tore through him, boiling his blood in his veins until the world went white.

Then he woke up.

He didn’t die, and Fox’s scattered, foggy mind has a hard time coming to terms with the fact. He blinks groggily into the darkness, body alight in agony, and he has a moment of overwhelming terror. He can’t see - where is he - why can’t he see?

Fox gasps, bile and blood burning the back of his throat as he chokes and wheezes, eyes rolling desperately, trying to see anything at all - but it’s just darkness. Fox forces himself to calm down, to categorize what he can tell of his situation as he had been trained for. His limbs are shaking, and he feels like he’s been flayed open alive. From what he can tell, he’s slumped against cold metal, arms held above his head by heavy manacles, and the chains clatter with every tremor that shakes his sprawled frame. His legs tingle uselessly, but he can still move them - or at least he thinks he can, from the sound of plastoid dragging across the metal floor - so the Chancellor’s attack hadn’t paralyzed him. He feels like he had been stabbed multiple times, then lit on fire and left to suffer. 

Fox isn’t sure how he isn’t dead yet - better yet, he doesn’t know why he isn’t dead yet. Instead, he’s chained in some dark, stale room that tastes of badly recycled air and smells like blood. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, or how long he will be here, with his arms going numb as gravity pushes the blood from the suspended limbs. The only courtesy he’s been shown is that he wasn’t chained standing up. With nothing else to do, Fox is left to drift.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, wondering, despite himself, what was going to happen to him. He drifts, and he dreams - and as time continues to pass without anything to mark the passage besides his own overwhelming hunger and thirst, Fox wonders if anyone will come. He knows, deep down, that he won’t be rescued, but it brings him a dark sort of amusement to think of Palpatine coming back to torture him to find his dead body here. He wants to die.

And yet he doesn’t.

He continues to cling to life - a life he doesn’t deserve. It’s almost funny that after so many casualties, that it’s Fox who can’t seem to die. It’s Fox who continues to close his eyes, hoping that he’ll finally march on, only to open his eyes once more and curse the world. Why was it him who wouldn’t die, when there were so many good men who deserved to live more than him. Men like Thorn, who had hope no matter how bad it got, and who’s mangled body had been left for the wildlife to eat. Men like Fives, who had tried so desperately to save everyone, but would never see the fall of the man who had been pulling all the strings.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since the first time he woke up, but Fox finds himself flung back into his body by the sudden overwhelming presence of noise after so long of just the sound of his own rasping breath. Light burns against his eyelids. There are warm hands pressing against the burnt skin of his neck, drawing him close to a firm chest. Fox tries to flinch away on instinct, fighting against the hold - how long had it been since someone had touched him? Had it been when that last time Thorn had last clapped him on the shoulder and promised to see him soon? - and a rushed, familiar voice washes over him.

“Fox. Fox.” Someone says, as his arms are gently lowered one by one by another pair of hands. “ Udesii, ori’vod. Udesii, ni olar, Fox.” Fox sucks in a ragged, gasping breath, body quivering, and he coughs around a dry, bloody throat. He can’t bring himself to open his eyes, afraid that it’ll all melt away into darkness once again. “You did it, Fox. You did it.”

His voice rasps when he speaks, rough with disuse, “Me'bana?”

“Palpatine is gone, vod.” Fox shivers, and agonizingly slowly, he forces his eyes to open. An orange pauldron meets his gaze, and Fox nearly sobs.

“Cody.”

“Yeah, ori’vod.” Cody chokes, and Fox suddenly realizes that he’s not the only one who’s shaking. “I’m here. And if you ever do something like this again I’m going to kick your ass. You’re not allowed to march on yet, vod.”

Fox chuckles wetly, turning his head to press his nose against the rough fabric of his brother’s blacks, ignoring the uncomfortable press of cold plastoid against his ravaged body because it’s something other than the cold metal he had had to deal with for so long. “Ni ceta.”

“Udesii.” His little brother breaths, voice thick, pressing his face into Fox’s no doubt greasy hair. “You have nothing to apologize for, Fox. As long as you’re alive.” Cody shivers again, and Fox forces his laden arms to rise, ignoring the fogginess of unconsciousness rising up to drown him once again, and he clumsily wraps them around his brother’s hips like he had all those years ago when Kote would crawl into his pod during summer storms. “You stopped him, Fox. He can’t hurt you anymore - he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Good.”

“Sleep, vod.” Cody murmurs, curling around him protectively. “You’re safe.”

Fox sleeps.

[bruh-haikyuu]

Waaaaaaah!!! I really liked you (internecine/oikawa tooru)!!! Can I ask for a part two? What happened with s/o-chan? Her ex(not Oikawa) is dangerous? Will Oikawa discover the truth? Thanks for writing so well!

A/N: DAMN THE SEQUEL YALL BEEN WAITING FOR dabbled with a smidge of iwaizumi x reader ;)) HANA THIS IS FOR US OIK SUCKERS I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY

sequel to this

querencia. | oikawa tooru

word count: 5437

warnings: blackmail and angst! (+slight gaslighting)

(n.) a place from which one’s strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa was strict when it came to volleyball. He knows how riled up he gets whenever he does solo practices. Although that focus came with Oikawa’s obliging reticence, the absence of noise was really pissing him off.

“Oikawa, let’s go, dude. We have to lock up soon or the Discipline Committee will chew us out again.”

He noticed a slight glance from the captain’s sepia pools but Oikawa Tooru kept his lips sealed. This guy… Iwaizumi grimaced. “Hey, I know you heard me. Don’t give your old lady grey hairs by coming home late all the time. Let’s go.”

“Hey, Iwa-chan, are you devoted to anything?”

Iwaizumi hid a relieved expression. At least Oikawa was finally saying something in full rather than the half-assed responses he’d been giving out the past month.

“Huh? What’re you trying to say? Of course I’m devoted. To volleyball!” Iwaizumi didn’t mean to sound angry, but looking at his best friend’s current state, he couldn’t help but to clench in frustration.

The blue and yellow ball rebounded from the polished hardwood floors into the setter’s expecting grip. “…Was it that? The problem. My ‘devotion’?”

Iwaizumi scratched the back of his neck in earnest before grabbing Oikawa’s wrist to drag him away from the fluorescent spotlight of the gym. Heaving two school bags over his shoulder with his limp friend on the other, Iwaizumi grumbled.

“I don’t get any of the shit you’re saying.”

Iwaizumi lied. He knew exactly what Oikawa was talking about.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Being in the Library Committee came with its own perks.

A peaceful workplace to drown yourself in your own thoughts

Full privilege to a lineup of all the volumes of Hirunaka no Ryuusei

Being the one and only member of the Library Committee

You had always enjoyed the tranquility that the magnificent atrium of papers offered—not a lot of people scourged for outdated reference books anyway. It was a welcoming interlude from your hectic life… Especially with your current state of affairs. But your head was stubbornly rejecting peace.

If it had been a couple months ago, Oikawa Tooru would have been sneaking into the library to avoid getting his head bashed in by Iwaizumi for being ‘too good at Old Maid’. He would have groaned and whined, subtly asking for your attention to make it all better. You would have refused, a blush betraying your response. Either way you would’ve surrendered to a single kiss after all.

The impression seemed so distant despite it being so recent.

Oikawa Tooru could find someone better than you. Someone who didn’t have this mess piled up upon their shoulders. Someone who wasn’t stupid enough to have dated an obsessive, creepy bastard.

You were so sure of the thought… but why do you keep remembering the taste of Oikawa’s lips lingering on yours? It had always suggested a hint of peaches and tropical mango juice. Flavors that had sparked fireworks in the depths of your belly.

In the end, you decided you would stop by Lawson’s after your duties to buy a mango ICE MONSTER bar. Just for the sake of the memory.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

“Ah. L/N-san.”

You cursed yourself to a million deaths. What on Earth did you pull to get karma this big? You were sure the constant suppression and cold shoulders from school were enough to cover for your sins against their volleyball superstar. But to encounter said superstar’s best friend at the convenience store (especially with your theatrical “baton pass” to him a month prior) was beyond your gravest punishments.

“I-Iwaizumi-san! Funny to see you here.”

“Ain’t this the only convenience store in the area though?”

God, you idiot. Just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?

In the deserted frozen food aisle, two Aoba Johsai third years stood faced off with one another. If it were one of your younger brother’s RPG games, Iwaizumi would’ve been an impossibly matchless boss level—emanating all sorts of auras that screamed ‘INDOMITABLE’. And you? A level one player with only a wooden stick at your siege.

Crossing his arms, he huffed. “Anyway, L/N-san, I wanted to talk to you about—”

You prepared yourself for another blow like always. He was probably going to talk about that. But this time, your legs acted faster.

“Um, I have to go! Goodbye, Iwaizumi-san!”

“Huh? Hang on a sec! L/N-san!”

Iwaizumi Hajime, ace of Aoba Johsai Boys’ Volleyball Club, was chasing you. Why was he chasing you?! Your head spun with images of him cutting you up into pieces to serve for Oikawa’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. Merciless. Brutal. Vile. Was this his way of getting you back for dumping Oikawa on his shoulders?

You let out a small shriek, zipping past a bicycle parked horizontally on the sidewalk. Maybe with his large size, Iwaizumi would have to slow down a bit, giving you a chance to—

Vaulting over the bicycle, Iwaizumi only became hairs closer to your hurrying form. “Wait! L/N-san!”

“Please don’t kill me!” You sobbed, turning into a corner. “I have a family I still want to come home to!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he yelled, the hoarseness of his voice striking horror in your legs. “You didn’t pay for your ice cream!”

“Ha?!”

After dropping off 195 yen on the shop counter and dutifully bowing your head to the cashier at least ten times, Iwaizumi escorted you to the store’s entrance, the light amber of the sky gracing his stern features. For a moment, Iwaizumi Hajime, ace of Aoba Johsai Boys’ Volleyball Club, seemed like a normal high school boy instead of the terrifying column of pure muscle.

“Sorry for chasing you like that… You got the wrong idea and everything too,” he chuckled, low vibrations bobbing in his Adam’s apple.

“It was my fault too,” you cringed, head empty with only the thought of your animalistic instincts kicking in to take you away from ‘danger’. “I was just shocked that anyone would talk to me right now.”

“…Is that so… B-by the way…”

You almost forgot that you had run away just as he was about to beat you to a pulp with his words. You held your breath, feet rooted in place now that you had learned that there was no way you could beat an ace in races.

“We’re on Cleaning Duty tomorrow, right? Don’t forget and bail on me like that asshole Takahashi does.”

Gradually, you felt a World’s Biggest Idiot crown settle on your head. You breathed through your nose and muttered a sullen “yes, yes” before turning around and going your own fine way home. Of course, after apologizing once more to Iwaizumi for making him chase you distances just so you would pay for your treat.

Watching your back shrink into the golden horizon, Iwaizumi scratched his head, heart heavy with the weight your words carried. He probably shouldn’t have stalled his real question to you like that.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Becoming the enemy of Aoba Johsai’s general public didn’t seem so bad at first. At least they weren’t doing all the malicious shoujo manga-esque type of torture. No carved out voodoo dolls or vandalized tabletops.

But the thought didn’t make your sentence seem lighter.

When you had been with Oikawa, everyone suddenly wanted to get to know you. To eat lunch with you. To invite you to hangouts. Now that you’ve broken him, your only worthy punishment was to be broken tenfold.

How cowardly of me. You scowled, the contours of the broom handle etching itself on your palms. I don’t even know if half of Daisuke’s threats were real…

If the texts hadn’t sounded so genuine, you would have probably been laughing it off with Oikawa right now. But you weren’t. And that made you hate yourself for it.

“L/N-san, you okay?”

Pulled back into reality by your ever placid Cleaning Duty partner, you cleared your throat and swept the remaining bits of grime onto the fluorescent green dustpan.

“Y-yeah. I’m alright,” you said eyes flickering from his sharp ones.

Iwaizumi must’ve had some sort of sixth sense because his doubting gaze did not falter the slightest. “Really? You seem especially off today, though. You hungry or something?”

Now he was toying with you. “No I’m not.”

As if it had been cued, your stomach growled and you gritted your teeth in defeat. Stupid, stupid digestion.

“If you’re free after this, I’ll treat you to lunch. We need to talk about some unfinished matters, L/N-san.”

“But—”

“It’s about Oikawa.”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

The scent of pork and shoyu weaved into your senses, blinding you with flavor. In the midst of burly men and hearty-looking meals plastered in bold in the quaint shop’s menu, a small high school girl like you did not mingle well with her surroundings.

Sitting across from you was Iwaizumi, attention pinned on a flimsy laminated piece of paper with a list of ramen that seemed to drone on and on. In the heat of the place, both of you had shed your blazers, draping them over the back of your rickety seats. Seeing Iwaizumi’s sleeves rolled up, you shivered at the thought of what those arms could do to you if you had run away from him again.

“Master, I’ll have the Aka Tonkotsu ramen today. Large with extra pork slices as always,” he piped up, catching the brisk nod of the shop owner from the corner of his work station. “How ‘bout you, L/N-san?”

“Um… a glass of mineral water, please. Iced.”

The ramen master and Iwaizumi’s faces twisted into expressions of concern and offense. You were sure you had attracted the attention of few others too with your order… but what was so wrong with just having water though? It wasn’t like you really enjoyed ramen. And your visit here wasn’t really much of your choice…

“Come on, you have to have the ramen here. I’m paying anyway,” Iwaizumi wanted to add in a comment that the prices at this particular shop were extravagantly affordable, but he chose to miss out on that. “Do you like spicy food?”

“I suppose I do—”

Iwaizumi grinned knocking on the wooden table to gain the master’s attention once more. “Make that two large bowls of Aka Tonkotsu, Master!”

You sputtered, ears barely registering his words. “L-large? Iwaizumi-san, I won’t be able to finish that!”

“Huh? Why not though? Your stomach growled really loudly back at school, I’m sure you’ll down the entire thing in seconds. But it’d mostly be caused by how good the ramen here is.”

You noticed how the ramen master’s ears flashed a bright pink. Seriously, how blatant can this guy be with his words… You were sure with the way Iwaizumi talked, he could either have all the girls in Japan swooning over his honesty or have everyone else throwing nasty glances at him. You fell into the latter category.

“About Too—” you paused, although insistent on breaking the frosty wall between the both of you. “Oikawa. I-is he doing well?”

“Well he’s obviously acting more differently than he used to,” Iwaizumi replied in blunt, hands centered on trying to pull the modest pair of wooden chopsticks apart cleanly. Snap. A small chunk of the second chopstick had awkwardly stuck with the first; Iwaizumi frowned. “Why’re you asking? Didn’t you guys break up?”

You puffed out fumes from your nose indignantly. “Aren’t you the one who invited me here to talk about him? Iwaizumi-san, if you’re not going to say anything important I’d rather leave than have you toy with my time.”

Iwaizumi’s hand reached out to scratch his nape—an old habit you had noticed from him countlessly in class, especially when he seemed nervous. “Alright, alright. Geez… don’t tell anyone about it but I’m worried about Oikawa. Trust me, I can tell when he’s being serious about practicing volleyball and when he’s just plain… letting loose. I suspected it had something to do with you because all he’s been doing is mope around like a beaten dog after you dumped him.”

You gulped.

“Why did you break up with him? I know he could be a crappy jerk with volleyballs for brains, but I know he won’t put his ambitions over someone he cares about—he learned that from his first relationship. So why did you do it? Was he finally getting on your nerves too? Or did you get bothered by his fanclub?”

Your hands gripped your skirt until your knuckles turned white. Iwaizumi definitely wasn’t the first person to drop the question on you. But that didn’t make you less nervous whenever you had to respond. Deciding to dodge the bullet like always, you went for a simple “it’s complicated”.

“Two large bowls of Aka Tonkotsu ramen, one with extra pork slices!” the ramen master announced, a bell of dismissal to your relief. “Plus a glass of iced water for the young miss.”

Watching the master limp back to his post, you didn’t notice Iwaizumi sprinkle a dollop of chili powder into his bowl, his sharp gaze cutting through your body. “Whatever. I’ll get it out of you one way or another. You wouldn’t have told me to take care of Oikawa if it wasn’t a serious problem.”

You slipped a stray strand of hair behind your ear, picking up your own chopsticks in the process. Despite the fear that pooled in your stomach from Iwaizumi’s promise, you couldn’t help to anticipate for a person to share the heinous truth with. Murmuring a soft “thank you for the food”, you decided that the truth belonged to another day and enjoyed your meal in silence.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Apparently, Iwaizumi did see your mouth forming the request. When he had brought it up at the ramen shop, you felt your entire universe fall apart at its core. You wanted to punch yourself for even thinking up such an shameless action. Whispering to him to take care of someone he spent his life tackling was useless. Pressing your face into your pillow, you wondered if you could sleep yourself to dematerialization.

Tugging you out from your misery, your cell phone vibrated in vigor before dropping still on your bedside table.

From: Unknown

Subject: This is Iwaizumi Hajime

09:34 PM

Yo. It’s Iwaizumi, save my number ok? I hope you enjoyed the ramen. Did you get home safe?

Right. You and Iwaizumi had exchanged numbers after he had paid an amazingly cheap price for the ramen. The surprisingly succulent ramen that had you gulping down the bowl until it was drained—just like what he’d promised. You’d hate to admit he was right so soon though…

To: Iwaizumi Hajime

Re: [This is Iwaizumi Hajime]

09:36 PM

Thanks for the ramen ^_^~ Also, I got home in one piece, so don’t worry about it.

A few moments after you had pressed the send button, another text came flying into your inbox. Two texts. From two entirely different contacts. The first one was Iwaizumi’s.

From: Iwaizumi Hajime

Subject: You didn’t answer my question

09:36 PM

About our topic of discussion today… are you going to tell me the truth or not? I don’t want to pry it out of a girl, it’d be rude assuming we’ve only started to officially talk today. But just so you know, I won’t give up until I know the reason. It pisses me off to see Oikawa so moody every day. I hope you’ll understand.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard for a few moments too long to string together a coherent reply. Iwaizumi was a prime example of trust and valour. Sure, you had considered yourself a knight after ‘protecting Oikawa from your dangerous ex-boyfriend’, but now you just seemed like a jerk.

Scrolling over to see the second text loitering in your messages, you felt your blood vessels tighten. The sender’s name was seven syllables long. Seven syllables that you had hoped to never have to thread together ever again.

From: Masayuki Daisuke

Subject: None

09:36 PM

I knew you’d listen to me, Y/N-chan~ You were always such an obedient one, such a good girl. Now that that good-for-nothing playboy has his hands off you, we can be together right? Of course, we’ll have to wait until you graduate high school but that’s just a matter of time.

We’ll get married, Y/N-chan. I’ll make you as happy as you can ever be, even if we have to elope. I’ll even buy us a house in Tokyo, just where you wanted… You made a right decision to leave Oikawa, if you didn’t, I know it’d make you suffer just being in his presence. You belong with me, Y/N-chan, not with anyone above our insignificant roles. He’d make you feel small for the rest of your life… but I’m here for you.

I hope you won’t be unfaithful to me as we count down to the days when we shall begin our lives together. I love you~

Your lips curled into a flat line. All the blood had drained from your fingertips, leaving the fluorescent light of your cell phone to eerily illuminate through the limpid skin. You wanted to vomit, to wail, to look for and tell someone. But who? You couldn’t possibly run and cry to Oikawa. Hell, Iwaizumi and your ‘friends’ were out of the question. And your parents would overreact, making matters worse.

“I hate this,” you grunted, tossing your phone onto the couch across your bed. Maybe you could sleep it off like you usually did. Alas, you didn’t seem to receive a wink of sleep at all. This is bad, you finally admitted.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Iwaizumi Hajime had made it a habit (and a nuisance) to stumble in the library or other parts of the area after school to drag you to the ramen shop and fruitlessly attempt to wring even a droplet of truth from you. On the bright side, the food was always tasty, and you had adapted yourself to genuinely enjoy ramen as a delicacy. Plus, when it came to Iwaizumi’s savory bribes, you never even had to think about pulling your wallet out of your pocket!

Throughout the course of your ‘interrogations’, you had also learned that Iwaizumi was just an awkward puppy hiding beneath a shell of a raucous yankii. Of course, this was all fueled by his concern for his best friend, but nevertheless, you discovered that it didn’t take much to revert the almighty volleyball ace into a flustered mess of a high schooler.

You came to realize why Oikawa loved to tease him to the brim. And why they had stuck together for so long. In fact, if Iwaizumi had been a girl, you were dead sure that Oikawa would pick him over you—he was everything you weren’t and so much more…

Idiot, how long has it been already? Stop thinking about things like that, you braced yourself. Slapping yourself with the leather-bound cover of a weathered Chemistry textbook, you diverted your focus back on the cart of new books you were supposed to arrange.

Quiet hours in the library was especially your favorite time, of course, until Iwaizumi had recently interrupted it with persistence despite his prior knowledge that your duties wouldn’t end until half an hour later. Another trait of his, you had come to realize, was that he was unbearably annoying when he didn’t get what he wanted.

Hearing the clack of the library door’s swing (though much quieter than Iwaizumi’s usual loud shove), you scowled, eyes twitching in annoyance.

“Iwaizumi-san, for the last time! Stop coming in here if you’re not going to read or borrow a book. And don’t ask me the same question over and over again, I can’t tell you why it happened because it’s too—”

Crap.

You felt your heart jump at the sight of a pair of umber eyes that roused an emotion from deep within your memory. You almost didn’t recognize him. He looked taller, much more sturdy. And way too drained.

“Y-Y/N-chan,” Oikawa murmured, your name dripping honey on his tongue like it always had.

You didn’t even stop yourself from calling him by his name. “Tooru…”

You swore you could lock eyes with him for eons. Subtle glances in the hallway didn’t compare to being in Oikawa’s light. When you were with him, he made you feel warm. You missed that warmth. You missed him.

“What are you doing here?” you managed to sputter, eyelids freezing up.

When he broke from your gaze, you felt your heart plummet and shatter. “I just needed to look for a reference book for my English homework.”

It hurt. When you were dating, Oikawa never let the both of you dwindle in silence. He knew silence sickened you to the stomach. When you had broken up with him, he didn’t let silence waver over him either. But having the absence of noise barricading you from him, you felt cold.

“A-ah, you must mean Ogawara-sensei’s literary task…” you murmured, drinking in the appearance of his face, tracing pre-existing etches of it in your head. “Do you want me to help you look for them?”

How stupid of you to ask. Oikawa basically had the map of the library emblazoned on the back of his hand. You would know—it all came from the secret rendezvous he’d pull you into while you still had deemed yourself worthy of being loved by him.

“That would be nice,” he smiled shyly.

You led him into a warmly lit section pulsing with the livelihood of foreign words. Gliding between the wide space between the shelves, your fingers slipped through the seams across the books. It didn’t take you more than 2 minutes to locate a volume spilled with the wisdom you needed to ace Ogawara-sensei’s class.

“William Faulkner? I thought you didn’t enjoy those kinds of works,” Oikawa murmured, almost teasing as he thumbed through the fragrant pages of ink.

Eyes tracing the lettering of ‘A Rose for Emily’, you said, “I don’t particularly dislike this one. Tragic endings aren’t my cup of tea, but the romance really sucks you in.”  

“I almost forgot how much of a shoujo otaku you were,” he chuckled, laughter like small bells tinkling in the soft wind. “You always look so serious, but figuring out that you were a sap was the funniest part.”

You puffed out your cheeks indignantly, “It’s not like I can help it! You want me to help you or not? Geez…”

Oikawa’s laughter ruptured in the great expanse, a contagious feeling bubbling in your throat. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just— it’s nice to see you again, that’s all…”

Your heart burst into streams of golden confetti, drawing universes within your chest like Oikawa used to do. He was always more different with you. Less fake, more genuine. More honest. You still hadn’t figured out why he’d go after you, especially with all the pretty girls willing to throw themselves in front of a train for him. You didn’t even have enough guts to ignore your ex-boyfriend.

All the wondering made you dizzy, you wanted to sit down, but Oikawa’s desolate eyes chained you to your spot. Iwaizumi was right. He looked like he had thrown himself across the gym a couple times before staying wide awake for 48 hours. As much as you hated to admit, you wanted to help him.

“Tooru, I’m—”

“Found you!” Both of your heads snapped towards the library entrance, blasted open haphazardly by a burly third year student.

“Iwaizumi-san!”

“Iwa-chan?”

A sly grin crept up the boy’s features, making him look more of an ogre than usual. You felt an uneasy lump dissolving in the pits of your stomach, from the corner of your eye, you spotted Oikawa slumping in what seemed to be defeat.

“Just as planned. Now, anyone hungry for ramen?”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

This was by far the most quiet meal you’ve had with Iwaizumi and Oikawa—combined and separately. You didn’t even dare to excuse yourself to the restroom. You haven’t even touched your food either, for all you knew, it was probably already cold.

On the other hand, Iwaizumi was already stuffing his face with today’s special lobster ramen. “What’s wrong, L/N? Ain’t hungry? It’s your favorite dish too.”

Your brows pointed downwards in an annoyed scowl. Iwaizumi wasn’t known to be the best at reading situations anyway. You kicked his shin below the sunken space beneath the table, taking care that Oikawa wasn’t looking.

“Right! Nearly forgot,” if Iwaizumi hadn’t been someone who towered over you, you would’ve pestered him for being such a nuisance. “I damn hope you know why you’re both here.”

You gulped, cheeks reddening at the mention.

“Sorry, is there something I should know about?” Oikawa smiled faintly, a heavy air of concern draped over his shoulders. Sweat began to clump in your palms.

“Ha? Of course you do! You’ve gotta know why L/N broke up with you, right?”

“I-Iwa-chan! I don’t think that’s appropriate to talk about right now. I know for whatever reason Y/N-chan’s got for it, it’s a respectable choice.” Liar. You know I was just being a coward for not telling you, you pursed your lips.

“It’s only respectable until we know what it is,” Iwaizumi boomed, eyes boring into your shrinking figure. “Things don’t just happen for a reason, right, L/N? It’s okay if you tell us.”

“…”

“L/N, it’s for Oikawa’s good. Didn’t you say you wanted him to be happy?”

“Stop that, man. Don’t force her,” Oikawa’s tone wavered between anguish and warning. You almost wanted to leap into his arms. He was so close, sitting right next to you, but for some reason he felt miles away. “But…”

Sucking in a deep breath, you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “I don’t—”

The shrill ring of your phone shattered the torrential dilemma that hung in the air. Glancing at the number, you paled to the tips of your toes, all color lost from your skin. No, no, no, no. Not here. Not now.

Throwing your school bag over your shoulder, you stood shakily, hand gripping your phone like a vice. “I-I have to go.”

Turning your back on the two boys, you quickly hurried out the door of the shop, hands too tremulous to drop a tip in the glass jar adorning the entrance. He shouldn’t be here. Why was he here? You’ve had enough. No more. Hanging around Oikawa and Iwaizumi was a deadly mistake you’d swore you’d never repeat. But you were a mere mortal who fell too easily to the temptations of forbidden love. A love you could never have.

“Y/N-chan!” a plush hand wrapped itself around your elbow, throwing you back against a solid wall of warmth. A distinct scent of peaches and mango juice pressed against the crown of your hair, a familiarity you would be forced to pry yourself from.

“Tooru, please…” a single drop escaped your quivering eyes, rolling down your cheek, clumping at your chin. “I can’t do this. You have to let me go.”

“At least tell me what I did wrong. Was I not devoted enough? Did I offend you in some way? Or did you find someone else…?” The bob of his throat wobbled against your head. “I’m sorry that I loved you. I’m sorry.”

To hell with it. Turning in his grasps, you looked into his glassy hues, shining with tears, laced with the afterglow of genuine affection. For you.

“Don’t you ever apologize for loving someone. If someone has to apologize, it’s me!” you barked at him, tears streaming down your face, hot in its trail. “I made a mistake for loving the wrong person. I’m sorry I had feelings for such a psychopath. This was before I met you. Now he’s out to get us and it’s all my fault…”

You paused, burying your face into his uniform, taking in the deep pitter patter of his heart.

“I’m scared, Tooru… He’s been sending threats to me. I don’t want him to hurt you… Please, help me,” you sobbed, ignoring the incoming echo of a lone walker approaching the scene.

“Y/N-chin?”

Dark eyes stared back at yours, emptiness filling it, only a murderous aura emanating from the figure. You watched as Daisuke’s fist closed, veins popping for the world to see. You wondered how your day could get any worse.

“Traitor! You left that bastard just to run back to him?!” he growled against the silent backdrop of the market district. “I promised you a life where you wouldn’t have to feel so inferior. I sincerely love you, Y/N. Why can’t you understand that we’re the type of people who can’t fit in with assholes like… him.”

When Oikawa stepped between the both of you, you felt your heart drop and hang dangerously on a thin string held together by your prayers. “Are you the guy who’s been threatening Y/N-chan the whole time?”

Daisuke turned to you, leering viciously. “Oh, so I’m the bad guy? Don’t do this to me, Y/N-chin. You belong with me. You know that.”

“She doesn’t belong to anyone. Leave her alone, she obviously doesn’t want to be with you.”

A quick gleam of a silver blade caught the gentle light of the setting sun and you felt your mouth go dry. Before a scream could escape your mouth, a vivid thud then a crunch thundered in your ears. You didn’t even want to open your eyes. You didn’t think you could even see with the flood of tears clustering your vision.

“Y/N-chan? Y/N-chan! It’s okay,” Tooru. “It’s okay now. I-I knocked him out.”

Wrenching your eyes wide, you saw Oikawa crouched next to you on the ground, rubbing circles onto your back as he nestled himself in your shoulder. Behind him was Daisuke. Laid spread-eagle on his back, the menacing cutter now seeming so small in his large grip. Next to his bruised head was a single volleyball shoe.

Just about the size of Oikawa’s sock-clad right foot.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

A month later

“Ain’t Captain awfully chipper lately?” Kindaichi muttered to his upperclassmen, balancing a ball on his fingertips, only to have it bounce to the floor in an instant.

Hanamaki, while unlacing the intricate knots adorning the nets, shot the first year an incredulous look. Sighing, he said, “You really haven’t heard at all, haven’t you?”

Kindaichi felt it would be too embarrassing to say. He kept quiet.

“He made up with his girlfriend recently. Turned out, she was being threatened by her psycho of an ex-boyfriend if she didn’t break up with him. The guy’s finally behind bars, so I guess that contributes to it too.”

Kindaichi’s eyes lit up. Oh, he knew about this. “I’ve seen that before on the news! Man, must be pretty scary for Oikawa-san’s girlfriend… I honestly wouldn’t be able to do anything if I were her. That’d put too much mental strain on me.”

From behind him, Matsukawa snickered, ruffling the boy’s hair casually, earning him a dirty look. “Don’t try to compare yourself to L/N-san. The tips of your haircut will catch fire if you had the same amount of stress she did.”

“Grilled Napa Cabbage!”

“Hanamaki-san, don’t tease!”

From the other side of the gym, Oikawa Tooru eyed his phone glassily, his pupils on the verge of forming hearts. It was over. It was finally over. Now he was back to his previous routine, with a dash of something new everyday. Same as always. He loved that always—that always was you.

L/N Y/N: I can’t wait to eat with you and Iwaizumi-san today! Thank you Tooru

Oikawa Tooru: Are you sure you don’t want to eat somewhere we usually do? I was a bit surprised that you invited us to the ramen shop ╮( ˘ ､ ˘ )╭

L/N Y/N: Ehhhh??? Do I have to cancel reservations? Do you want to eat somewhere else??

Oikawa Tooru: Just kidding Y/N-chan~ ☆⌒(ゝ。∂) I want to see how much red peppers you can add to your broth before passing out ☆

L/N Y/N: Mean!! ( `ε´ )

Oikawa Tooru: Ehehe~

“Oikawa, let’s go. L/N’s probably waiting for us already,” Iwaizumi called out from the gym’s doors, mouth nearly frothing at the image of free bowls of ramen that he didn’t have to pay for tonight.

Waving off his best friend, he turned to his screen to type out one last message, a soft smile adorning his face. “Happy birthday, Y/N-chan. I’ll cherish you today, tomorrow and the days after that. Thank you for loving me as me.”