#however i do INSIST that you listen to my points instead of focusing entirely on how to refute them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aetherarf · 3 years

Note

Hi hello i saw your requests are open!! And i dont know if this is allowed but can you do genshin boys caught cheating and they played it off and later on they started to regret what they did and when they found the reader, the reader is now happy or disappeared or idk ITS UP TO YOU TO DEICIDE HEHEHEHE IM SORRY I LOVE READING ANGST SM SO ITS OKAY IF YOU WONT TAKE IT !! YOUR WORKS ARE REALLY GREAT BTW!!! (more than great i mean *chefs kiss*)

Yes I've finally gotten to this one! I hope it's angsty enough for you 😘

[[ WARNING: CHEATING, NON-LETHAL INJURY, ALCOHOL ]]

[[ Summary: Kaeya, Childe, and Diluc end up cheating on their partner... They get caught, not by their partner, but someone else. As the days pass, they begin to regret it... only for their little secret to get back to their lover...

Note, Kaeya's is longest/wordiest cuz I didn't realize I should probably be a bit more brief... Kaeya favouritism lol.

Overall Word Count: 3'602 [rip me]

Kaeya Word Count: 1'841

Childe Word Count: 950

Diluc Word Count: 811 ]]

Kaeya

Distantly, he remembers an old saying from Crepus, in response to his question-- "Why do people drink so much?"

"Well... Alcohol doesn't solve anything, but it can make you forget questions you'd rather not think about."

He understood that as he got older. Why stress, and think about things he could not control? ... Well, maybe he should deal with them, but that's easier said than done when his entire life was on the line. Every night, in the tavern, he drank to forget. Not that he'd admit that to anyone.

And, somehow, he had forgotten more than he'd like to admit. On his lap, a beautiful woman, and he was tugged to a back closet of the Angel's Share. She tasted sweet, like wine and sugar. If it wasn't for an intruder, ( despite the fact that he was the one intruding into staff-only area ) he likely would have had a far better time, to completely lose himself in his inebriation.

"K-Kaeya!" Uh oh, as his vision focused, he could see Diluc's unmistakable silhouette, with that fluffy red hair and broad shoulders. "You," he pointed to the woman, "Out." The woman, not wanting to envoke the wrath of Sir Ragnvindr, running out immediately. But, Diluc didn't let Kaeya out, not that he was fighting to get out. Instead, he walked closer.

"What have you done?" he asked, voice low and full of rage. However, Kaeya could only smile,

"What do you mean, Master Ragnvindr?" He asked, all sly.

"You cheater," he snapped, "You do know that wasn't your partner? The one you swore yourself to? They were just looking for you, you know." He was nearly yelling, forcing his voice low...

And that, that idea, the realization of everything hit him harder than even the biggest bomb's that Klee had ever made. He... did.

"Look," The world was no longer warm an fuzzy, just a little shift away from his normal reality, everything crashing down. The thoughts that haunted him when you slept so peacefully in his arms, when he would see the knights laughing and smiling together, the ever-haunting knowledge that he was alone amongst them...

The way only you did not have that odd look in your eye, of wonder upon seeing something unique, or of something alien that terrified... You only looked at him as what he wished to be seen-a person.

And here he went, fucking it all up.

"Look," he said again, tears in his eye, "You, you can't tell anyone," He all but snapped at Diluc, who's eyes widened in shock, "I-I wouldn't tell if you did it, you have to do the same for me," he promised, desperately trying to think of what to do...

"Kaeya, this isn't about me, this is about you and-and them," Diluc didn't even need to say the name, "You're better than this, I won't tell, but only if you do."

Kaeya's brows furrowed, he wasn't used to feeling so... betrayed. Normally, it was expected, but this... but this was different! Wasn't it...?

"It has nothing to do with you, I... I can deal with it on my own, 'Luc." He insisted, straightening out his back. He was only a tiny bit taller than Diluc, but he wanted to hold it over him, to prove he wasn't going to let him use him over his... his mistake.

"Kaeya," his voice was... softer. Kaeya didn't want to hear this voice, this consoling voice. Not after everything, not... not like this!

"Fuck off, Diluc," he snapped, pushing him to the wall as he stormed out, "You made it clear you want nothing to do with me, don't try now. Not like this," he demanded, seeing Diluc look at him, eyes wide... shocked.

"Fine. Get out and don't come back." Diluc hissed, voice much lower, his eyes glazed over. Kaeya almost wanted to yell at him, to keep fighting... But, no, no, he didn't. He couldn't do that here, not when he was too desperate to figure out what to do, leaving through the front of Angel's Share, slamming the door behind him.

And he ran. He didn't know why, he wasn't headed home, but he just... he felt like he was running from his mistakes, the wind biting at his face, until he finally skidded into an alleyway, his back against the wall, his hand put up to his mouth, biting at the base of his thumb to stifle the sobs that wanted to burst from his chest. It hurt, oh, it hurt, but it felt... right, it felt like he should hurt, his teeth clasping harder onto his hand, tears rolling from his eye as he roughly breathed through his nostrils, his brain desperately trying to figure out what to do, what to say, what to think... But it all only ended up in a jumbled mess, of black and red and tears and crying.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but by the time he stopped biting his hand, it felt... hot, for some reason, and as he looked at his hand...

Red. Bite marks. His teeth had sunk in so deep, his skin was broken and reddened and bloody. He couldn't even feel the pain, like when the burning fire had turned to grey, dead embers... he felt nothing, his own bodily sensations distant in an odd way.

He doesn't even know why, but upon seeing his blood ooze from his flesh, he swing his fist towards the brick, hearing it clatter against it. He stared at his hand, pulling off his glove to stare, dazed, at his busted knuckles.

Holding his fist close to his chest, he finally walked home.

If I don't tell them, he thought, I can live with it. I've lived with worse. I live with worse.

He didn't want to.

But he did that-he cheated. He cheated on the one person that could make everything feel okay, like he never hurt anyone, like he wasn't from a distant corrupt land, like he wasn't the monster he was told to be.

Should he say it? Tell directly?

...

It wouldn't matter if he told immediately or in a week. He-he trusted you'd understand, he could... He could figure it out. He just, his brain was both sinking and floating, drunk yet sober, he wasn't in his own body right about now. He was somewhere gone, and he couldn't be making any decisions.

Shambling his way home, he opened the front door... And hesitated, listening. Looking. You weren't in eyeshot or earshot, so... He could wrap up his hand before he gave everything away, or at least, his temper tantrum of sorts. He rummaged around before finding that small first aide kit, cleaning the wounds of his own cause, and bandaged up his hand... for a second, he tensed, hearing your footsteps, but he opted to finish wrapping it before you could see.

"Kaeyaaa..." You whined, "You didn't come to bed..." You walked over, hugging him from the side, resting your head on him. How sweet you were, how cuddly... As though nothing happened.

"I'll come to bed in a minute," he said, "I just need to finish this real quick."

You peeked over to look at whatever he was messing with, and woke up in an instant, reaching over to his hand as he was tucking the end of the bandage away, so it wouldn't unravel so easily. "What happened?" You asked, tenderly holding his injured hand with both of yours.

"Nothing to be worried about," he reassured, trying to hide how his voice shook, "Just wanted to patch it up."

With one hand, you gently stroked his, and then lifted it to your mouth to give a loving kiss atop it. "Are you okay to come to bed?" You asked, still tired from the late hour.

"Of course," he wanted to kiss you, badly, but he refrained. You shouldn't, Kaeya, your mouth is dirty.

The two of you walked to bed, he undressing just enough to comfortably lie down...

Feeling how you snuggled up to him, sighing in such comfort now that he was home, and how you soon became a weight upon him as you sunk back into sleep...

However, he did not sleep that night. Or the next, or the next... Or the next.

Days, truly, passed. He did not sleep, he was not sleeping, Jean even scolded him for blacking out more than once, stunned when one second he was standing, and the next he was on the ground, no memory of having fallen, with the knights consoling him.

He started staying later, he had not gone back to the Angel's Share. Many mornings, he was not there when you woke. You knew he was busy, but... this was horrific.

Eventually, two weeks have passed. He steeled his nerves, and he was going to talk to you about it. He didn't want to live like this, with this guilt and agony upon the things he could not fix--but he could fix this. He could-he could make this better.

But, as he walked into your shared home... an eerie silence. As he looked around, it felt like... a lot was missing.

Everything that was missing, from simple objects placed about to pictures on the walls, were all yours. Of you.

Save for a single picture frame, with shattered glass, and a picture of him and you, smiling. It was one of the more coherent pictures the two of you had made.

Beside it, a note.

Dear Kaeya,

A woman came to me recently, telling me of you. Of how you kissed her, and nearly slept with her at the Angel's Share. She was unaware of the fact that you had a partner, and had finally found and confided in me about this.

I don't know what made you cheat on me like this, but worse still you've been avoiding me, and you wouldn't even tell me. If I knew... then we could have talked about it, we could have gotten counseling. We could have fixed this--fixed us. But you were gone.

I don't want to hear you say it, say that you don't love me or you don't want to be with me, so I left. I'm not in Mondstadt, I've gone to live with someone I can actually trust. Please don't look for me, I need time. Your lack of communication was enough to tell me you don't care enough to fix this.

Sincerely, Your former beloved.

Tears truckled down onto the paper, and he nearly crushed it in a single fist... But, no, he couldn't, he couldn't destroy the last connection he had to you, no matter how badly he wanted to rip out his eye, so he never had to look at it ever again. He collapsed the floor, the letter, and the framed picture falling to the ground, a broken, loud laughter rung through the house as tears fells down his face, maniacal in nature...

He wanted to be alone, and gone, for a long... long time.

Childe

Childe didn't understand the meaning of 'exclusive' as well. He loved you, dearly, but to him, love was a thing to be given more freely. Maybe it was just a lack of communication, or maybe he completely misunderstood your words, but with an old friend he slept with time and time again...

When Scaramouche saw him sending off his friend with a goodbye kiss, it being a casual commoditiy in his mind, only then did he get utterly chewed out for this.

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Scaramouche snarled at him, "You're not even shameful about this, you cheater." He snapped, as though he was truly angry for you, instead of just a generally very angry person. Childe shrugged.

"I wouldn't mind if they slept with someone else," he said casually, "Doesn't mean they love me any less, you know?"

Scaramouche tried to response, but he was simply flabberghasted. "Most people don't think that way, you airheaded moron."

Childe just laughed, brushing off the shorter harbinger, before walking off without a care.

But... in the end, the words got to him.

Maybe you didn't think that way? You two had spoken of marriage, a very possible reality that he was looking forward to... But, maybe there was a... culture clash, maybe? A clash of upbringings?

He found himself wondering these things at night, when you were snuggled up to him, unaware of the whirlwind of fear in his mind.

Silently, he resolved to simply stop--It would keep you happy, a little secret he didn't mind keeping. Maybe in many, many years, he'd mention it, but... he thought that was okay. That could be the last time he'd ever do something like that...

But, as he came home... You were sitting, waiting for him.

"Please, come sit down, Ajax," that morose tone, it made his heart ache... so he obeyed without question. You looked at him, face puffy and eyes red... "Tell me the truth," you asked, his heart sinking, "Did you cheat on me?"

He froze, but... "Y-yes, but-"

"I don't need an explanation," you admitted, a small, broken smile on your face, "I knew I wasn't loveable enough."

"Wait, no, no, that's not it at all-"

"No," you interrupted, "I don't need an explanation. I'll be out by tonight," you looked down at your lap, his heart shattering into even smaller pieces,

"Babe... please, please, let me explain, I'll never do it again-"

You stood,

"If you'd do it once, you'd do it again. Don't talk to me," you hesitated, "If you want me to be happy, don't look for me ever again."

He was trying to reach for you... but, he couldn't make himself grab you, not when you so delicately shied away...

Eventually, he gave up. No amount of fighting would stop you, and... and he... he couldn't keep seeing your pain as you cried for him to just leave you alone.

Was this love? The pain of another, the terror not of considering spending the rest of your life with them, but the terror of not spending the rest of your life with them?

Before he knew it, he was staring at a mirror, shards of glass in his fist, more than a few holes in the wall and a broken door, the shattered mirror distorting his expression...

Upon walking through the house, he saw that there was... it felt so empty, without your delicate touch and presence making it a place he lovingly called home.

"No," he whispered, hoping... were you here? Did you see... whatever he blacked out and did, the tantrum he did not remember? Did he, oh gods above, oh gods, he didn't hurt you, did he?

...

But he never got an opportunity to find out.

By the time he had sobered up from his tantrum... you were gone. Only a note, left behind, Don't look for me.

Because, you both knew, if he really wanted to find you, he could. He could capture you, trap you... hurt you.

But he didn't want any of that, as much as it hurt to have you away... to make you hate him anymore than you already did was enough to drive a man to near insanity.

Even after you had been gone, he would sit, whenever he was not forced to work, to fulfil his duties to the Tsaritsa... he would wait. He would cook your favourite dishes, read the books you liked, go to the places you enjoyed...

Only after weeks of this, did it hit him that you truly were never coming home. He knew that, but... but, somehow, his heart, his emotions hadn't caught up.

For a second time, he had destroyed your shared, no... his home.

It just wasn't home without you.

Unable to endure the idea of still being here, of a place where he had held you so many times, kissed you, loved you, and suddenly you were all but gone... He tried to do anything to avoid it, to avoid that demon that desperately tried to crawl out of him, threatening to burst from his chest.

Even the other Harbingers had noticed this, how... awful he had been, how he had lost himself. Even Scaramouche, the one most openly said to be the easiest to hate amongst them all, with an uncanny talent to bring even the most pacificistic souls to pure rage, had done well to stay his tongue, never kind, never sweet, but he would give him the isolation he craved, only speaking as much was necessary.

He didn't know what to do with himself, but whenever that happened... he'd just throw himself to the maws of death and, unluckily, crawl his way back out.

Diluc

Everything felt hot and fuzzy and...

Red.

Was red a feeling? His face was red, his body burned, and he could scarcely breathe, he definitely had accidentally drunk some alcohol, but for once, the effects of inebriation hit him. However, while he couldn't understand why people would devote their lives to this sensation, he could appreciate reality being distant, when he knew if he wasn't drunk, he would have spit up the wine and some extra blood, making it an even richer red color.

A warm feeling around his dick, he saw a pretty, if not distorted, face. It didn't take long for him to explode with sensation, his eyes shot wide... and a kiss pressed to his lips.

He almost chased that pretty face, only to see it disappear, he falling to his knees, rasping for air. Moments later, he felt hands on his shoulder's, shaking him. He shot his head up, seeing Kaeya looking at him in fear, and distantly, he heard his name...

"Diluc. Diluc. Diluc! Say something!"

Diluc stared at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but he only ended up jerking his head down, coughing into his elbow, seeing blood on his black coat... Kaeya noticed, too, frozen in shock.

"What happened?" he asked, his eye wide in shock.

"I..." Diluc rasped out, and his eyes widened in shock.

He realized what he had done.

He. He slept with someone who was most definitely not the one he had sworn himself to. Some-some random woman who was likely enchanted by the prospect of a rich man.

"Diluc!" Kaeya shouted, afraid, "What happened?"

Diluc shoved himself up, his hand on Kaeya's shoulder, already rushing to run out and all the way back to the Winery-but not before Kaeya grabbed him, stopping him, strength near equally matched.

"'Luc, I'm not letting you go anywhere until you-"

"I did," Diluc was still gasping for air, "I did something terrible." He admitted, with no small amount of pain.

"What did you do?" Kaeya asked, "Don't run, don't run, you're going to choke on your own blood-"

"No!" Diluc shouted, throwing Kaeya off his arm, running on pure adrenaline, even as his face was beet red, and his vision blurred.

But he needed to confess his sins, immediately, he needed to... now, now, now!

He heard Kaeya shout, but in the end, as he had to stop just to rasp for air again, the burn of alcohol still in his throat, he heard no shouting, nothing but the sound of his thundering heartbeats in his own ears.

Finally, he got to the Winery. You saw him, shocked, seeing his red face and how distressed he was, his hair nothing short of a fluffy mess.

"Diluc," you run over, he leaning on you, just to not collapse from the lack of air, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." He shuttered out, sucking in a breath, "I cheated on you."

You were reeling, "You-What?"

"I-I accidentally drank wine. I was drunk, I can't..." He was still heaving, "I can't breathe... I don't... I don't know what happened, but... She... a woman, she..."

He couldn't finish, but he didn't need to.

"You cheated on me and the first thing you did was come home and brag about it?" You asked, equal parts anguish and anger,

"No," he rasped, his knees buckling as the world tried to disappear on him, "I can't..." his hand went to his throat, "Wait..."

He didn't know what happened, but he only saw flashes after that--Your tears, his bloodied hands, you leaving.

And he was alone, on the ground, barely able to breathe, to think... to do anything.

You left him.

You were gone.

And, somehow, he wasn't mad at all. Having breathed long enough to move again, he stood... and he found the half-empty bottle of wine left on the table, the wine you adored so.

He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, feeling his throat and tongue swell, it crashing to the ground as he fell, unable to rasp even the slightest breaths,

I deserve this, he thought, I deserve this. This is all I deserve.

...

...?

For some reason, despite his better wishes, he woke up. He lay in bed, a cool, wet cloth over his forehead... his flesh burned, and his tongue was still swollen, he unable to wiggle it in his mouth. His breathing, still, was labored, but it seemed that he was still breathing, despite everything.

He watched as Adelinde cautiously walked over, looking down at his face, "... Master Diluc, are you alright?"

No, he wasn't, but he could not even sob and cry, for he could not breathe enough to do so.

A cruel twist of fate, but he was not deserving to cry, he was the one who hurt you. You did nothing but love him.

He didn't deserve anything right now.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #diluc #childe #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin childe #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #bark writes #// also dw anon i've written way more messed up stuff than this #// :)#// also idk why ppl cheat beyond the thrill of it and i wanted to make it more interesting than that #// chlide was the closest to that idea #// i got some shitty news + people who didnt stop bringing it up so this took way more time than i'd like to admit

1K notes · View notes

sky-berrie · 3 years

Text

Stitch - Damian

Summary: Another favorite trope - reader patches up a wound. Warning: mentions of blood.

The window opened behind you and you felt a cool summer night breeze brush against your neck. You didn’t bother to give the intruder any attention because you knew that Damian was the only person who could disarm the alarm and crack lock mechanism with ease. You thought the whole system was overkill but it pleased Damian to have it installed so you didn’t complain.

“Hey, Damian,” you greeted him robotically with your gaze still transfixed to your laptop screen and your back to the window. You were watching the events of the latest episode of your favorite show unfold.

You heard Damian land in your room with a grunt. He was usually quite graceful, however you guessed that his ribs and hip were still sore from the last sparing session he had with his brothers and sisters. That family took everything to a whole other level.

You heard Damian shut the window after himself. The sound of the latch being secured came next. Then you heard electronic beeps as he reactivated the alarm. “You –” he let out a sharp exhale. “You took home economics, right?”

“Yeah,” you replied, nonchalantly with a mouthful of popcorn. You didn’t take your eyes off the screen, but you heard the sound of his heavy boots carry him across your room.

“Good,” he said. A shaky breath infiltrated his normally self-assured voice. “And you remember most of it?” The bed springs creaked under his weight.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Great,” he said. “What grade did you receive?” This wasn’t all that out of character for him. Damian was competitive in all aspects of his life. You wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to compare home economics grades just so he could vaunt his skills.

“I don’t know, Damian,” you said honestly. You turned up the volume, hoping that Damian would get the hint that you wanted to watch your show in peace and quiet. “I think it was a good mark.”

Damian let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Excellent.” His voice sounded less troubled than before.

“Jon did most of my assignments,” you admitted unapologetically.

Damian was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but you attended the classes, correct?”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too focused on the climax of the episode. “Oh my goodness,” you muttered under your breath to yourself as the plot twist unveiled. “Um,” you said, remembering that Damian had asked you something. “Yeah, yeah, more or less.”

“Do you remember how to sew?”

“Sort of,” you told him. You had sewn on a button once. It didn’t look great, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

“Well enough,” he said. “I need you to suture a laceration.”

“What?” you choked out. He said it so nonchalantly that you weren’t sure if he was serious or not, because a sane person would not be so stoic. You whipped around to find Damian lying on your bed in his Robin uniform. It was soiled with a layer of black, like he had been charred. It was so dark that it masked the staining of his blood and you wouldn’t have known he was bleeding if it weren’t for the pool of red soaking through your white comforter. He was holding his side with his hands at an awkward angle.

You had seen him with cuts and bruises and even broken bones, but never with the life bleeding out of him. “Oh my goodness!” you shrieked as panic filled your lungs. Your face contorted into a horrified grimace as you tried to stifle an expression of disgust. The strong stench of metal made your stomach churn and your head woozy.

You immediately felt horrible for not paying attention to him sooner. “Damian, why didn’t you say something? Holy crap! What the hell happened? You need an ambulance!” You turned around to reach for your phone.

“No,” Damian choked out. “Secret… identity,” he said with his eyes squeezed shut.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Your dad? Alfred?”

“On their way. No time to wait. First aid kit,” he implored weakly.

You ran for the bathroom and tore into the cabinet to find the massive first aid kit that Damian insisted you store. You had opened it once or twice to grab a bandage for a paper cut but you never touched the majority of the contents. You didn’t even know what half of the kit was for. You guessed that you might find out today.

When you returned to your room, Damian was moving slowly to unbutton his uniform. You helped him with the rest, trying to do it quickly without jostling anything. You tried to ignore the squishy wetness of the uniform, but your hands came away covered in a layer of crimson blood. Beneath the outer coat, his white undershirt was seeping with blood. There was a large tear in the fabric and a bit of the raw wound peeked through.

You didn’t have a fear of blood, really. You had no qualms about donating blood or seeing it on TV. This, however, was completely different. You were more terrified than you had ever been in your entire life. You had no idea what to do - everything you knew about CPR and standard first aid had inexplicably disappeared from your brain. Silent tears began to spill from your eyes as your breaths tore in and out of your throat, ragged and shallow.

“Y/N,” said Damian, firmly. Through your blurry, wet vision, you could see him straining to make eye contact with you. “Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my instructions.”

Normally you trusted Damian, but this time his reassuring words didn’t have any kind of soothing effect on you. Your whole body was shaking now. You couldn’t find your voice. Instead, you shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N. It is going to be fine, but you must listen to me. Do you understand?”

You tried to take a deep breath, but an uncontrollable sob cut it short. If Damian could lie there halfway to death and still be composed, then you could at least pretend to be calm for his sake. You nodded your head this time, trying your best to even out your breathing. It was no use though. You couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Thank you. Cut it,” he said, motioning to his undershirt.

You did as he ordered and cut a line right down the centre of his shirt. It was warm and wet and clung to his skin, so you peeled it off to reveal the full extent of a nasty looking wound. Even through your distorted, teary vision, you saw enough to know it was not good.

You felt faint at the sight of his insides. Or maybe it was your hyperventilating making you dizzy.

“Breathe, Y/N. Breathe and then get the sterile solution to irrigate it.”

You returned with freshly washed hands, a pair of gloves and a jug of irrigation solution. Following his instructions, you squeezed the syringe and expelled the liquid over his wound. It ran down his side and carried even more blood into your comforter.

“Okay,” he breathed out. “There should be a small white packet with a curved need and thread and a pair of suture holders. They look like scissors but without the blades.”

Your trembling hands had a difficult time picking out the items. Once you collected the materials, you looked at Damian for further directions.

“It’s a bit deep so you’ll need to close the layer under the skin first. Can you see it?”

You shook your head. His side was a giant red mess. You couldn’t make out anything except for blood and jagged skin. It was nothing like the clean and clear-cut diagrams you’d seen in class. “This is crazy! I can’t do this,” you cried. People spent years studying and training to do procedures like this. Stitching up a body was not something that a person should wing, and definitely not on their best friend, lying in an unsterile room.

“You can,” he assured you. “Pretend like you’re sewing some fabric. Start with this layer here.” Damian pulled at his skin and pointed to the inside with a pair of suture forceps. You couldn’t help but turn away and shut your eyes as he prodded himself. “Y/N,” he called your attention back. “Make sure the needle goes in like this and comes out like this,” said Damian as he demonstrated.

You were shaking your head. “You are absolutely insane! Sewing fabric is nothing like sewing a wound! Can’t we just wait for your dad or someone?”

“No time,” he said.

“Please, Damian,” you begged. “Let me call EMS.”

“No,” he asserted with what little strength he had.

“Please! I…”

“No,” he repeated. You could tell his patience was wearing thin.

“I understand you have to protect your secret identity, but Damian, come on. There won’t be an identity to protect if you die.”

“Batman…Nightwing…” he said weakly.

“They’ll understand!” you argued with desperation.

“No,” he mumbled. He shook his head.

Without any thought, your next words came flooding out straight from your heart. “Damian, I love you and I don’t want you to die!” Oh. That came as a shock to you. You’d never said anything like that before. In fact, you’d never even had a thought like that, but you knew it was the truth. Your hands almost flew to cover your mouth in regret, but the blood dripping from your hands stopped you.

Damian didn’t seem to notice your confession, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Had you not been utterly distracted by the emergency before you, you might have run away with embarrassment from your sudden proclamation.

“Please try for me, okay?” His eyes were starting to close, but you could see him struggle to keep them open.

You searched his eyes, to see that his once vibrant green eyes had a dull, hazy colour to them. Seeming to find what you were looking for, you conceded. You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Okay.”

It was the worst experience of your life. Damian walked you through the process, but nothing could prepare you for the nauseating feeling of piercing his skin and pulling the nylon thread through the thickness of the tissue. Seeing the inside of his body made you want to vomit but his life was at stake, and you had to be brave for him. Besides, he was the one who should be worried, not you. Your technique was obviously non-existent and you were certain that you were hurting him a hell of a lot more than he was letting on. He hissed and groaned and you apologized profusely but he insisted that you continue.

“Thank you,” said Damian after you tied the last knot. His eyes were heavy and lidded and you could tell he was barely hanging on to consciousness. “Knew you could do it.”

You had no response. Now that the worst part was over, the adrenaline had left your system and you were in shock. His hand lolled out in an attempt to offer you comfort, or maybe to seek comfort for himself. You weren’t certain which is was, but nevertheless, you instinctively clasped his hand in yours.

Then he said something that caught you off guard. His voice was so faint that you barely heard him. “For the record, I love you, as well.”

You weren’t sure if he really meant it. Maybe he was delirious. He did lose a lot of blood. You pondered it for a moment and wondered if you should feel mortally embarrassed when he was fully lucid, but just then, a gentle squeeze on your hand told you that you didn’t have to worry.

#Damian Wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #BatFam #batfam x reader #batfam x y/n #damian wayne imagine #batfam imagine #batboys #batboys x reader #batboys imagine #robinchicklets

822 notes · View notes

sweetsbfreex · 3 years

Text

a father’s duty

Summary: brought to u by the wholesome picture of Cevans sewing up dodger’s stuffed lion 🤧

Warnings: Talk of trauma (nothing too in depth) and talk of sex

Pairings: Dad, Husband!Ransom x reader

You and Ransom were cuddled up together on the couch, some random movie he had chosen that you weren’t paying attention to. You wanted to cuddle, but he insisted on watching this movie so a compromise had to be made. And the feeling of his hand going up and down, inside your shirt, against your arm; Could only make you purr in contentment.

And you were meant to doze off if it wasn’t for the dramatic, high pitched scream of pure agony. You both shot up from your seats, looking at each other wide eyed before dashing up the stairs (Ransom ahead).

Until you were in the doorway of an overly purple room.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Ransom let a small, stunned gasp at the feel of a teary eyed four year old, Celeste bolting to his legs. Her small arms had tried to wrap around his legs as she sobbed into his jeans, fists tight as she clutching the denim.

Confused you had leant down adjacent to her, Ransom peering down from his stance, lifting her arms to softly run circles over her back.

“What’s wrong baby?” a fake pout on your lips.

“She’s dead!” she had sobbed, her puffy cheek making contact with his expensive jeans to make eye contact with you.

“What? Who’s dead babe?” Ransom asked, tilting his head downward, eye brows stitched together.

She propped her chin up against his leg, “Daffy” she blubbered, extending her arm behind her to point at the limp stuffed bunny a few feet away.

“Fucking––” He couldn’t finish his sentence a hearty laugh emitted into the otherwise somber air, still laughing (some tears streaking his face) he had picked up the once blubbering girl so she saddled on his hip.

“Ransom! It’s not funny and language, god”

“C'mon” he dragged the n, “You gotta admit this is hilarious, she’s so dramatic...I wonder who she gets it from” he smirked, looking at you knowingly.

“You” you appointed, holding back your smile.

“As if” he scoffs rolling his eyes.

“Daffy!” Celeste exclaimed, snapping the two from their loving trance.

“Right!” you snapped yourself back into mom mode, making way to Daffy and your way back to the two, watching Ransom wipe the tears from Celeste’s face, calming her down in a hushed voice.

You sidle up next to Ransom lifting the stuffed animal, so the both of you could evaluate the state of her favorite buddy. You looked up to him, watching his face scrunch up, almost like disgust, but you knew he was just very confused.

“Jeez leste, what’d you do?”

The light yellow bunny up front was perfectly fine, but once you had turned it around a tear in the fabric of the it’s “spine” was parted, the thread poking out along the hem.

“I–– I was just spinning her around”

“Is that really what you did” you prompted.

“No..” she set forward shyly, resting her temple against her father’s shoulder. “There was a string and then I pulled it by accident”

“By accident?” Ransom asked, eyebrows raised.

“On purpose” she mumbled, eyes tearing up slowly.

Celeste is probably the biggest liar the two of you know. You both have been working on that habit, reassuring her that it was fine and being honest is better most times (minus surprises, safety, etc). You both had even resorted to acting out examples for her. She was getting better, but ever the fibber she still found a way to slip into the habit. And when you had asked her why exactly she loved lying, she only replied with a quib “It’s fun!” giggling to herself.

“Hey it’s okay, you were curious” he cooed, “Mommy will fix it don’t worry”

You looked up at him mesmerized, not so surprised at the father he was becoming. Remembering all those nights he had kept the two of you up, even the day you were in labor, he had been worried. How was he ever supposed to love a kid properly–– let alone his–– when he never had that benefit. All these what ifs running through his head in a cycle.

He had even taken it upon himself to sign you both up for those parenting classes. The ones with the fake dolls. Dolls that he held gently as if they were alive.

“I will. You’ve had a long day, love, you wanna go to bed now?” you asked her, smiling.

She nods silently, reaching her hands out to you. Ready for the familiar night routine to begin.

––––

After Celeste had been put to bed, it was not you and Ransom being the only two up. You were both in your shared bathroom, getting ready for bed.

You groaned, catching the attention of Ransom. “Sewing that thing is gonna be some work” watching yourself in the mirror as you rub in your lotion.

“You’re tying that thing together, how hard can that be?”

“I’m sewing it together”

“Tomato, Tomahto” he responded.

“Fine, since you think it’s so easy why don’t you fix it for her?”

“Deal. I’ll take another night of anal as my end” he says this confindently, not expecting another word for you, as he saunters past you briskly but not before placing a kiss to your check and a rough smack to the ass.

Ransom.

–––––

And god did he take this seriously. Making sure you were up this entire time as he achieved his new level of domesticity.

And you did, sitting up against the headboard as you watched him sit shirtless across the sized room.

He sits in the barrel chair. the stuffed animal in his lap, a spool of light pink thread to match the bunny in between his legs, and a packet of needles in his hand.

“Babe you have to––”

He holds up a hand, stopping you from saying whatever you were about to say.

“I got this babe” he tells you, looking at you wearily as he pulls up a video (‘how to sew stuffed bunny animal together’) on his phone.

You watch him watch the video,switching the show you were watching to make it seem as if you weren’t watching him too carefully.

He squints, focused as he listens to the lady in the video.

“You look so cute”

“Thanks” he grumbles, placing a thimble on his pointer finger.

He was like a cute grandmother. His eyebrows brought together and tongue poking through his cheek, which you teased him endlessly about. There was just something about watching a brawly, grumpy man like him knit. So you pulled your phone out wanting to take a quick picture.

“Put. it. down.” he tells you, not even looking away from his task.

“Wha–– You’re really creepy, you know that. Smile” you demand of him. “It’d be so cute for the album”

He of course doesn’t smile instead raising the stuffed animal to cover his face from the camera, but you were quick enough to get something before that. Smiling fondly at the adorable photo of his concentrated face. Once you had your fill of serotonin, you closed the device and reached over to set it on your nightstand.

“You gonna give me a kiss goodnight before you go?” he asks you stoically, head still looking down at his task.

“Yes Ransom. Just give me a minute’ you respond, shimmying yourself from the soft sheets. You make your way besides Ransom–– naturally he wraps one arm around your waist to bring you–– leaning down and placing a kiss to his cheek (which he smiles at) then his lips. He pulls back first only to return again for a deeper one. Sending you off, finally, with a pinch to your ass.

“Goodnight, Baby” you tell him over your shoulder on your way back to the bed.

“Night y/n/n.”

–––––

“y/n” is whispered in your ear and the shaking of your shoulder is what causes you to wake up. You turn your head over your shoulder to see Ransom standing over you gleefully.

“Ransom?” you rasp, turning your whole body over to face him, looking at the clock on your night stand. “It’s two in the morning!”

“Thanks captain obvious” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Yet, he lifts up the stuffed animal. Both hands on either paws, holding it up to show you. “I finished!”

You instantly noticed the band-aid wrapped around his thumb and the brightest smile on his face. Through it you could see how proud of himself he really was. He really was getting a hand of this dad thing he was still figuring it out.

Ransom, however, could only think about how tired he was and how strained his eyes felt––probably rimmed red. With the amount of times he had to rewatch the video because he missed or didn’t understand a step. But, for his little girl it was definitely worth it.

“Well, look at you. You did so good bub” you extend your arm up lazily to then loop it around his neck, bringing him down for a kiss.

If only his conceited friends could see him now. Thinking about how Danver, one of the many friends he had dropped, would berate him passively. Calling it a women’s role most likely.

“Thank you” he settles one more kiss, “Let’s go”

“Go where?” you chuckle

“Leste’s room...where else? She’ll need him to sleep the rest of the night comfortably” he explains, removing your arm from his neck. To gently tug your hand.

“You sure?” you ask hesitantly.

“Hundred percent, let’s go”

––––

You open the door slowly, the creaking sound it emitted making you cringe. And when you’re hushed by Ransom, you twist around instantly sending him a stink eye.

And you both stand against the side of her bed, you crouch down. Raising your hand to her shoulder.

“Lesty” you whisper, your thumb running circles over her shoulder.

She wakes up slowly, as always. The clear indication that she is awake being when she raises her hand to rub at her eyes.

“Mommy? She stops and gasps, “Are we going to Disney?” asking the question with glee, she sits up, her hands placed over her book patterned pajama pants.

You and Ransom share a short laugh. Remembering how you surprised her just like this months ago. The frown that overtakes her face makes you both want to laugh.

“I’m going back to sleep” she tells you both, already reaching for her blanket.

“Wait” you laugh, holding her hand. “There's a surprise for you”

At your announcement, Ransom steps up holding out the sewed up stuffy. Her tiny hands covered the gasp she let out, muffling it.

“She’s fixed!” she’s astonished, running her fingers along the stitches.

Celeste felt like a jumping bean with all this happiness filling her body and she wasn’t sure how to express how happy she felt. So, she jumped onto her mother, arms latched onto her neck. Kissing her cheek incessantly.

“Thank you thank you thank you-”

“Actually––” you start.

“Woah! Woah! Woah!” ever the dramatic, “Momma didn’t do this. I did babe” he tells her, a gobsmacked, playful expression on his face.

Ransom’s replica quickly unlatched herself from y/n, rocketing herself into his arms. He held onto her tightly. Falling in love with the toothy smile–– albeit it was missing a front one–– she gave him. He was rolling around in her appreciation towards his gesture. This was all he wanted. To be a better man for you to marry and be a better father for his daughter.

He brought her into him a little bit, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Anything for you Leste” he tells her in a hush.

You rise slowly from your crouch, knees a bit sore from how long you were down there. Just in awe of the love they both exerted towards each other. Ransom’s hand lightly flying over the back of her head and Her tiny palm coddling his cheek.

“Time for bed?” you ask the two of them, your hand naturally going to Ransom and Celeste’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m tired” she tells you, dragging out the h. Setting her cheek to her dad’s muscled shoulder. Nuzzling her cheek against it lazily.

“Yeah? Well let’s put you in bed first” Ransom responds.

You walk behind the two, as Ransom sets her down gently on her bed.

He sets a kiss to her cheek then he pulls back, watching the way her arms tighten around the stuffed animal.

“You love it?” he asks, a proud smile etched on his face.

“Yes” she whispers, “Thank you, daddy” her palm caressing the top of it’s head.

“Anything for you Leste” he reaffirmed. He needed her to know that he’d do anything. Anything. To keep a smile that bright on her precious face. He didn’t want her to doubt if he ever loved her or if she could ever come to him about anything. He especially didn’t want her to think that she’d be second to his work.

He loved her too much and decided, right when you told him the news, he’d learn from his parents’ mistakes and trauma he had to deal with.

“Goodnight, honey”

He gets up from his spot watching you lean over placing a kiss to her cheek, tugging the crocheted blanket to Celeste’s chin.

“Night baby” you tell her sweetly.

“Night” she replies to the both of you before snuggling into the duck more.

––––

RIght when you shut the door, you expect to face Ransom’s back walking towards your bedroom. But try not to scream, startled, when your head meets with his chest.

You look up, probably not the smartest thing to do. “You ready for bed?” you ask nervously, each hand landing on his broad shoulders.

With the way he was looking at you, you would assume you were the last stash of biscoff cookies he always keeps fully stored in the house. Especially, with the other Drysdale in the house, the cookies went by faster when they used to.

“Don’t think so..We made a bet. Remember?” he smiles

“RIght now?!” you hiss lowly. He must have lost his mind. “You woke me up at like three in the morning”

“It was actually two” you whack his arm at his smart mouth, of course he doesn’t react. “Anyway. A bets a bet. Let’s go baby” he crouches down, lifting you up swiftly into a bride-groom like position.

“Ransom!” you whisper, taken by surprise.

“A quickie and then we’ll drop her off at your parents tomorrow to get to the real stuff tomorrow” he asserts.

With that, he picks up his speed. Taking you both down the hallway. Once he’s arrived at his destination–– the bedroom–– he throws you on the bed. Laughing to himself with how stricken you look. You should be used to this by now, he tells himself.

“Ransom!” is the last of his name he hears with a tone of scolding mixed with shock, before he gets to work. When he climbs on top of you quickly––like a lion to prey––biting your neck.

if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfiction #dad!ransom #dad!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale drabble #ransom drysdale one shot #ransom drysdale fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x fem!reader #husband!ransom #dad ransom drysdale

1K notes · View notes

gyeomsweetgyeom · 3 years

Text

you suck at crushes

College!Yangyang x College!Reader x College!Renjun

summary: Renjun wants to help you get with Yangyang who wants to help you couple up with Renjun but they’re both annoying, maybe one less than the other

word count: 4.2k

(warnings: swearing, mentions of food) ((lmk if I missed anything))

Taglist! @lanadreamie

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!! I swear reader ends up with only one guy I just don’t want to give away the ending and I know the summary is ass

God it was like the beams of sunshine just followed him around. Providing him with a natural spotlight that only worked to draw your attention to him even more than usual. The voices around you faded into background noise, and everything else besides him became so fuzzy you could only focus on the one and only- Liu Yangyang.

“Hello?” “Y/N!” “Are you listening to us?” Someone gripped your shoulder and shook you until you were out of your Yangyang-induced-haze. “Huh? Oh yeah… totally.” You answered with absolutely no idea about the conversation happening at the very table you sat at.

Your friends snorted, teasing and making fun of you. A kissing noise, a high pitched teasing exclamation of the man of the hour’s name, and some playful elbows being jabbed into your side. When they finally stopped with the teasing and they actually filled you in you were able to answer some questions about the times at the library.

You slipped into your seat in your geology class, a poor choice on your behalf and quite frankly the school for describing it as something that would be ‘fun and exciting.’ What a total load of BS that was. The professor was an old man that went on and on about his days in the field 40 years ago and rambled on and on about subjects that were 70% of the time not on the tests. However, the one and only bright side was that you had your favorite distraction in this class, Yangyang.

How could one person asking a question about the tectonic plates or the striations on a stupid rock be so attractive? He made it possible.

“Staring yet again?” An annoying voice asked quietly, just inches from your ear.

“Who are you?” You asked annoyed.

“Y/N, that isn’t funny anymore. Not the first time you did it and not the hundreds of times after that. We lived on the same street for years before you decided to follow me here.” He answered with a huff.

“Renjun, will you just go away? You know I’m no good at this so go bother someone else.” You replied. You took your eyes off Yangyang, gave Renjun a quick glare, and focused back on the lab work in front of you. Something stupid about hills or some moutain. Wasn’t this class supposed to be about rocks?

“I don’t need help, I came to help you. We’re friends- shhhh.” Renjun started, quickly shutting you up before you could interrupt. “I can help you with this lab and help you win over your beloved Yangyang.”

You sent him a quizzical look. In all the years you had known Renjun he had never been this... generous- always wanting something in return. “He and I are friends, he’s been super annoying lately and complaining about some final project we decided to do together, but we have months to do it. If I help you guys get together in order to distract him, then he can stop bothering me about that final project. It’s a win-win-win situation.” He explained.

Well, that made a lot of sense. “What do you even have in mind? Yangyang and I don’t talk like we used to, how could we go from strangers to dating in just a couple months.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You were the person to show him around school when he was the new kid all those years ago when we were kids, you’re in better standing than you think. We all went to the same school, we already know each other, we all have this class, and I’m not going to let this fail because I do not fail. If I have to hear about the final project one more time I will rip all the hair off his head, three strands at a time.” Renjun pouted.

“You sound completely crazy-”

“If you two need some help all you have to do is ask, I don’t need you two to argue and disrupt the class. Mr. Liu, since you seem to have a good understanding of the assignment, would you mind helping them out?” The professor called out.

You and Renjun sent each other incredulous looks, were you really talking that loudly? “It’s earlier than expected, but don’t worry I got this,” Renjun whispered.

“You know if you guys had just spoken quietly, I could have left early but here I am. You can’t do anything without me can you?” Yangyang teased Renjun.

“Oh, it wasn’t me. Y/N here is just so stupid, I was trying to explain the lab and it’s like all my words go in one ear and out the other. Maybe you can explain better than I can.” Renjun gestured toward you wildly.

You immediately went to defend yourself but stopped when instead, Yangyang came to your defense. “Y/N isn’t stupid like you Injun, if you wanted some attention you didn’t have to bother someone innocent.”

Your face felt so hot, god this attention was too much to handle so suddenly. It was as if Renjun had thrown you into the deep end of a pool when you had just learned about the entire concept of swimming itself. If this was his attempt at getting you and Yangyang together you were now questioning the entire idea. It was just too much to handle so suddenly.

Yangyang quickly went on to explain the idea of the lab, giving you some tips to make the work easier and how it connected to past lessons. “Do you understand it a little more now?” He asked you.

You hissed when someone stomped on your foot beneath the table. Your eyes met Renjun’s while he discreetly shook his head, seemingly trying to send you some kind of message. But it seemed whatever he was sending was received because you quickly caught on, answering, “Oh uh, this whole class has actually been a bit more difficult than I anticipated, and you seem to have a way better understanding than I do. Would you be willing to maybe meet up sometime and just help a little more?”

“I’m free on Wednesday afternoons, let’s exchange numbers so maybe we can find out what you struggle the most with and what time works for you. Renjun are you coming too, you seemed to get the lab when I explained it,” Yangyang replied.

Renjun answered with a simple nod, sending Yangyang on his way for the remainder of the class. He was quiet the rest of the time, still sitting beside you. When the class was over he looked over at you, “This is going to be so much easier than I thought.”

Some point in the week after class you had all decided on the meeting place and time. Some little cafe just off campus after Yangyang was done with his last class of the day. He said the coffee was good and it wasn’t even expensive, to which Renjun was quick to add that they had friends working there so they got discounts.

Renjun insisted on meeting you a little earlier to go over the details of the plan he had finally come up with. The plan mainly consisted of you just catching up with Yangyang, which would then progress to just the two of you hanging out, then bam! Dating! Much easier said than done you were quick to point out. His plan was just an idea with no details. Like what do you talk about? How do you make him like you? What kinds of things does he like? Could he even like you romantically?

“He actually mentioned to me that he was happy to talk to you again, so I have very high hopes. That was one conversation with him that was not about the final. Just have some hope.” Renjun shrugged.

“You make this sound so simple, but you are not the one risking being embarrassed by telling the guy you’ve had a crush on since you were 10 about your feelings and having even less of a relationship than you’ve had for the past like 6 years.” You huffed.

“Since you were 10? That’s a little embarrassing.” Renjun let out.

Ever since you were kids it was like Renjun knew the exact words and actions to push your every button. Always getting on your nerves and getting under your skin. It was foolish of you to believe that he had matured enough to not tease you, even in your 20s and even in college. Huang Renjun sucked.

You brought your hands up to his neck, fully ready to wrap your hands around his neck and just squeeze- just enough pressure for him to get the idea to just shut up. But of course, that would be unacceptable in public and even less appropriate seeing as Yangyang had come right up to the table before you could do so. You improvised, changing your intended action of a throat squeeze to a nice hug, arms wrapped tightly around Renjun’s shoulders. You smiled brightly, tilting your head away from Yangyang so your lips were right beside Renjun’s ear, “I can go another 10 years buddy, learn to shut your damn mouth. I for one know how to follow through with my threats and will actually pull your hairs from your head- Yangyang, so good to see you!”

Yangyang looked between the both of you curiously, side by side, one with a bright, beaming smile and the other flushed, scared look on their face. He shook it off and pulled out his study materials while making small talk.

By the end of the study session you felt more confident in your geology skills and your chances with Yangyang. He had gotten exponentially cooler as he got older than the kid you met all those years ago. Sure, he was still chaotic and sarcastic, even still a little dramatic, but it nonetheless made your heart skip a beat, just like the first time you laid eyes on him.

Over the next few weeks Renjun slowly stopped coming to the study sessions. He always had some excuse or another, that neither you or Yangyang ever really questioned. In those few weeks you and Yangyang had grown closer as friends, texting each other about more than just class, checking in on each other, sending stupid memes and tiktoks, even a few inside jokes.

But of course, Renjun had to have his time too. Instead of just texting you, he would make conversation anytime he saw you on campus, even going as far as asking you to hang out when he wanted to know what was going on. Every night without fail, he would FaceTime you for at least an hour and a half to ask for very detailed updates which at some point became you two just talking about your days in general. He liked to judge your every decision, giving his own input on even minor things like the seat you sat in for a class he didn’t even have. He said his life lacked drama so he needed to live vicariously through his friends.

“I know we usually meet at the cafe, but even with that discount I really shouldn’t be spending all that money there every week. Do you mind if we meet at mine this week? I promise my roommate buys enough snacks to feed the whole complex and he makes me clean the place every week.” Yangyang suggested about a month and a half into your studying arrangement.

You of course agreed, you’d be crazy to not want to go to your crush’s home, just the two of you- alone, and talking about… rocks.

So when the next week came and Wednesday afternoon rolled around, you found yourself standing right outside your crush’s door, fist raised to knock. You were so nervous, just being alone with him in his home! This wasn’t the cafe where you had other people around, where you knew where things were, close to your home. No, this was his house, and that made you beyond nervous.

He pulled the door open, a wide smile on his face as he welcomed you in. He set your things at his kitchen table and gave you a short tour of the home. “My roommate will be back later tonight, but he made us some food if we get hungry later,” He told you while he brought out his own supplies, once again ready to conquer your weekly study session.

And even though you did at one point struggle very much with the subject, this particular topic seemed easier to understand. So after even correcting Yangyang a few times, the study session became more of a hang out session. So casual that you even answered Renjun’s texts, chuckling at him freaking out in all caps because you were in Yangyang’s home.

“No, but Renjun did that last time we hung out too! We were in public, like full on glass of water spilled across the table and he got so red,” you laughed recalling the memory from just a few weeks ago after watching Yangyang do the same.

Then just a few minutes later when you were both watching TV you mumbled, “I think Renjun would like this show. This is on Netflix right?”

Yangyang being the smart kid that he is, had pieces coming together in his mind, ideas that he wasn’t even sure if you knew yet. He was going to make this happen.

Renjun sat in front of Yangyang, a month before the end of the semester, finally working on the final project. Which, thanks to you, had not been mentioned even once since you and Yangyang started hanging out until a week ago.

After finishing his part for the day Yangyang leaned back in his chair, sighed and smiled. “I think I’m going to ask Sua from our history class out.”

Renjun choked on his drink, did Yangyang really have to pick the exact moment he took a sip of his drink to tell him this? He cleared his throat, “Since when do you like her?”

Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, explaining that Sua worked at the cafe he was always at and at some point they just kind of hit it off.

Renjun nodded, a little excessively. In his head he was trying to figure out what the hell to do. He knew you liked Yangyang and how hurt you would be if Yangyang suddenly had a girlfriend. At this moment, you were the only thing on Renjun’s mind. “Really? I actually thought you and Y/N might be a really good match, and you guys obviously get along well.” He replied.

Yangyang hid his smirk by taking a sip of his drink, “I don’t know, Y/N is really just much more of a friend than anything. Like don’t get me wrong Y/N is cool, but I see Sua more romantically.”

Before Renjun even had time to process his words and think of the consequences, he suddenly blurted out, “Well, Y/N likes you- and has liked you since we were kids. You have to think about more feelings than just your own Yangyang. Think of Y/N.”

“Like you think about Y/N?” Yangyang replied. Renjun tilted his head in confusion, trying to understand what Yangyang was talking about.

“I know you never grew out of that crush you had in middle school- it’s that cute childhood neighbors to lovers thing. I know that whole plan you made so I could finally pay attention to Y/N, and while I admit it worked, because Y/N is a cool friend, this plan didn’t work the way you wanted it to. I see the way you look at Y/N and every time we hang out that’s all you can talk about. I’m smarter than you Injun, I know.”

Renjun flushed, these were emotions that he had buried deep down years ago. In just two months Yangyang had uncovered and brought his emotions to light. Emotions that had at one point been disguised as that annoying 13 year old kid that would bother you to your wit’s end and now evolved to Renjun putting your emotions before his own. Days that were once filled with him tugging on your hair or tapping on your shoulder and looking away as if it weren’t him, had now become days of texting or facetiming you regularly just to catch up like he had wanted.

“I think you should tell Y/N how you feel, don’t underestimate your chances.” Yangyang told Renjun as they made their way out of the cafe.

When Yangyang told you that he knew you liked him, that he wasn’t interested, that he was actually going to date Sua from his history class, you thought you would be more upset. Embarrassed that he knew you liked him all this time, angry that he didn’t tell you earlier, or heartbroken that your crush of almost 10 years didn’t like you like you liked him. But you weren’t. You weren’t embarrassed, or angry, or heartbroken. You felt fine, it felt like he was just telling you what he ate for lunch. “Okay, so how do you tell the difference between these crystals again?” You replied with a nod.

“And I know you like Renjun.” He added quietly.

You looked up suddenly, eyes wide with shock, “What?”

“Come on Y/N, I think this whole ‘Renjun annoys me to no end’ is just a ploy. Whenever we hang out he’s all you talk about, you guys FaceTime like every night, right? You smile every time he texts you, and even though you play it off as ironic shit-posting- those stories you always post with all the hearts and cheesy ass captions stopped being a joke at some point. You may not have realized it but even with Renjun as just a friend to you now, he means more to you than I do.”

You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, “You know you’re smarter than you look, but I really don’t like you psychoanalyzing me.”

He laughed loudly, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t exactly have a good record with crushes, obviously. I don’t know what to do now,” you quietly answered, “Anyway this seems like a good ending point, we’ll meet one more time before the final right? Just text me if you need anything alright?”

Before Yangyang could even stop you or try to reassure you, you were hastily packing up your things and out the door. How was he going to get the two of you together now?

It seemed that mother nature seemed to understand the tornado of emotions that were happening for you and Renjun, though you both had no idea about one another, what had started off as a gorgeous spring day had become a dark and rainy spring night. Even Yangyang laid in his bed, unable to sleep as he remembered that he had failed to mention or even plan out- that neither of you knew you liked each other. That would have been nice to know, but it was a little too late for that now seeing as it was like two in the morning.

If you liked Renjun, which it sounded like you did, according to Yangyang and the more you thought about it, it really felt like you did. Not some surface level ‘I like to admire you from afar for 10 years’ crush but rather a ‘I like you and want to spend time with you and I’d hate to see you smile at anyone else like you smile at me and possibly fall in love.’ You sat straight up in bed, flashes of the lightning outside lit your room up, did you just think about falling in love with Renjun? Before you could process anymore thoughts you pulled on a coat and some shoes, grabbing the umbrella you kept by the door. You had to tell Renjun how you felt.

Stepping out of your apartment complex, you thanked the love gods for allowing Renjun to live just a few blocks away from each other and not across town. There was no doubt in your mind that by the time you reached him, you would be soaked to the bone, but you had to do this. There was no point in keeping this crush to yourself just for nothing, you had to take the risk and just hope for the best. Best case scenario, you get a boyfriend, and worst case, well then you don’t talk to him for another few years and every time you see him your heart feels like it's being stomped on. You know, something that could become a regular feeling.

You hurried through the storm, dodging large puddles while trying your best to stay beneath the awnings of the buildings. You stopped at a light, looking out into the rain to see just how much further you had until you got to Renjun’s place. But instead you focused on the sight of someone rushing through the rain to get to the opposite end of the crosswalk. You squinted through the downpour, realizing that the person at the other end of the crosswalk was “Renjun?”

You rushed toward him, lucky that there were no cars at this hour of the night to dodge. He ran forward, meeting you in the middle, pulling your hand forward so that the umbrella covered you both. “What are you doing out here?” He asked you loudly so you could hear him over the rain.

“I was coming to see you,” you started, meeting his eyes that told you he was waiting to hear more, “Renjun I like you. I really like you. I don’t smile, or laugh, or feel happy or even feel annoyed with anyone else like I feel when I’m with you. I want to be happy and date you, use your stupid plans to plan dates for us. I don’t want anyone else but you.”

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that. I’ve had a crush on you since middle school, you don’t know how happy this makes me.” He beamed, using his free hand to cup your cheek.

His hands were wet, and his fingers were cold as they cupped your warm cheek. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” You asked.

He surged forward, lips meeting your own in a passionate kiss as your eyes fluttered shut. Your lips moved against his own, wrapping your free arm around his neck to pull him closer. He let his other arm fall to bring you closer by the waist, deepening the kiss. With one arm holding up the umbrella you decided to just fuck it, dropping the umbrella you placed your hand at the back of his neck.

A sudden honk made the two of you jump apart, rushing back to the end of the crosswalk to avoid getting hit by an angry driver.

“You crazy kids! Living your movie moment! I did it!” You heard a voice yell over the pounding rain.

“Yangyang?” Both you and Renjun called out upon catching sight of Yangyang leaning out his car window.

He smiled, gesturing for the two of you to get in the car. You both shuffled into the backseat, hands held close and sitting side by side to warm each other up after being out in the horrible weather for so long. You were both shivering, teeth chattering, and lips nearly blue from the cold.

“Aren’t you guys glad I meddled? I mean look at you guys, all cute and cuddled up after your adorable kiss in the rain.” Yangyang giddily smiled as he shook some of the water out of hair.

“Can you just take us back to mine, I’d like to get dry so we don’t get sick. If that’s ok with you,” Renjun asked, whispering the last bit to you.

You nodded, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Yangyang nodded, putting the car in drive, chatting your ears off about how happy he was that the plan worked even when he didn’t plan well considering he forgot to mention that you liked each other. He told you both that he was on his way to Renjun’s to tell him that you liked him and force him to FaceTime you and confess.

He pulled up in front of the apartment complex, turning to give you a cocky smirk before you could even get out of the car or thank him for the ride, “So is Injun a good kisser?”

“This whole car ride made me realize how much you suck, seriously. I clearly made the right choice, so I hope and pray for your sake Sua has a mountain of patience, like you never shut up- ever. Thank you for the ride.” You ranted angrily before you made your way out of the car.

Yangyang’s jaw fell in fake offense, “You sure know how to pick ‘em Renjun.”

But he wasn’t met with the shocked face he thought he would see, he was instead met with a dazed, lovesick look. “Yeah I do, I might be in love.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop au #kpop reactions #nct #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #nct dream x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct au #nct x reader #renjun fluff #renjun imagines #Renjun Scenarios #renjun x reader #renjun fic

159 notes · View notes

nopelleen · 3 years

Text

Perish, Pretty Please (5/5)

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rick Flag was known to be a pretty good leader, it was the reason why he had been chosen to lead a squad of infamously reckless and idiotic criminals, however it was a lot harder to maintain his authority when one member of the team despised his guts for seemingly no reason.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Rick Flag x Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.7k

ɴᴏᴛᴇ: it took me so long, but it’s finally there -- the last part! I started this fanfiction knowing I had a tendency not to finish them and I’m honestly so proud right now, I hope you’ll enjoy this last part as much as I enjoyed writing all of this! (also please let’s all have a moment of silence to remember the moment my hopeful, foolish ass actually posted the first part with “1/2″ in the title)

“Nope, there’s something we gotta take care of first."

You watched with blatant bafflement as the three men nonchalantly walked away from the blazing truck that had been transporting them merely minutes ago. There was almost a bit of disappointment in your heart as you watched the plan you and Cleo had so meticulously orchestrated on your way here vanish into thin air. It was a shame – your rescue plan involved a lot more wow factor. Had you known the outcome of this small drawback, you wouldn’t have put so much effort into it; but how could you have guessed the three of them would find a way out of a van guarded by multiples soldiers all the while handcuffed and therefore supposedly incapacitated? That was absurd.

“Don’t look so surprised, it’s insulting.”

You shot Flag a tight lipped, mocking smile as a response to his friendly jab, clearly recognizing the words you had used against him in the afternoon. Your sardonic grimace poorly mirrored the playful smirk the colonel adorned as he walked towards the van, and you were surprised to feel your heart swell a bit when you noticed his smile spread into a genuine one as he walked past you, slightly shaking his head in amusement.

Without even questioning how they had gotten themselves out of that prickly situation, you whirled around and followed suit as Rick climbed back into the van, telling Milton the small change of plan. That one enthusiastically nodded before happily informing the squad that you’d reach the city by dawn, making you realize you had spent a good chunk of the night at that bar and yet did not feel that tired yet – which might just have been from the adrenaline released into your system at the sight of your three teammates walking out of a blazing vehicle.

“You sleep, I watch Thinker,” Nanaue suggested as he heavily lumbered towards the back of the van, where the hostage was surprisingly staying very still, wise enough not to attempt anything while sharing the same space as King Shark.

Your steps faltered as you entered the van, your gaze hesitatingly flickering towards the seats in the back which appeared way too crowded for your liking. You usually would’ve simply gone back to your seat at the front, but Rick was now occupying the one near the window, probably as a way to stay close to the driver.

With a reluctant sigh, you were about to follow King Shark towards the back when Rick casted a pointed look towards you before patting the seat beside him in case you did not understand.

Relief washed over you and you didn’t even need to give it a second thought before flopping onto the space beside him, glad not to have to settle for a spot anywhere near Peacemaker. Your muscles were stiff as you quite literally bounced onto the cushion, and as soon as your back did as much as graze the backrest, the entire day of walk, hours of dancing and minutes of worrying about Flag’s well-being caught up with you with a dizzying speed.

If earlier that day you had been able to fight off sleep vigorously, you now found yourself melting into the cushion of your seat as soon as you flopped onto it. At first, you remained steadfast, refusing to yield to your basic human needs as you forced yourself to sit up straight, but then there was a strong gravitational pull making you sway a bit on your seat as your head started lolling forward, and then another pull – Rick’s hand, this time – gently steering you back into your seat. Incapable of fending off the drowsiness any longer, you surrendered and finally allowed yourself to loosen up, feeling your head snugly land upon Rick’s shoulder as you drifted off into a soundless sleep.

-----

“Outburst, hey!”

“She’s sleeping.”

From his seat at the very back of the van, Peacemaker frowned as he craned his neck in an attempt to peer at your figure still slumped over Rick’s shoulder. “Well, wake her up,” he groused, tinges of annoyance seeping from his usually polished tone. “She’s… spewing her emotions all over the place. It’s reeking of sadness in there.”

◦◦◦

“It’s reeking in there; crack a window open, will you?”

Your finger harshly jabbed the switch, your gaze remained firmly fixed on the buildings passing by in a blur as the window lowered just a bit in an abrupt, choppy motion. From the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of your mother shooting you a brief, curious look. You hadn’t uttered a word ever since you two had left the family reunion. You knew it hadn’t been a good idea to agree to come.

The car then lapsed into another uncomfortable silence. You were both acutely aware of the thick, sweltering acrimony flooding off of you and yet still refused to address it, instead letting you bask in it with your mouth clamped shut, letting it gnaw your insides until your lungs felt charred, incapable of drawing oxygen any longer.

Why had you agreed to this? You were an adult; you didn’t need to expose yourself to this anymore.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to breathe in deeply, only for your chest to constrict, becoming painfully hollow. Tears started brimming at the edges of your vision and you finally allowed your lips to part, letting a bated breath stumble out of them with urgency.

“I heard you earlier.”

◦◦◦

“I’m not waking her up,” Rick scowled in one curt sentence, already feeling a bit on edge and therefore not wanting to dwell on the matter.

Peacemaker’s eyebrows furrowed even deeper at Rick’s unwavering tone. He usually dealt easily with negotiation and compromises, he worked well under authority and was a suitable soldier because of it, but at the moment, he couldn’t find it in himself to be patient – maybe because of how thick with tension the atmosphere had become because of you.

“We can feel her,” he insisted again, spitting the words out in an irritated hiss.

◦◦◦

“Honey, I can feel you, tone it down,” your mother complained as she kept her eyes on the road. Either your words went completely over her head, or she refused to acknowledge them, knowing that with the amount of resentment she could feel rolling off of you in waves, there was no way a discussion could lead to a good outcome at the moment. She was already having a hard time not letting the irritation get to her in spite of the smoldering atmosphere.

“I heard you talking to aunt Matty,” you reiterated. “You said it was my fault.”

“What was?”

“Dad leaving.”

The uttered words dropped like thunder in the car, leaving the air charged with electricity.

“I didn’t say that,” she rebutted with a bit of an acerbic tone. The tension was starting to get to her, slowly but steadily eating away at her mind in spite of her resolve. She could feel the resentment seeping into her like a foreign body infiltrating her immune system, but paradoxically, the angrier she got, the less willing she was to fight it off. “Don’t twist my words, you know I hate when you do that.”

◦◦◦

“I didn’t say she wasn’t allowed to sleep,” Peacemaker clarified, starting to sound a bit agitated as the tensed atmosphere got more and more on his nerves. “I’m simply saying she shouldn’t until we are.”

“She’s not hurting anyone.”

◦◦◦

“You said I was hurting him.”

“I said he was often on the wrong end of your temper. Listen, it’s—”

“Back off!”

◦◦◦

“Back off,” Rick sternly admonished him as soon as Peacemaker made a step towards the front of the bus, protectively wrapping an arm around your sleeping form. “She needs to rest. She got shot acting as a distraction so your team could make a smooth entrance, remember?” he reminded the man scornfully.

Peacemaker’s face remained calm in spite of the irritation coloring his eyes. His gaze briefly flickered from you to Flag, hesitating.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

◦◦◦

“You know how you made him feel,” your mother uttered, efficiently putting an end to the exchange.

You remembered the times during which you were moody, when you came back home after having spent the entire day feeling everyone’s emotions around you, when your father did as much as try to talk to you about it, thus instantly setting you off. He was always the spark that ignited you. Whether he was inquiring about your day, or commenting on your behavior, or even just standing a bit too close to you… He’d end up angry, hurt, aggressive – whatever you were feeling at the moment, he’d always end up feeling it too.

Your mother was just wise enough to stay away.

But you also remembered the shouts in the kitchen, the jabs, the constant bickering between them. You remembered listening to it from the stairs and then being blamed for their bad tempers. You’d be blamed for the anger, the aggressiveness, the slaps that so often echoed through the house.

She was wise enough to stay away, and yet be close enough when she’d need an excuse.

“It wasn’t just me,” you whispered through gritted teeth.

“I never said it was.”

“It was you,” you spat out as you whipped your head towards her. “You made him miserable.”

Your eyes were completely focused on her face, her pursed lips and closed-off features, and never once did you notice the way her foot slowly started pressing further onto the accelerator.

◦◦◦

You woke up with a start and instantly casted a frantic gaze around you, expecting the usual blaring horns and shouts that followed this exchange. You were surprised to find yourself in a safe environment, all wrapped up in an unexpected warm, comforting atmosphere. Usually, the second you woke up, your instincts picked up on the foul aura of anguish you had unconsciously secreted into the air, and yet, here, you could feel nothing but utter peacefulness.

One of your eyebrows formed an elegant arch as you lowered your gaze to glimpse at the warm weight wrapped around you, only for your eyes to land on a familiar calloused hand hanging from your shoulder and almost grazing your cheek. You felt a faint smile tenderly pulling at the corners of your lips before even turning your head to confirm the identity of the owner of the arm wrapped around your shoulders, and when you turned your head to direct your gaze towards Flag’s sleeping face, you simply found yourself incapable to fight it off anymore.

Then, with a fond smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you snugly nestled you head back into his side and shut your eyes, this time knowing for a fact that you wouldn’t risk infuse the atmosphere with anything else than a blissful quietude.

◦◦◦

It was chaos. Utter chaos.

Your car was long abandoned a few feet away from you, fuming after having hit another vehicle in the middle of an intersection. The driver who had started fighting with you was now in a fully blown-out fist fight with another man who had merely tried to step in for you, and the more people got out of their cars to understand what was going on, the more people got trapped under your influence and started fighting, some going as far as purposefully ramming their vehicle into another’s.

Your voice was hoarse from shouting at the driver who had first attacked you and you were now trembling with anger as you watched an entire riot unfold before your very eyes, unconsciously fueling it with intense waves of rage that'd hit any innocent that'd happen to walk a bit to close to the scene.

Someone gripped your shoulder and you tried to jerk away from the touch, whirling your head towards the person with your teeth bared, ready to attack whoever was trying to get your attention.

“Honey, focus on me, alright? Focus on me.”

The voice was rough, the tone frenzied, and yet when the hands grasped your shoulders, it was with an unexpected gentleness. The fingers were quivering with restraint, barely managing not to dig into your skin in an attempt to snap you out of it.

This staggering tenderness startled you so much that it managed to take you out of your trance for a fleeting moment, allowing reason to take over as you fought back the instinctive urge to shove the hands away. With frantic, brimming eyes, you diverted your gaze towards your mother, desperate for a comforting point of focus to latch onto like a lifeline.

A sob threatened to crawl up your throat as soon as you met her eyes. There, in the midst of all the hardly concealed anger – a glint of affection, a vacillating spike of tenderness battling to emerge from under all that vibrating rage your mind was forcefully pushing into her. With a choked-up breath of relief, you instinctively stepped forward, latching onto that abiding twinkle of kindness in spite of all that surrounding violence like a lifeline.

Then, when there was an anticipated screeching of tires coming from your side, a glimpse of grey metal flashing out of the corner of your eye, and an oh-so-familiar harrowing feeling of dread seizing your insides, you kept your eyes unwaveringly locked into your mother’s, resolutely shutting out everything else around you. You bored your gaze into hers and let your mind soak in her warmth.

The car never came, the shouts quietened down, your surroundings slowed down until coming to a complete halt, time stalled and your dream mercifully stepped away from your memories to spare you.

You stood there for ages lost into your mother’s loving gaze, until – having strayed too far from reality – your subconscious lost all senses of what was and wasn’t at the time and let the scene morph into whatever your mind desired. Then, when the voice spoke up again, it wasn’t your mother standing before you anymore, but a person you now trusted more than you ever thought you would.

“Don’t be scared of me.”

-----

“We need to help these people.”

The words went completely over your head as you despairingly gaped at the glass in front of you, feeling cold to your bones.

You had gotten a bad feeling as soon as the elevator doors had cracked open.

There hadn’t even been time to make a step forward before you had gotten hit by the foul, repugnant thickness sullying the air with a strength that almost had you rearing your head back a bit. For a dizzying second, the vile and nauseating reek had left you standing there, blearily blinking as your senses had desperately struggled to accommodate to the repellent atmosphere. Yet, in spite of the tears brimming at the corners of your eyes just from the sheer despondency emanating from the place, you had been far from imagining the atrocity, the barbarism of the experiments that were taking place down here.

Despite your reluctance, you had been forced to follow the others as they had stalked out of the elevator, engaging into the dark and humid place with feeble, hesitant steps. As you had all crossed the small entrance leading to the laboratory, you had needed to fight your instincts that they had urgently pleaded you to simply whirl around and run back into the elevator.

Every breath you had taken weighed heavily on your tongue, the pungency sticking to the walls of your throat and poisoning your lungs. Every other second you had spent down there had simply felt like another year taken off your life, the wretched atmosphere slowly eating away at your brain like acid.

In spite of all of that, it had taken some time for the horror to truly dawn on you.

The despair had crept into your heart with every step you had made into the cellar, and then, when you had gotten to the center of it, you had felt for the very first time of your life an intense claustrophobia swarming your heart. Surrounded by a sea of decaying bodies all bound together by the same searing, devastating agony, the hostile basement had quickly gone from a gruesome laboratory to a deadly trap slowly closing in on you.

With nothing but wandering bodies all around you, you felt at the bottom of a pit of wretchedness, your head swelling with an intense, overwhelming pain. It was as though you were entrapped in the center of a microwave which was channeling thousands of screams directly towards your brain instead of radiations, however one of them was significantly stronger than the others and seemed to come from the wide glass wall right in front of you.

“Impossible, dear. They’re corpses below those stars.”

In spite of the searing agony flaring through your chest, your heartbeat seemed to slow down and settle onto a numbing, soporific pace as you unconsciously started stepping towards the wide glass, as though bewitched by the heart-wrenching wail you felt coming from whatever was hiding in that liquid.

With trembling, tentative fingers, you lifted your hand and slowly pressed your palm against the freezing glass, yearning to soothe the poor sufferer from their wrenching agony. The pain only seemed to intensify at the touch, the feeling of desolation gripping your insides as your ears started ringing, completely isolating you from the others. There was nothing else in that room but you and a desolated martyr screaming with thousand of voices right into your mind.

You watched with mournful, brimming eyes as the dark figure behind the glass started stirring until a single, colossal eye revealed itself in front of you, appearing emotionless to any common spectator and yet emitting an amount of woe that would’ve had you on your knees had you not gotten so used to sensing people’s emotions.

“Outburst?”

Rick’s voice rose up right behind you but still didn’t startle you, your eyes riveted onto the creature before you with rapt focus.

“It’s in pain,” you croaked out, the faint words scraping your dry throat like some sandpaper grating your vocal cords. “It’s in so much pain.” You shifted your fingers a bit, as if trying to press your hand closer to the glass, get closer to that strange creature, completely blind to the danger it represented. The tentacles, bumps and single eye did not matter – all you could see was the utter suffering it was in.

“Well,” the Thinker unabashedly butted in, “if I’m not mistaken regarding the purpose of your self-righteous egomaniacal mission – not for much longer.”

His words dawned on you with a dry clarity and had you shifting away from the glass in one brisk motion to whirl your head towards Rick. “We can’t kill it,” you asserted with an adamant, steadfast tone that did not match the slight waver in your voice.

“We have orders.”

Rick’s steadfast voice was way more convincing than yours, and what would’ve usually been a mere reminder of his status as colonel felt like a frustrating hindrance that only heightened the desperation swarming your heart and made you let go of the glass to tighten your fists as you turned around to fully face him.

“No, we can’t, we have to help it, it’s—”

“It’s dangerous,” Rick cut you off, his distrust-colored eyes briefly flickering towards the glass wall.

“It’s suffering!”

Your distressed screech echoed through the cellar, your plea painfully reverberating on the walls and splattering the frantic desperation dripping from your tone all around the basement.

For a fleeting moment, Flag remained speechless, as if hit with full force by the intensity of your despair. During that fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse of the hesitation flashing in his eyes, the way he seemed to ponder over the situation for even just a second, wondering what to do and which way to choose. Then, his gaze flickered to the side, briefly meeting Peacemaker’s, and you were able to pinpoint the exact moment he put his guards up again, welding back on his old mask of professionalism to tightly shut out any emotion you could try to induce in him.

There was a subtle shift in his expression, so subtle you might not even have noticed had you not been so desperately seeking any trace of support on his features. Instead of showing the understanding you were so badly hoping for, the traits of his face hardened, the glint in his eyes dimmed, and then you weren’t standing before Rick anymore, you were facing the colonel, towering over you with his back straight and his orders engraved in his mind.

You were acutely aware of the fact that the mission outweighed you; you had just hoped Rick would hold enough respect towards you to give your words the slightest bit of consideration. Apparently, this respect only allowed you one minute of his time before he completely shut you out.

With a sharp, regretful sigh, he took a step towards you and grabbed your arm with a gentle reluctance that contrasted with the harshness of his tone as he said that you needed to go with the other team.

You tried to protest but his strides were long and hasty, and before you even knew it, he was punching the first-floor button of the elevator as you stood inside of it, stunned.

Just as the doors started closing before you, you feebly parted your lips to utter one last plead; your pained, wavering voice coming out laced with betrayal. “You said I could trust you.”

When he had seemed ready to turn away as soon as the doors started closing between you, Rick’s attention seemed to be piqued by your words as he shifted his gaze back onto you, lingering in front of the elevator for just a second more.

The distress coloring your eyes melted into a sullen resignation as soon as your gaze bored into his, your chest constricting with dejection. There, under the thick coat of seriousness, in the midst of all the restrained belligerence this place inspired him, no glint of affection was to be found, no spike of tenderness desperately trying to emerge from the vibrating anger – nothing but cold, glaring callousness.

Not Rick.

Colonel.

-----

“Where’s Flag?”

Bloodsport turned his gaze towards you, and you instantly recognized the apologetic look in his eyes.

As he grimly shook his head, you finally experienced it firsthand – the agony of a thousand people.

-----

“Apparently Waller sent something to his hospital room. People are joking and saying she sent flowers, but if you want my opinion the old hag probably sent him a reminder that his contract doesn’t cover paid sick leaves.”

The voice, just like the steps accompanying it, echoed through the corridor and kept getting closer to your cell, undoubtedly coming from yet another guard who’d attempt to get a word or a reaction out of you – anything that’d stop them from having to book in an appointment with the jail therapist.

You had seen many of them pass by while you had spent days in a temporary cell during your recovery but hadn’t thought they’d keep on sending them after having transferred back in your old cell this morning.

The landscape change didn’t make any difference for you, as you simply kept on staring at the wall for hours on end with the most irksome gloomy look clouding your features.

You couldn’t think about anything else than Rick.

You didn’t think you had even truly processed it yet. It had happened too fast.

Within the span of a few days, the colonel had somehow gained your trust, slowly leading you to warm up to him by showing you an affection you hadn’t experienced in years. It felt like he had turned your world upside down, made everything brighter with the prospect of saving lives alongside a superior who truly valued you, and then you had made the mistake of letting him out of your sight, forced to walk away from that dreadful laboratory for just a few minutes, and he had died there, the one person on this earth who you could genuinely trust now buried under the rumbles in that bottomless pit of agony.

You had mulled over it what felt like a thousand times already and you just could not figure out how to simply go on with your life. Not when your one chance at a brighter future had been squandered so violently as soon as you had turned your back to it.

Somehow, it felt like your fault.

You had been careless, unfocused. You had forcefully dragged Rick’s attention away from the mission at hand only because you were too weak to handle the downsides of your ability, your eyes pathetically overflowing with tears of empathy as the rest of your team simply tried to achieve the mission. You had distracted Rick as that one had been forced to take you to the elevator like a child, had unconsciously helped Peacemaker steal a secret file and forced Cleo to try and stop him on her own before Flag could come to her aid.

The file had been retrieved, but only after Bloodsport had stopped Peacemaker from coldly eliminating Cleo. Only after Rick’s body had already been left laying soundly in the laboratory.

They had fought with all their might for that file, for those values you had accused Flag of lacking merely days ago, and you hadn’t even been there.

It had been crushing to find out that the trust you held towards him had been misplaced, but it was nothing in comparison to discovering he shouldn’t have trusted you either.

You forcefully swallowed back the lump in your throat when you heard the steps finally come to a halt right by your cell and had a hard time concealing the startled look on your face when a very familiar voice rose up.

“Well well well, from what I’ve heard little princess doesn’t want to eat anymore?”

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end at the falsely dulcet tone dripping with a syrupy looking but dangerously abrasive poison. You had to keep yourself from gritting your teeth as your gaze caught up on Griggs’ silhouette standing before your cell from the corner of your eye.

“You’re not even gonna make an effort for me?” he teased you as his lips spread into a sneering smile that made him look more moronic than sadistic due to the absolute lack of sagacity behind his eyes.

You kept your mouth tightly shut and your eyes riveted to the wall across from you, trying to muster the blankest expression you could not to let him affect you but feeling a peeved expression weighing down on your features nonetheless.

“Aww, guys it looks like we’re gonna have to use the feeding tubes,” Griggs ironically groaned, turning towards his colleagues with a facetious glint in his eyes. One of them instantly stepped up to open the door to your cell, not even needing to think twice about the threat just emitted. “You know how much I hate doing that,” he then kept on jeering, much to the amusement of the other guards.

You waited with anticipation as he stepped into the cell, feeling your entire body buzzing with an overpowering apprehension, not having a clue of what you could do but knowing for a fact that with all the adrenaline slowly being spread into your system, there was no way you’d let Griggs go back to his old mistreatment.

His filthy fingers barely grazed your skin, and, as though electrified, you jumped to your feet, putting some distance between you and him. You kept your eyes determinedly fixated in front of you but could see from the corner of your eye how stunned he was by your abrupt reaction. He had gotten to the unresponsive side of you that had emerged after only a few months here, the poor figure staying down on the ground and no longer batting an eyelash at his constant abuse. His face remained dazed for a fleeting moment before the ghost of a smirk reappeared on his features.

After all, he had broken you once, it’d be no bother to do it a second time.

“What, you go on one mission with Task Force X and then you don’t like me anymore?”

He reached out a hand again, much more aggressively this time, and you jolted away, instinctively bringing a hand up without even knowing if you were willing to take the risk of hitting him.

“Step away from her, Griggs.”

The stone cold words loudly rang through the cell and heavily fell between you both, instantly followed by a deafening silence as Griggs’ hand hovered in the air for a fleeting moment, just inches away from the skin of your arm.

Then, for a dizzying, fleeting moment, it felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the cell.

Chill shivers of relief racked your spine before your brain even had time to process the voice, and then, when the familiarity of it finally sank in, you felt as though some freezing water had been dumped over you, leaving you soaked and shivering in the middle of your cell – only this time Griggs wasn't the cause of it.

You whirled your head towards the entrance of your cell with a vertiginous speed and had to bite back a choked-up noise from stumbling out of your lips when your gaze landed upon the owner of the voice glowering at Griggs with a murderous look in his eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Griggs pointed out sheepishly, letting his arm limply drop to his side now that his focus had been completely taken off of you.

“I was feeling better,” Rick informed him with a tight-lipped smile which then briskly dropped from his features. “Now stand down,” he repeated himself, his voice steadfast and as neutral as he could muster it. “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you. I’ve seen what you did to her, and I’d love to show you what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the blade.”

The threat made the cell go utterly silent and for just a second, the sweetest second ever, all traces of amusement vanished from Griggs’ suddenly pale face. He looked started, nervous, oh so pathetic, and then when he finally regained his composure enough to quickly muster up the most serious look he could to paint on his pallid features, he had already lost all respect from every occupant of the room.

“You’d risk your job for a bitch who told you to eat shit five minutes into your mission?”

There was an imperceptible twitch on Rick’s features at the reminder. He had to briskly fight off a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips, but you could still discern the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes and had to swallow back a choked-up laugh – your heart swarming with a bunch of overwhelming emotions you couldn’t even identify at the moment.

His eyes briefly flickered to you. “Apparently,” he conceded with the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, before he cast his gaze back on Griggs and recovered a cold, severe expression. “And, trust me, given how liked you are around here, I don’t think I’d risk more than a paid leave even if I attempted to murder you.”

Yet another sullen silence fell over the cell like a heavy fog, and this time, Griggs made the wise decision of not shattering it, containing his anger within a single huff before stalking out of the cell with heavy steps that made him akin to a stomping child. His colleagues briefly glanced at Rick, not quite knowing what to do, before meeting his eyes and promptly deciding to follow Griggs’ decision.

“You’re alive,” you breathlessly uttered as soon as you were both left alone.

“A bit roughed up, but yes, alive,” he winced back, turning his gaze towards you.

You knew he couldn’t feel the blissful exultation swarming your heart now that your ability was smothered by the collar secured around your neck, but you hoped he could see it in your eyes and in the way you just couldn’t seem to blink those relieved tears away.

Rick took a few steps towards you and let out a bated breath, as if he was finally allowed to exhale, as if he hadn’t been able to feel comfortable until standing near you again – and you then knew for a fact that if he couldn’t see the exultation in your heart, he at least felt it as well.

Without another word, he then tentatively brought a hand up before letting it hover uncertainly in the air. He seemed hesitant as if he wasn’t sure how to act anymore now that his mask of professionalism was gone, and you couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle. This was enough for a single droplet to finally fall from your brimming eyes, and the way Rick’s gaze seemed to soften even more at the sight of it almost led you to shedding a few more.

With utter cautiousness, he brought his hand to your face to brush the stray tear away and then left it there, his warm palm cradling your cheek.

“Looks like I’ve won again,” he said in a breath, the words merely stumbling out of his lips as if he were afraid to break that frail, tender moment of vulnerability between the two of you. His thumb gently stroked your cheek again and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your gaze never once leaving his. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You had once said that the only way for Rick to ever get close to you was for you to give out your last breath, and yet, ever since that very vow you had felt yourself ever-so-slowly opening up to him, as though there was something in the air and it was killing you softly.

Now that the sweet, sweet poison had filled up your lungs – all wrapped up in his arms and boring your gaze into his with a wide-eyed fascination – you chose to completely let go of that vow, braving the risk to perish and merely uttering back two candid, gentle words.

“Pretty please.”

tag list: @honovi18, @jackdanieltorrance, @mochminnie , @themightyredwood, @taternuts, @weallhaveadestiny , @derangedcupcake, @to-be-or-not-to-be-2021, @vvipgot7be, @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine, @lacontroller1991, @navs-bhat, @monkeyyellowsunshine, @ajeff855, @brokenwhitegirlsworld, @agirlonfire95, @kingtwhiddleston, @cluelessnitwhit, @davnwillcome, @xoxabs88xox

#dc #tss #the suicide squad #rick flag x reader #rick flag headcanon #rick flag imagine #rick flag fanfiction #joel kinnaman #suicide squad #rick flag one-shot #rick flag x y/n #rick flag x you #colonel rick flag

98 notes · View notes

dancingamongstdust · 3 years

Text

MHA Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Cellophane

Despite the U.A.’s insistence that the hero course wasn’t a spectacle for the rest of the world to watch, often when there was some free time, many students flocked to areas where the classes were training. They would lean against trees or pretend to be doing homework while watching the show of fire, explosions, and acid.

You were one of those observers. With a textbook in your lap, you sat beneath a tree with your friends, and watched 1A train their quirks.

The grass tickled at your legs and the sun warmed your skin. It was such a beautiful day despite the sounds of fighting. Occasionally a wash of warmth would flood over you as a large attack went off but you mostly ignored it.

“I think the green-haired one is the cutest,” one of the girls with you said. “He’s super sweet and clearly he’s really strong.”

“Have you seen the Todoroki boy though?” another responded. “Cute and brooding.”

You laughed, making a comment to more agree with the latter though you wouldn’t be interested in anybody as cold as that. Rumours floated around that he never spoke, not even to his own classmates. Many also believed his temper was as bad as his father’s given his massive attacks during the sports festival.

But you didn’t listen all too much to gossip about the hero course. Instead, you just enjoyed watching them in action and running away when their teacher spotted you all.

Luckily, today Eraserhead seemed preoccupied at the end of their class so most of the other students could hang around longer. While he was busy lecturing two of his students, the rest began making their way to the change rooms.

Almost instantly, everybody took advantage of being spared his glare and watched the heroes-in-training.

Some seemed uncomfortable with the rest of the school’s presence while others relished in it. You watched as the shortest of the group winked at every girl, he made eye contact with, including yourself and laughed as a girl from general studies attempted to confess to the most explosive hero of the class.

But it was a specific member who caught your eye and she waved excitedly when she saw you, hurrying over. “Hey!” she greeted. “Were you guys watching us train?”

You stood, brushing grass off your clothing, and smiling. “Yeah, we were. Couldn’t see much of you though, you were almost completely hidden.”

Mina sighed. “It’s so sad how these things happen. My acid doesn’t stand out too much amongst this group.”

You hadn’t known Mina for very long but your friendship was pretty strong. She had attached herself to you due to your talent with making her photos perfect (something of a challenge thanks to her skin tone often contrasting with everything).

Your other friends slipped away, clearly wanting better looks at whomever was being lectured. That kind of gossip went for a high price.

Somebody called for Mina and she gestured them over. “These are the best people in the hero course aside from yours truly,” she said. “Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero.” She gave them your name as well and you politely greeted them each.

“Your electricity is really impressive,” you told Kaminari. “Everybody talks about it when we’re watching the training.”

He smiled widely at that but Mina just groaned. “Of course, everybody notices the flashy quirk. Do you know how many people still think that my quirk is being pink?”

“It’s because they get distracted with bright lights and don’t notice the actual talent,” Sero told her playfully. “Don’t worry about it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s not true.”

He chuckled. “It so is.”

“I mean, I notice your quirk all the time,” you said. “And it doesn’t have any lights. You’re just extremely smooth while fighting so you draw the eye.”

He seemed doubtful about that, acting as though you were complimenting him just for the sake of it. “Sure, sure. But when Bakugou unleashes a couple explosions, I bet your attention moves directly to him.”

“It doesn’t. I can prove it also.”

“How so?”

You gestured to the tree. “I’m always sitting right here. Keep an eye out for me next time – you’ll see whose fighting I favour watching.”

Chargebolt

It was a good day for there to be a pipe burst just outside of school.

The sun was shining, there was almost no wind, and there weren’t any large assignments due for almost a week. Overall, everything surrounding the day made it perfect for some rest and relaxation.

Your friend group finally made it up to the crest of the hill and stared around at the beautiful landscape. The view was magnificent. Almost as awe-inspiring as the school that you now stood across from. Every person knew about the hero school U.A. and now you had seen it in person.

“Imagine what it must be like to train to be a hero,” you mused. “I’m sure I would absolutely despise every second of it.”

Everybody laughed, jokes spreading about how they would be too lazy for constant workouts or how their hero names would just be too embarrassing. One girl whose quirk allowed her to pop her eyeballs out made a joke about how her entire career would surround traumatizing children.

“Why hello,” a very high-pitched voice greeted.

You startled, looking down at the small boy. He had bright purple hair and a cocky smirk on his face that just screamed trouble.

Luckily for you, his attention was more focused on others.

“I’m guessing you ladies are here to admire the toughest heroes in the country, right?” he said. “Well, luckily for you, you’re looking at one of the best in the entire school.”

You snorted. “Are you even old enough to be walking around without your parent?”

“Nobody was asking you,” he retorted. “I was speaking to the absolute beauties before me.”

Yourself and two girls that he was ignoring took steps away. They seemed interested in fighting however while you just enjoyed the show. It wasn’t the first time that your group had been annoyed by pervs and you each had different ways of dealing with it.

While he was busy screaming in shock as two eyeballs fell from a girl’s skull, somebody approached you, looking rather embarrassed.

“I’m sorry about him,” the blond said. He kept a confident smile on but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “He’s not well-versed in speaking to beautiful woman.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, willing to play along with somebody who made eye contact before staring at your boobs. Unlike his friend. “And I’m guessing that you’re much better at that?”

“Oh definitely,” he said, stretching. He wore his U.A. uniform still but carried little of the arrogance you had come to expect from the school.

“Well, show me your best line then,” you said, turning to face him properly.

He startled at that. For a second, he eyed you cautiously as though your response was some kind of prank. Then he cleared his throat and said, “You owe me a drink.”

You smiled at the cheesiness. “And why is that?”

“Because you spilled it – wait, no, because you’re so beautiful that you made me spill it.”

You brought your hand to your mouth, laughing at the world’s most common pickup line that still managed to fail somehow. “Points for trying,” you said. “Though, I’ll give you a hint. When you go and hit on your next target, you can start with your name. Makes you seem a little less forward.”

He blushed at that but pointed to himself regardless. “I’m Denki Kaminari,” he introduced himself.

You offered your name. “And you’re a U.A. student?”

“Yeah, I’m in the hero course.”

“Oh that’s why you look so familiar,” you said. “I’ve seen you in the news before. You’re the electricity guy, right?”

He clicked his fingers and a spark jumped between them. Unfortunately, you were standing close enough that it then moved to you. It wasn’t powerful enough to hurt but you still jumped at the unexpected jolt.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

“No problem,” you replied with a smile. “It was nice meeting you Kaminari. I’m going to go and save your friend from being beaten up though. See you around!”

Creati

The rain was pouring down outside, whipping the trees around. It seemed to be desperate to reach where you stood beneath a roof outcropping. A few splashes landed on your shoes and you shuffled back further still.

Just one short run.

Holding your bag against your chest, you lowered your head and ran for it. The ground was slippery beneath your feet but you managed to keep your balance pretty well. At least, you did until somebody collided with you. Given how everybody was holding their heads down, it was inevitable.

You went down with a squelch into the mud, a sharp pain shooting through both knees and one arm. There was a yelp as the other person fell also.

Rain pounded on your heads. You glanced up to find another student sitting on her ass. She had been carrying her bag on her chest also which had saved it from the mud.

Your own was less lucky.

Cursing under your breath, you dragged yourself to your feet and held out a hand to her. You had to use your weaker one because it was the only part of you that wasn’t covered in mud.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologised.

“No, I am,” she said. “That was entirely my fault! I wasn’t looking where I was going and –“

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and you both froze. Thinking at the same time, you put your apologies on hold to rush to the closest shelter, thankfully the entrance of the school that you were both heading into either way.

You looked down at your ruined uniform and groaned. It was going to be really difficult to clean and certainly wouldn’t be alright before class.

The girl was mud-splattered also. Flecks covered her face and the back of her high pony was dripping with the stuff.

“We’re making an awful mess…” you said, looking down at the floor.

Other students rushed past you guys, a few giving you curious looks.

“We can get slightly cleaned up in the bathroom,” she urged. “Come on.”

You followed her into the nearest bathroom and quickly went to work dropping your ruined bag in the corner and cleaning off your arms and legs. “I really am sorry,” you said when she let her hair down. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

She shook her head. “No, that really was my fault. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re both going to get into trouble with uniforms now though,” you said. “That’s not great. I was really hoping to fly under the radar today… what are you doing?”

She had lifted up the bottom of her shirt and her skin seemed to be glowing brightly. After a second, a perfectly folded skirt emerged. She took it and placed it in front of her before turning to you, “What size do you wear?”

“What?”

“I’ll make you some replacements quickly if you let me know what size you are.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You can do that?”

She nodded. “I’m going to make you another bag also so you can start taking all your stuff out.”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. “I really appreciate this but you don’t have to –“

“It doesn’t cost me anything,” she said with a smile.

Soon, you left the bathroom with a new uniform and bag. The only signs that you had even slipped was the occasional bit of mud that you had missed. She followed you out and the two of you soon came to a split in the corridors.

You reached out and rubbed some mud from her arm. “I should have known you were hero course,” you joked. “Thanks for everything and I really am sorry for running into you. Perhaps you can tell me your name? That way I can brag when you’re a famous hero one day.”

She blushed but held out her hand. “I’m Momo Yaoyorozu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Deku

It all began in the early hours of the morning when the sun had just made its way over the horizon. Having arrived sooner than anticipated, you were standing outside with your friends and talking about various aspects of life. A topic that, inevitably, brought up quirks.

Everybody began messing around with their own. Some levitated their bags while others changed their hair colour – simple things that weren’t all too impressive but remained entertaining.

You played around with your own a little, relishing in the freedom that came with using it.

Something that always irritated you was the inability to use your quirk in public settings. Especially when it was something benign. For this reason, you adored your school more than most other locations. U.A. inspired a sense of relief due to its casual acceptance of pretty much anybody. No matter their size, quirk, or appearance.

By the time you had finished your conversation, you all had begun heading into the main building. You reached into your pocket to quickly realise that your phone was missing.

“See you guys in class,” you said to your friends, darting out to grab it again.

You exited the main door, scanning the area when somebody tapped your arm.

“Sorry, you left this outside.”

“Oh!” you said, taking your phone. “Thank you! I was just coming to look for this.”

The person who had helped you offered a cheery smile. He was recognisable in the way that all hero-course students were. They carried their personalities in their walks. Yet, his name completely escaped you.

“No problem,” he said. “I was really hoping I could find you instead of turning it in.”

The two of you walked back into the building alongside one another. “At least at a hero school, I don’t have to worry about it going missing,” you joked. “I feel like I should know your name but it’s just slipping from my mind, sorry.”

“Izuku Midoriya,” he said. “Why should you know my name?”

“Oh, come on. Like you don’t know that 1A are basically local celebrities.”

He blushed at that, coughing as he scrambled to regain his composure. “I don’t… well, I don’t know about being famous or anything. We’re just regular students, really.”

“Except you’re attacked by villains constantly.”

“Except for that, yes.”

You laughed, drawing unneeded attention from other students in the hall. They were all staring and trying to figure out if they could spread any kind of gossip about this interaction. The local soap opera that was class 1A had many students involved in the happenings of others’ lives.

“So, I noticed you were using your quirk earlier,” Midoriya said, bringing your attention back to him. His hair helped him to stand out with its fluffy, green nature but his voice remained soft. “Do you have any pro-heroes in your family?”

“One of my aunts,” you said. “She inspired me to come to U.A. in the first place.”

He surprised you by immediately saying her hero name. When you didn’t initially respond, he gave you a quizzical look.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Your quirks are similar but not enough for immediate family,” he said. “Do you have the same limitations with your own? I know she has a weakness with it that many villains like to exploit which could be the reason why she’s never risen higher in the rankings… not that she isn’t a great hero, of course, but it’s a well-known flaw in her quirk.”

You chuckled at that. “I mean, well-known for a very small level hero,” you said. “The types of villains that she deals with hardly have the brain cells to remember their own names.”

“It doesn’t make her work any less important.”

You smiled at that, appreciative of the notion. “I don’t actually know much about her quirk,” you admitted. “My own is pretty lack-luster. I can experiment with it and let you know what I find out, if you really want to know.”

“Yeah! That would be great! I could – oh, wait, no that’s probably an odd thing to say…” he trailed off, looking lost in thought. “Well, just let me know?”

“Of course,” you said. “Bye! Have a great day.”

Your own classroom felt surprisingly uninteresting without him there. You looked around at all the familiar faces and smiled. It wasn’t like you wouldn’t see him again.

Dynamight

“What are you, a coward?”

You glanced up from your phone, the challenge lighting a spark in your eyes. “No,” you said. “I just don’t take bets that I know I’m going to lose.”

Sighing dramatically, your friend slumped back in her chair and toyed with the food in front of her. She huffed a stray strand of hair from her face. “You used to be fun,” she groaned. “What happened to the person who would take any dare, no matter how high the odds?”

“I just don’t see the point in wagering my daifuku, one of my favourite snacks by the way, on something pointless.”

“It’s not like you have to land a date, just talk to him for like a minimum of a minute.”

You glanced down at your dessert and contemplated her offer. The cafeteria was busy, as always, and you could hear almost four conversations going on at once. Most were unrelated to schoolwork but quite a few mentioned the infamous class 1A who were sitting on the opposite side of the room.

From where you were, you could make out a few of the more recognisable members, including the reason that everybody was discussing the class right now.

“I feel like you’re setting me up for failure,” you said. “He’s clearly in a bad mood already.”

“When is he not?”

Groaning, you stood up from the table and stretched a little. “If I come back uninjured, you have to double the payment, alright?”

Perhaps you had too much of a reputation already – or maybe people were just shameless eavesdroppers – but several perked up as you made your way toward the hero course’s regular tables. They were all prepared for some kind of show, be it from you or from the subject of your attention.

Class 1A’s personal explosive, Katsuki Bakugo had made a scene not too long ago, prompting the very dare that had you making you way over there.

His table hosted five people and you chose the pink girl’s seat to lean over once you arrived.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you greeted with a smile though your eyes held Bakugo’s.

He was agitated, that much was obvious, but you weren’t sure if it was the normal level or not. Your appearance definitely wasn’t a positive though.

“Who are you?” he snapped.

“An admirer,” you responded, allowing your attention to now rove over the other confused students. “Not just of you but of the entire hero course. I always wanted to apply but never quite got the marks so I was curious what its like. And you seem to be, by far, the most approachable of the lot.”

The girl you were standing beside snorted with laughter. “Good one,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Mina.”

You introduced yourself with a smile, keeping the majority of your attention on Bakugo. “I do know most of your names,” you said. “Though that’s not saying too much. You’re all over the school and the news most weeks.”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” she complained. “Do you want to sit with us?”

“I would love to,” you said, gladly taking a seat beside her and flashing Bakugo a bright smile. “Has anybody told you that your hair is adorable? Like it suits your whole aesthetic so well.”

“Fuck off.”

One of the other boys chuckled a little awkwardly but still responded with a shark-toothed grin. “Sorry, Bakugo doesn’t like compliments too much.”

“I don’t like them when they’re so clearly fake,” he scoffed, eyeing you up. “I know you morons struggle to understand but people don’t just come over to make friends. This is a dare of some kind, isn’t it?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t make friends while winning some extra dessert,” you said.

“People dare each other to come say hi to us?” the blond electricity guy asked. He had a charger hanging from his mouth.

“Not all of you.”

Bakugo scoffed, standing up from his chair sharply. “Hope you lose,” he said, storming away from the table and disappearing into the crowd.

Earphone Jack

The words ‘joint class’ had seemed fun when it was first mentioned. It wasn’t often that you interacted with students outside of your course and many had presumed that it would be a simple way to split Present Mic’s focus between more people.

Unfortunately, you should have all seen the group project part coming.

“Working in the pro-hero industry will often have you alongside complete strangers,” it had been explained. “Whether on the battlefield or behind the scenes, you’re going to have some great times meeting new people and learning about your own limitations. I’ve chosen who I think you’ll get along with but I could be very wrong. We’ll have to see.”

You all groaned, already anticipating the lengthy assignment that would be coming up. It probably wouldn’t be as bad for the hero course students.

For the pairs, it was pretty expected. Nobody from the same course was working together and the majority of the pairs stuck to the same gender.

You understood why when you heard the small purple one start complaining about it being discriminatory or something.

Present Mic stood in front of your desk before you even knew it, a grin on his face.

Often, you thought that you were one of his favourites. You focused on his class and always actively engaged. Sometimes you would even see him outside of class and he would give you a great wave.

You really hoped that those kind sentiments carried over.

“You’re going to be working with Kyoka Jiro,” he announced. Then, leaning forward, he added, “The one with the purple hair and the audio jacks on her ears.”

Thankful that he hadn’t left you floundering, you stood up and took a deep breath. Going over and speaking to a new person shouldn’t be that hard but you really didn’t want to… still, it wasn’t optional.

“Hi,” you said when she looked up at your approach. “I believe we’re in a team. You’re Jiro, right?”

She rubbed the back of her head awkwardly but still smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You sat down in the chair in front of her desk – vacant thanks to its occupant speaking to their own group member. “Present Mic said that he paired us up with people he thinks we’d get along with. Aside from my adoration of your hair, what else do we have in common?”

She reached up and touched her hair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Thank you. Maybe we both listen to the same music?”

“That could be it, what kind of things do you listen to?”

Jiro opened up at that question, immediately launching into a detailed conversation about her favourite and least favourite genres. You had heard of some of the bands that she mentioned but most were a little too obscure.

Then, you made a connection.

“Wait, your dad isn’t Kyotoku Jiro, is he?” you asked. “I used to listen to some of his old songs all the time.”

Jiro’s eyes lit up. “Really? He’s not extremely well-known so most people don’t know he even has songs but I’m super proud of my dad’s music. How did you find out about him?”

You were going to answer when Present Mic cleared his throat and you all turned your attention back to him.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” you whispered to Jiro.

The group project was actually far simpler than you had anticipated and probably could be done in the dedicated time you were provided with. Unfortunately, it seemed that Jiro and you were abysmally slow workers when together and so, you just had to spend more time together outside of class.

Even after it was handed in.

Froppy

Generally, you found that if you visited the pools just before lunch, there would be absolutely nobody there. It would be the perfect time to get some swimming done without worrying about interrupting anybody or feeling bad because you weren’t as fast as some of the hero course students.

You didn’t go every day but, when you had some spare time, you happily made your way to the pool.

About twenty minutes into your swimming though, you popped your head up to head up to hear somebody in the changing rooms. You knew that you shouldn’t get nervous. The pool was for everybody in the school and it was more than large enough that you could avoid social situations.

But still, your stomach churned.

You continued swimming, though now you were keeping your head up to watch for whoever came through the door. After what felt like forever, a small girl emerged with dark green hair.

She smiled when she saw you had noticed her and gave a friendly wave. “Hello.”

“Hi,” was your eloquent response.

She got in on the other side of the pool and you continued swimming your laps. For a while, you waited for her to start so that you could see how fast she swam but she just sat in the water with her eyes closed and her face turned to the sun.

You pulled yourself out of the pool to sit on the side, taking a brief break in your exercise. There was no need to be in pain tomorrow.

She opened her eyes and smiled at you. “You swim really well.”

“Oh,” you said, a blush igniting behind your cheeks. “Thank you. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

Her voice was croaky but not in an awkward way. You actually really enjoyed the sound of it – enough that you willingly engaged in the conversation in order to hear her speak.

“Are you sunbathing?” you asked.

“Soaking,” she responded. “My skin is more amphibian-like so I really need to keep it hydrated. I’m Tsu, by the way.”

You smiled and told her your name. She repeated it and you quickly found out that you really liked the way she said it. “Which course are you in?” you asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“I’m in the hero course,” she said. “It’s fun but it gets quite dangerous from time to time.”

“I would guess so… hopefully nothing too bad though.”

She shrugged. “I’ve nearly died once because a villain with a disintegration quirk tried to grab my face. That was terrifying.”

Your eyes went wide. “What?”

“Thankfully our teacher can take quirks away if he looks at you,” she said. “And then All Might arrived so everything ended well. I’m lucky that my quirk doesn’t hurt me or anything because lots of my other classmates have those kinds of issues. It’s just a little inconvenient to have to lounge in the pool every now and then.”

“I would pay good money to have that kind of quirk,” you said with a sigh. “I would use it to get here during super boring classes.”

“That’s what I’m doing right now.”

You both laughed.

“I only managed to get here early due to being given some time to do an assignment. Because I got it done last night, I’m just relaxing a little before lunch,” you explained. You checked the time on the large clock. “Actually, it looks like I may need to go and get changed.”

Time had slipped by faster than you realised and you quickly changed back into your school uniform after giving Tsu a wave. You were actually a little disappointed to think that you had to go back to class instead of swimming.

But you weren’t expecting to see Tsu standing outside when you exited, already changed into her uniform.

“I thought you may want to sit with me and my friends today,” she offered. “They’ve got pretty cool quirks and experiences in the hero course.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? I can already tell that we’re going to be good friends so we may as well start now.”

You chuckled, covering your mouth to hide your slight blush. “Alright then. I’d love to.”

Ingenium

U.A. was a massive building with many corridors and even more classrooms. You had waited outside for half an hour before giving up and heading in by yourself. It hadn’t seemed like too bad of an idea at the time.

Perhaps you should have waited for your guide a little longer.

You walked the first and second floors twice, constantly looking for anybody who you recognised. The day before, you had been introduced to your class and the elected class president who promised to show you around. Except now you were wondering the corridors alone and hoping that you got to your main room on time.

When it didn’t look like that was going to happen though, you had to bite the bullet and ask somebody for help. Something you had been hoping to avoid.

Many students surrounding you looked extremely intimidating. They were all in their own groups and it would be extremely uncomfortable to approach anybody. So you chose the sweetest-looking girl that you could and made your way to her.

“Hi,” you greeted. “I’m so sorry to bother you but could you possibly tell me how to get to my class. I just transferred over and I’m completely lost.”

She was adorable with bright eyes and rosy cheeks. A massive smile appeared on her face. “Of course!” she said. “Where do you need to go?”

The other members of her small group were looking at you but none seemed too unfriendly so you relaxed a little. “I’m in 1G, the support department? My class president was meant to help me around but she just never showed up.”

At that, the tallest of the group – a guy with glasses and an extremely fancy look to his face – said, “That is unacceptable. They just left you waiting?”

You startled at the question and stared up at him. “Uh… yeah? It isn’t too bad –“

“It’s ridiculous for your class president to leave you standing alone! Their very job is to ensure that every member of the class is comfortable and knowledgeable about various aspects of the school. As class 1A’s president, I shall take you to your homeroom and discuss this with whoever is failing in their duties.”

You blinked, trying desperately to keep up with him. “If it’s not interrupting anything, then I’d definitely appreciate a guide.”

“Of course,” he said. “Follow me, I’ll take you directly there.”

You bid goodbye to the adorable girl and hurried to catch up with the guy who was practically marching his way down the hall. From behind, you could see that large pipes came from his calves. You wondered how his quirk worked.

“Thank you for this,” you said, speed walking to keep up. You gave him your name and asked for his own.

“I’m Tenya Iida,” he introduced himself. “And I’m sorry that you have been let down by your class.”

“I’m sure they were just busy.”

“Did they say that they would help show you around?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then they should have kept that in mind while planning the rest of their engagements,” he said. “There’s no excuse to cancel plans without even notifying the other person. You could have gotten in trouble for arriving to class late or not being able to show up at all.”

That was something you had been worried about. It was never a great way to start at a new school and you would have undoubtedly broken some record for getting a detention.

“Thank you for helping,” you said. “I really appreciate it. Are you in the hero course or something?”

He pushed his glasses up and nodded proudly. “I am indeed. Though I would have given you assistance without my hero training because it’s simply the right thing to do.”

Once around the next corner, he stopped so suddenly that you nearly walked into his back. “This is your classroom.”

A large ‘G’ covered a massive door. Relief washed over you and you opened your mouth to thank him but he was marching into the classroom, heading directly for your class president.

Lemillion

In all honesty, your stress was climbing to new heights. With a test looming and work taking a great deal out of you, it was like walking through tar to try and get things done. Plus there was the ever-present threat of forgetting something and causing trouble for everybody around you.

So you made your way to the library most days and found a comfortable chair to sit in. Once there, you would page through whatever book was needed and work to get as much done as possible.

It was a boring routine but it needed to be done.

Most of the people around you were ignorable, though you didn’t mean it in a cruel way. It was just that you didn’t have enough brain power to focus on them at the moment.

But eventually, you had to take a break when your mind was swimming from studies. You closed the book and took a deep breath.

“Alright, so I’m going to pop in just after she starts class, right? I’ll come through the whiteboard so she doesn’t see me at first, then I’ll hold up the egg and say ‘Wow, this class is really egg-sausting’.”

“Won’t Miss Midnight take offense to that?”

“It’s about her quirk though, not her class.”

“But what if she takes it the wrong way?”

You laughed as softly as you dared, a small snort escaping before you caught it. The group that were speaking sat at the table next to your own. They were a group of three although the one guy wasn’t really involved in the conversation – rather, a blue haired girl discussed the blond guy’s planned jokes.

“I think Midnight has a good sense of humour,” the guy was reasoning. “She’ll laugh at it. Most of the teachers understand my jokes.”

“Don’t you remember when you told Ectoplasm that he was a freak in the sheets?”

That one got a proper chuckle out of you but you managed to keep it quiet enough that they didn’t notice your eavesdropping. Their discussion was certainly lightening the mood.

The guy blushed bright red. “I didn’t think of the other ways that could have been taken,” he admitted. “I was just speaking about those ghost costumes that everybody wears during Halloween, you know… Probably should have just made the boo-berry pie joke and left it there.”

You decided against taking a sip of water, focusing on trying not to laugh at the awful puns you were hearing. Maybe the guy’s quirk was related to telling bad jokes or something.

Or maybe he just had the best worse sense of humour.

They continued speaking for some time and you found yourself giggling at almost every joke that was made. It was hard to concentrate on your work anymore but you surprisingly still got some done and enjoyed every second of it.

You were actually rather disappointed when the group stood up to leave. Two of them headed out of the main door but the blond didn’t follow. You considered glancing around to find him but decided you didn’t want to seem creepy.

And then his face appeared in the middle of your homework.

You yelped in fright and stumbled backwards, nearly falling out of your chair. The guy was half-melded with the table but he laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. His excitement was contagious.

“Hello,” he greeted, standing up and no longer phasing through any solid items. “I’m Mirio. I just wanted to say hi before we left.”

“Oh,” you said. “Um… hi.” You gave him your name and blushed, realising that your eavesdropping hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. Still, he didn’t seem to mind it so you didn’t worry too much.

“I’ll see you around,” he said as he left, waving enthusiastically the entire time.

Phantom Thief

Most days, you relished in the opportunities to speak to new heroes about support items and what they needed to better their quirks. You enjoyed discussing with them and learning about their abilities, and you knew that many in your class had similar sentiments.

After all, that was the very reason that you were studying.

These reason were why you remained confused when your classmates were busy drawing straws when you walked in. None of them bothered to even tell you what was happening, just gesturing for you to take your straw.

You grabbed the closest one in confusion and pulled it out, revealing that luck wasn’t on your side that day.

“Congratulations,” one of the girls said. “You get to talk to Monoma. All the rest of us will be able to choose whoever we want within class 1B once they arrive.”

That was when you realised.

You hadn’t ever had the opportunity to work with the loudest member of the class before and you didn’t envy many that had. The stories they shared about hinted at a mild insanity or, at the very least, obnoxiousness that went unmatched. You definitely weren’t looking forward to that for a good part of your day.

But alas, when 1B entered the room to discuss their options for support items, you made your way over to the blond and gave him your best smile. “Would you mind if I asked you about some support items that you may need?”

His grin was massive as he turned to you. “Ah, I see you’re extremely excited for the opportunity to work with such an amazing quirk, right?”

You smiled. “Of course.”

That clearly wasn’t the answer he anticipated and he faltered a little at it. “I’m sorry to burst your bubble but I don’t think there’s anything here that would suit me. My quirk works brilliantly on its own.”

“I wouldn’t say its your quirk that does it all,” you said. “Obviously it requires a talented wielder in order to use it properly.”

His eyes narrowed at the compliment and he began looking over your shoulders, clearly thinking that this was a setup of some kind. After making sure nobody was watching, he very carefully said, “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t need any support items right now.”

“I get that but, if you ever need something in the future, just let me know,” you said. “In the meantime, I can brainstorm some general stuff based off your quirk. You can copy things, right?”

“Obviously,” he chuckled.

You nodded and began walking away, happy that your unorthodox plan had worked in mellowing him out. It was a guess that he wouldn’t be used to praise but it worked like an absolute charm.

“Wait!” he said, suddenly appearing next to you. “How am I meant to tell you my ideas if I don’t even know your name?”

You chuckled nervously, not having expected him to care about that part of your conversation. Before you had even thought about it though, you told him your name and he smiled even wider at that, if it was even possible.

“I’ve been looking for somebody who understands how good of a quirk I have,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulders unexpectedly. “And you seem to like it quite a bit.”

“Well, yes,” you said. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

He stepped in front of you then and you watched as your own quirk manifested itself. “I like yours also,” he said. “It suits you.” For a split second, he smiled warmly.

You smiled at that, unable to help it as his expression became considerably more normal while he was using it. “Thank you. It’s not entirely impressive when you look at all the hero course’s quirks but I like it well enough.”

The quirk disappeared and his over-the-top smile reappeared. “Obviously it isn’t as good as mine,” he scoffed. “But don’t beat yourself up about that. Almost nobody can top me.”

For a second, the change confused you but then the class 1B president made her presence behind you known. She apologised and lectured Monoma on showing off instead of focusing but you didn’t entirely hear her. Your curiosity surrounding the blond had been piqued. How much of that arrogance was just a show for his class?

#my hero academia #bnha #sero hanta x reader #kaminari x reader #momo yaoyozoru #bakugou x reader #deku x reader #froppy #tsu x reader #monoma x reader #mirio x reader #iida x y/n #bnha scenarios

147 notes · View notes

thekisforkeats · 3 years

Text

Love Languages

Info: The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, rated T probably for swears. Canon-Compliant. Set post-MAG 22, with a coda post-MAG 159. Everyone is ND and everyone is trans because that’s just how my personal S1 Archives gang rolls.

CWs: Mentions of ableism and Martin’s mother. I’d say canon-typical worms but the worms don’t really come up except in passing.

I do not know anything about BSL, so I did not try to describe the signs.

Summary: A love language is not just about how you best show love and affection; it is also about the ways you best receive love and affection. And so, for someone like Martin, who shows love by going out of his way to help others, someone going out of their way to help him, well. What better way for him to realize just how loved he is?

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

The first time Martin went completely non-verbal after starting work in the Archives, it was the morning after giving Jon the statement about Jane Prentiss.

It wasn’t a surprising development, really. Martin didn’t go fully non-verbal that often, but when he did it was almost always a thing that started in the morning and lasted most of the day. Sometimes it wore off by the time he went to bed, sometimes it lasted until the next morning.

After his mother’s diagnosis, he’d been unable to speak for an entire week. That hadn’t gone over well--as much as his mother wanted him to be quiet, she didn’t like the “silent treatment,” as she called it.

Martin hated that she’d called it that, as though his non-verbal episodes were anything he did on purpose. Some days talking just felt like a chore; those days he could get by only forcing words out when he had to. But some days, the worst days, he just couldn’t talk. He could understand other people just fine, he could make noises, sometimes he could even hum. And he could definitely read and write. But speaking words, aloud? No. He could not speak, on these days, however much he may have wanted to.

As Martin grew older and learned more about himself, he learned words and reasons and coping mechanisms. He realized that some of the problem came from dysphoria and the longer he was on hormones the less often it happened. He realized that he was autistic (even if he never got diagnosed), and learned how to handle the episodes that still occurred. He took sign languages classes because it was a good and useful thing to know regardless, to be able to communicate with more people.

As many Deaf people had learned before Martin, he’d found himself in plenty of situations when nobody around him knew BSL, so he’d found a phone app that let him type out things he wanted to say and repeated them in a tinny, mechanical voice. Feminine, but he found it didn’t cause dysphoria; it wasn’t his voice. It was the app speaking for him, a robot lady translating his words.

Martin was fairly certain he was going to need the robot lady to speak for him today, and he was dreading the whole idea. The app got him a range of reactions from scorn to derision to faux sympathy. The last time he’d done so at work, the Institute library staff had regarded him with such pity that he’d called in sick the two other times it had happened since.

He’d woken early, because he was always awake fairly early, to ensure he looked presentable and got to work on time. He did not want Jonathan “Crisply Professional At All Times” Sims giving him that look again. The particular look that was “I highly disapprove of your sartorial choices but I’m not going to get into it right now because I have so very much else to do. Nonetheless, if I could fire you for what you’re wearing I would.”

Jon had a lot of looks. Martin fervently wished he could stop categorizing them; he very much disliked his boss, and very much wanted to stop thinking about Jon quite as much as he did.

Jon was attractive, that much Martin had noticed the first day he’d come in, with a jawline Martin would’ve loved to trace with his fingers, eyes sharp and deep and intelligent, salt-and-pepper hair that Martin would have tangled his fingers in gladly.

Except, of course, that Jon was also a prick who didn’t like Martin one bit and made that very clear. He’d put down on record that he thought Martin would “contribute nothing but delays.” Martin was not such a sucker for punishment that he would put up with someone who hated him just for a pretty face. The tiny potential blossom of a crush had been, well, crushed five seconds after it had poked its head above ground, by Jon’s declaration that he could dismiss Martin if he didn’t resolve the “dog situation” immediately.

Martin counted his lucky stars every day that Jon had not, in fact, dismissed him, despite having had to deal with a doggy mess. The luck was really in having Tim around, Martin figured; Jon actually seemed fond of Tim, and the other man had managed to smooth the entire situation over.

Martin had fallen asleep last night thinking about the new look Jon had given him yesterday: concerned. Truly, genuinely concerned, which had rather taken Martin aback. He’d been certain Jon wouldn’t believe him, would scoff and roll his eyes at the entire statement, and instead he’d just looked… concerned.

And then Jon had offered Martin the cot that he’d woken up in this morning.

It wasn’t the look of concern that had Martin non-verbal, though; of that he was certain. It was the stress of the last two weeks, and dumping out the statement yesterday, and all the whirl of figuring out how to live in the Archives. Jon’s insistence on going with him to pick up basics with a toothbrush at the convenience store, and then coming back to be sure he was okay. Jon finding clean sheets and discussing how he’d do his laundry. Jon had expensed clothing bought online to the Institute, including next-day shipping, because he’d “lost access to his flat and thus his wardrobe in the line of duty.” It had all been bewildering and overwhelming and it was no real surprise that Martin was in the state he found himself when he woke.

Martin had known as soon as he’d opened his eyes. It was just there, the feeling of nope can’t talk today. He’d pulled on his binder and the same clothing he’d worn the day before and then fumbled around for his phone. Which… he didn’t have. The damn worm-hive-lady had stolen it from him. Well, shit.

He managed to avoid having to figure out how to talk while he went out to get breakfast, just pointing at a scone in the display and smiling at the guy behind the counter as if he wasn’t secretly irritated by the price of everything in Chelsea. By the time Martin got back, Jon was already in his office, so thank God he’d avoided that awkward interaction. He went to make himself tea, and had his breakfast in the breakroom, and brushed his teeth, and then went to get started on…

Wait. He didn’t even know what they were working on right now.

Well, he wasn’t going to bother Jon about it; however nice he’d been last night it surely must have worn off by now, and Martin had no interest in summoning one of his boss’ looks this early in the morning. Normally he’d still be on his commute at this hour.

After a moment’s thought, he went to go see what they’d recorded in his absence, and soon had a stack of statements on his desk. They’d gotten through five statements in the two weeks he’d been gone. Maybe Jon was right. Maybe Martin did contribute “nothing but delays.”

Pushing the thought aside, Martin focused on listening to the tapes, and was just finishing up listening to the second half of Father Edwin Burroughs’ statement when Tim came into the shared office the assistants used.

“Hey, you’re in early. You get the email?”

Martin raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

Tim snorted. “Jon claims he’s got something to warn us about, something that ‘won’t parse properly through digital means.’” He rolled his eyes. “Which is Jon-speak for ‘it’s a weird thing and I don’t want to admit it’s a weird thing because I have to keep my skeptic hat on to preserve my self-image.”

Martin chuckled in solidarity, then gestured toward the door to Jon’s office, to indicate that’s where their boss was.

“Not coming?” Tim asked, his own eyebrow raised. When Martin shrugged, he said, “Well, I guess if you didn’t get the email…” Tim also shrugged, then said, “Guess I’d better get it over with. Wish me luck!”

Martin gave him a thumbs up.

When Sasha came in, Martin silently directed her to Jon’s office as well, then heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t had to explain being non-verbal at all yet, and it was already nine o’clock. Maybe if he was lucky, Jon would warn them off talking to him and he’d manage to make it the entire day without having to explain the whole “non-verbal” business to anyone he saw on a regular basis.

Alas, it was barely thirty minutes later that Tim and Sasha returned to talk to him, both wearing expressions of mingled concern and guilt. When they spoke it was a flood of the usual, expected platitudes:

“We’re so sorry!”

“We didn’t know!”

“Are you okay??”

And such like.

Martin shrugged and nodded and shook his head in all the right places, and evidently Jon had played them the tape of his statement so he didn’t have to explain it all again (thank God), and he thought maybe, maybe he could even figure out what statement they were working on right now if he just listened to their chatter after they were done with the niceties, but then…

Well. Then Timothy Stoker happened.

Which is to say, Tim actually looked at Martin, and said, “You’re being awfully quiet. You sure you’re okay?”

And then he and Sasha just… sat there, looking at him expectantly.

Martin sighed and reached for a piece of scrap paper and wrote, I’m autistic and sometimes I go non-verbal. Today’s one of those days, but I don’t have my phone anymore, so no communication app.

As he held up the paper so the others could read the words, Martin braced himself for the ensuing reactions. Pity, probably, like those in the Institute library, and he couldn’t even call in sick to avoid it; he’d rather have scorn and derision. At least those reactions were honest.

What he got from them was not pity, however, nor even scorn.

Sasha hummed. “Autism explains a lot, actually. Don’t worry, it’s not a problem.”

Tim grinned and clapped Martin on the shoulder. “Yeah, why didn’t you just say so? It’s fine, you’ve been through an ordeal. And so you know--you’re hardly the only neurodivergent in the Archives.”

Martin blinked at Tim, then wrote: Wait, what? Who…?

“Would you believe me if I said all of us?” Tim said with a grin. “I have ADD, Jon’s… well… he’s Jon, and as for Sasha…”

Sasha sighed in fond exasperation and cut in, “Tim…”

“I contend that you cannot be neurotypical, Ms. James. You fit in too well around here.”

“I am not admitting to anything on Institute property,” Sasha said with aplomb. “And you shouldn't have either, but here we are.” She looked at Martin. “If HR finds out and they give you any trouble, let us know and we’ll figure out what to do.”

Tim, in the meanwhile, pulled out his phone. “Here, go ahead and use mine for now, until your replacement gets here or whatever. What’s the app so I can install it for you?”

Martin’s jaw had dropped open. Tim having ADD made sense; what did he mean about Jon, though? And Sasha? And what did Sasha mean about HR? And… and why were they being so… nice? So… understanding? It wasn’t an act, or at least he didn’t think it was. They seemed… genuinely fine with it. Accepting, even.

It was the strangest thing Martin had experienced in a while, and that was including the worm-riddled woman who’d stood outside his door for two straight weeks.

From there the day just… went on as normal. Tim installed the app on the phone, Martin’s robot phone lady spoke for him, the three of them did their work, and everything was fine.

Until, of course, the nature of their work reared its ugly head. They were discussing the statement of Leanne Denikin, case #0051701, which they had yet to attach a pithy name to; hence the discussion. It had long since become standard practice to attach a name to the “weirder” statements, to make them easier to discuss. (Jon insisted on using the case numbers on tape still, which was annoying, given that was the only place he did that.)

Martin was reading through the statement, and he typed into Tim’s phone: What do you think of this bit? “Be still, for there is strange music.”

What came out of the phone’s speakers, however, was garbled static followed by high-pitched screeching that startled Martin so much he actually dropped the phone.

Jon was walking in just as this happened; he stopped in the doorway, blinking. “What on Earth was that?”

“Martin’s robot lady gave Tim’s phone an aneurysm, I think,” Sasha said, eyeing Martin as well.

Martin scrabbled on the floor for the phone, pulled up the app (which had crashed), and typed, I don’t know what happened!! I was just typing in something from one of the statements!

Jon frowned at him sharply. “What are you doing with Tim’s phone? Are you quite well?”

“No, Martin is not ‘quite well,’” Tim said. “Non-verbal for the day.”

Then Jon did something that stunned Martin: Jon signed at him, specifically, “Do you know sign language?” He spoke aloud as he said this, too, but also raised his eyebrows and gave a quizzical tilt to his head to convey that he was asking a question.

Martin blinked rapidly, then signed back: “Yes, actually. But Tim and Sasha don’t.”

Jon nodded, then said aloud, along with signing, “Why are you non-verbal, exactly?”

“I have autism,” Martin signed. “Sometimes talking is overwhelming and sometimes, especially in stressful situations, I can’t talk at all. Woke up that way today. It should be gone by tomorrow morning.” Why was he explaining so much more to Jon than he had to the others? Maybe just because Jon knew sign, and thus could communicate in a language Martin found much easier than even the typing.

Jon frowned thoughtfully, then nodded again. Then, still speaking and signing both, “What were you typing into your phone?”

“Be still, for there is strange music. From the statement.” Martin gestured to the statement on his desk.

Jon’s frown deepened and he repeated the words. “‘Be still, for there is strange music….’” His expression went slack for a moment, and then he shook himself. “Right. Well. Just… just… I’ll be right back.” Then he abruptly turned and left the room.

Tim and Sasha exchanged bewildered looks. Then Sasha asked, “Do you know what that was all about?”

“I forgot Jon knows BSL,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “Hard of hearing on one side. Not that he’d have agreed to interpret all day or anything.”

Martin shrugged. It’s alright, he typed. This works just fine.

“Well, no, obviously not for some things.” Jon had reappeared as suddenly as he’d disappeared, holding a small brown notebook the size of Martin’s hand. “Here,” he said, thrusting the notebook at Martin. “This will work better, for communicating about the statements. You needn’t use it with me, of course, unless signing is also taxing.”

Martin stared up at Jon. There was an entirely new look on his boss’ face. Not any level of scorn or sneer, nor even concern. He was… nervous. Fidgety. Like he was offering a gift that he was afraid might be rejected.

Something went flip in Martin’s stomach and it was like the entire world turned upside down. Suddenly, in light of Jon’s actions in the last 24 hours, he saw the way his boss had acted toward him the last six months for what it was: a defense mechanism. Armor pulled up around someone fragile and soft and sweet, someone so terrified of rejection that he went about making sure it happened preemptively so he wouldn’t be hurt.

Martin had a sudden, fierce desire to hug Jon and tell him everything would be okay. It was so bewildering a sensation--he didn’t even like the man! At all!--that he just took the notebook with a nod and a signed “Thank you,” eyes still very wide.

Jon nodded in return. “You’re welcome.” He let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little. “Well. Then. I think we’ve found the name for this one, given the way Tim’s phone reacted to those words. ‘Strange Music’ it is.” He straightened himself. “Tim, you said something about the organ reminding you of articles you’ve read…?”

Tim nodded, expression suddenly serious. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find them for you.”

“Right. Well, then, Sasha, if I could ask you to look through the Archive like we talked about? I’m certain we’ve had a statement from Jane Prentiss.” Jon then turned to Martin. “And if you wouldn’t mind helping me with ‘Schwarzwald?’ You used to work in the library, right?”

Martin was still staring at Jon in confusion, but nodded.

Jon actually smiled at him. Faintly. “Well, then, I’m certain you must know where to find the German history reference books, if you could go grab whatever they’ll let you bring down?”

The strangest thing about it was, Jon seemed sincere. Like he actually believed Martin did, indeed, know the library well enough to just… go up there and find the German history reference books. The faint, confident-in-his-assistant smile was a new look, at least directed at Martin; he’d seen Jon look at Tim and Sasha that way many times before.

Martin’s stomach was doing cartwheels. There were butterflies taking up residence in his intestines. His heart was pounding. How had he never noticed how nice Jon’s smile was? Soft and small, like he was afraid to let it actually take up residence on his face for too long.

Oh, God, oh, no. Martin could not fancy his boss. Jon hated him. Or, well, no, evidence suggested that perhaps Jon did not hate him, but Jon most certainly did not fancy him. This crush had to disappear, just as fast as it had come. This would not do.

He was going to be writing poetry again tonight, wasn’t he? Crap.

“Martin?” Jon’s tone was concerned rather than sharp, and the way Jon said his name made Martin want to sink into the floor.

Instead, he scribbled furiously in the notebook and held it up so all three of the others could see: Yeah, sorry, was just thinking about where that’d be. I’ll bring them down as soon as I find them.

Jon practically beamed at Martin’s use of the notebook and he nodded briskly. “Right! I’ll be in my office when you have the books, then.” He started to turn away.

Martin’s heart went pound pound pound because oh wow Jon was really cute when he let that smile take up more of his face. Throwing caution to the wind, he made a noise to get the other man’s attention.

Jon turned around, quirking a brow. “Yes, Martin?”

Martin signed, “Tea?” He, too, raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to indicate the question.

Jon nodded. “Tea would be lovely, yes.” He smiled at Martin for a brief moment, and then suddenly looked flustered. He glared at them all. “Anyway,” he snapped in his ‘boss’ voice, the impact of which was ruined by the flush rising in his cheeks, “there’s still work to be done. So let’s… do it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left the office.

Had Jon blushed because Martin had offered him tea? Did Jon like his tea that much? Was Martin imagining things? He had to be imagining things. He put his head down on the desk and wrapped his arms over it so he could grab at handfuls of hair. What was happening to him?

Sasha tried to make her voice serious, but couldn't quite manage it past quite clearly holding back giggles. “Mourn for poor Martin, working alone with Jon.” She looked at Tim. “We should call HR preemptively, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

“Nah, I think Jon’s softening on our boy,” Tim said with a laugh. He reached over to ruffle Martin’s hair with one hand while he took his phone back with the other. “Don’t worry, Marto. I told you he’d come around one day.”

Martin looked up at Tim with a stricken, betrayed expression. In the notebook: Is this how you comfort me in my hour of need??

Sasha shook her head. “For once, Tim’s being serious. You weren’t in the room when Jon explained things to us. He’s worried about you, he doesn’t want you to have to leave the Institute alone, he doesn’t want you to have to look for the Prentiss statement in case it’s ‘too traumatic’ for you to run across on your own. He actually asked us if we thought we should avoid any mention of Prentiss altogether in your presence.”

“I told him no,” Tim said. “I hope that was okay. You seem like you’d rather deal with trauma by facing it and figuring it out, rather than avoiding it entirely.”

Matin gaped at them. Really? he wrote. Jon’s… worried about me? Really? As if he hadn’t seen the evidence just now that Jon was, indeed… softening.

Tim gave Martin a very serious look. “I’ve told you before… I’ve known Jon, well, not as long as I’ve known Sasha, but for a long while now. He’s prickly and thorny, even to people he cares about, but that’s a front and I’ve said so. You just didn’t believe me.”

“In Martin’s defense,” Sasha put in, “Jon’s been awfully ‘prickly and thorny’ to him specifically.”

Tim put up a hand. “Oh, I agree. I have had words with our dear boss about the way he treats Martin, largely because I’m one of the few people he might actually listen to.” He looked at Martin. “I don’t want to take the credit, because it’s really been a remarkably fast turnaround, but I’d like to think I helped, a little.”

Martin frowned thoughtfully. Thank you, he wrote. If Jon’s at ‘I can stand Martin’ instead of ‘Martin is the source of all bad that happens in the Archives’ work might be… better than tolerable, for once.

“That’s the spirit!” Tim said with a grin. “Now, then, Jon did say to get back to work…”

Jon gave Martin another of those soft smiles when Martin brought in the tea, a smile which widened on seeing the stack of books he carried in right after. That afternoon, spent sitting and going through books and discussing the Schwarzwald statement, was the first of many they’d spend together, reading and talking and comparing notes.

Martin was feeling verbal again the next morning, but he kept the notebook. If nothing else, it was a good place to jot down poetry. And it came in handy when he found himself unable to speak the morning after Jane Prentiss’ attack on the Archives.

And the morning after Jon confronted him about his CV.

And the morning after Jon disappeared, leaving Jurgen Leitner’s body at his desk. (Martin blamed that on the corridors more than the body, really.)

Funnily enough, he didn’t need it the morning after the Unknowing. But he kept it with him that day all the same, the first gift Jon had ever given him, and one of the few things he had left of him with Jon in a coma.

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

When they reached Daisy’s safehouse in Scotland, Martin had hoped he’d somehow manage to dodge the threat of going non-verbal. He’d been the one to drive the car, over Jon’s protests; it was something to focus on, to keep him remembering he was alive and real. He’d clutched the wheel and driven north north north with Jon giving directions in the passenger seat.

Martin had finally figured out that it was the chance to stop and think about trauma that led to his being non-verbal, which was why it was almost always a thing that hit in the morning. Adrenaline would keep him running after a stressful event, and then he’d carry himself through the rest of the day trying to clean up whatever mess had been caused. But sleep was enough for his body and brain to both tell him to stop, to process, to deal with whatever he’d run into.

It was possible, in hindsight, that he’d gone non-verbal more than once since the Unknowing and just hadn’t noticed because he’d been barely interacting with anyone. He’d certainly had a bad bout the morning after his mother’s funeral, dealing with so much misgendering and fake smiles. And there had been more than enough trauma to try to process in the past year, so it must have happened before.

He’d just really, really hoped it wouldn’t now, because he didn’t want to put Jon through that. (Why he thought he was putting Jon through anything he didn’t really want to examine. It made him feel Lonely, and that was bad.)

At any rate, the realization of why he went non-verbal had led to him keeping busy in order to hold it off, in order to hold himself together. So he drove, and he puttered about the cabin poking into cupboards, and he talked to Jon, and he talked to the shop lady in the village, and he brought back food and made dinner with Jon, and everything was good and fine.

And then he woke up the next morning, in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, and he could not speak.

There was the smell of bacon and eggs and pancakes cooking, and Martin made his bleary way out into the main room of the cabin and peered at Jon, already up and dressed and cooking.

His boyfriend turned to look at him and smiled, one of those soft smiles Martin had come to love so much. “Sleep well?”

"Not really,” Martin signed. “I mean…” He gestured at his throat.

Jon nodded. “I figured you might feel that way this morning. I, uhh… hold on a moment, I need to….” He grabbed the pan of bacon and moved it off the heat, pulled a pancake off the griddle and deposited it on a plate, then turned off the stove and went to poke around in one of the bags.

Martin chuckled fondly. “What’re you looking for?”

Jon was still digging through his bag. “When I was grabbing essentials at the store, back in London, I was thinking, you’ve been through a lot, and the notebook I gave you before must be full if you even have it anymore. I know you were writing poetry in it, and… oh, here we go.”

Jon came up with another small notebook. This one was not plain and brown, the way the first one he’d gifted Martin all those years ago had been. This one was black, and had silvery stars on its cover that, as Jon held out the book and thus tilted it through the light, shimmered into rainbows.

“Just in case, you know, the shop lady doesn’t know BSL.”

Martin blinked at the notebook.

“It, uhh… I know it’s not your usual style,” Jon said, his voice suddenly nervous. He was looking down at the notebook as he spoke, instead of at Martin. “Not… retro. But… I saw it and I thought of you.” He paused. “That tape, where you were talking to Simon Fairchild. He talked about the ‘cosmic scale,’ and how we’ve never even been alive on that time frame, and you said… what was it? You said, ‘I think our experience of the universe has value. Even if it disappears forever.’ And I just… that was… maybe the most… it was very… you. And there were other options, flowers or cursive writing, o-or… I don’t know, they all seemed so obvious, but this…”

Jon swallowed, and finally looked up at Martin. “I thought, after the Lonely, you might like a reminder that, you have value. That… that to me, you shine as bright as any star.” And then he flushed, and Martin knew it was for him, just as he now knew the flushes about tea all those years ago had also been for him.

Martin was gaping. Oh. Oh. Jon… loved him. Which he’d known, intellectually, but the emotional knowledge of it hit him suddenly, took his breath away. He knew it, all at once, in that “oh we could spend the rest of our lives together” way he’d never really thought he’d ever feel.

Jon had clearly misinterpreted the expression; he started stammering, “I-if… it it’s bad, I can… well, no, I can’t take it back, stupid, I should’ve just grabbed the one that had--”

Martin cut him off by reaching out to take the notebook from Jon and reached out with his other hand to cup the shorter man’s cheek. He smiled, and because he’d realized long ago how well Jon responded to physical touch, he leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s forehead.

Then he pulled back to put the notebook aside on the counter and signed, “It’s perfect. Thank you.” A pause, and then, “I love you.”

Jon smiled, both speaking and signing, “I love you, too.”

And for once in his life, Martin knew that to be true, and trusted that knowledge. He was loved. He had been loved, and he would be loved for the rest of his life, whatever state his voice was in.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #jon sims #jonathan sims #jon the archivist #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #archives gang #otp: one way or another together #fanfic #my fanfic #ableism tw #jmart #canon tma fic

308 notes · View notes

the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 years

Text

Chaconne: Part 9 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: With the first concert of the season approaching, you continue working as the personal assistant of Maestra Agatha Harkness, while attempting to juggle your relationship and future in the process.

Word Count: 5K Words

Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QCfDtxcFoyM

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to Part 9 of Chaconne. One quick thing...I have decided to extend this story by just a few parts, I really don’t want to rush through the ending and there are a few more things I want to write haha. Anyways, I included a link to the first movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and it’s briefly mentioned throughout the story so if you feel inclined feel free to listen. I really hope all of you are still enjoying the story, and that you enjoy Part 9! As always, please feel free to leave a comment and my asks/messages are open if you have any questions :)

Tag List: @annie-mit-ie @celasteria @danvers97 @imthedoctorlove @mcfriggingonagall @meowsaidmissy @notsosecretlyalesbian @sarahp-stan @scarletwxtxh @scarletmeltstheice @shinkomiii @sxfwap @thestrangeundoing @teenwonder @upsidedowndanvers @venticalooks @vintagegoddess12 @everythingmarvelsherlockspn @thoroughly--confused

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen on stage, completely lost in your thoughts before the sound of Agatha’s heels came clicking from backstage. Just as you managed to clear your head of Wanda’s offer, the alluring scent of lavender invaded your senses. Even from a few feet away you could hear the conductor mumbling to herself about god knows what. As soon as she spotted you, however, the ramblings immediately stopped.

“Ah, there you are,” Agatha said, offering you a rare but genuine smile as she set her belongings down on the podium. “I see you set the stage.”

Nodding you motioned across the hall. “It didn’t take too long but I gave the winds extra room like you requested.”

The conductor nodded before curiously eyeing you. “Are you alright, dear? You seem distracted.”

Well you could tell her that her least favorite concert pianist had just suggested you move to Vienna. Or how Wanda was apparently aware that there was something going on between the two of you. A part of you did think it would be important to inform Agatha of that, but you also didn’t want to make the situation any worse than it already was.

You quickly nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

Agatha’s eyes searched yours for a moment before nodding and turning her attention to her Dvorak score. A few minutes later, various MSO musicians arrived and began unpacking on and off stage. You eventually headed out to sit in one of the front rows, and you realized you never told Monica that she would be getting a new stand partner.

Luckily it didn’t take long for the violinist to enter the hall, followed closely by Jimmy and Darcy. Her face lit up when she saw you, and went to set her violin down in the row you were sitting in.

“Hey Y/N,” Monica greeted you brightly, before frowning when she noticed something was amiss. “Where’s your violin?”

“I...I’m not playing with the MSO anymore,” you explained quietly, watching Agatha berate the second chair oboist on stage for the way she tuned. “Hayward had blind auditions to fill the chair and I didn’t get it.”

“That’s whack,” Darcy immediately replied, causing Jimmy and Monica to glare at her. “What? It is.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Monica said sincerely. “You’re really talented, I hope you know that.”

“Yeah and it’s only one audition,” Jimmy pointed out. “Hayward’s always been a bit hard headed when it comes to filling seats, especially if it’s someone he picked.”

“It’s okay,” you insisted. “And Monica you’ll be getting a new stand partner so I’m sure he’ll be really good.”

“Which one is he?” Darcy asked curiously as she scanned the hall.

You discreetly glanced around the room before you found him. He was already heading on stage, violin in hand. You hadn’t really paid him much mind before the audition, but now you seemed to notice every detail about him. The sure way he presented himself as he practically strutted up the stage. His rigid posture as he sat in his seat, as if that was a comfortable way to sit.

You motioned your head to the stage and Darcy let out a quiet snort. “Oh good. John Walker.”

Monica rolled her eyes at her friend. “You know this guy?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy replied. “I know everyone.”

“What’s his deal?” Jimmy asked curiously. “He seems a bit...”

“Like he has a stick up his ass?” Darcy guessed, and Jimmy laughed.

“I was going to say uptight, but sure.”

“Walker fancies himself to be a bit of a prodigy,” Darcy explained and shook her head. “He’s good, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not amazing. I played a few gigs with him last summer in the Hamptons and I dreaded every moment spent in his company.”

“I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Monica argued before giving you a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to apologize, I agree with you,” you reassured the violinist. “I’m going to go see if Ag- Maestra needs anything before rehearsal so I’ll see you guys later?”

Agatha was leaning against the podium, drinking her water when she saw you approach her. The conductor appeared exhausted again, and you made a mental note to make sure she went straight home after rehearsal.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

Agatha handed you her spare Dvorak score. “I’ll need you to tell me how the sound projects through the hall. We’ll be running the first movement today and I need to make sure the opening cello theme is clear enough.”

“Right, and if something isn’t clear what do you want me to do?”

“Well you could always throw something at Dottie,” Agatha suggested. “That would certainly get my attention.”

“Very funny,” you deadpanned. “I’m being serious.”

“As was I, dear. Dottie needs to look up from her music more. Perhaps that would encourage her to do so,” Agatha replied nonchalantly before sighing at the look you gave her. “Fine. I’ll ask you at the end of the movement what your notes are.”

“You mean my notes on sound projection, right?”

Agatha shrugged. “Or any suggestions you have on how to improve different sections. I...” the conductor paused and glanced around the hall to make sure no one else was listening in. “I do value your opinion.”

Your felt your heart sing at those words, and it took everything in you to not grab the older woman and kiss her senseless. Instead you gave her a bright smile. “Well I suppose I can try really hard to come up with a few meaningful suggestions.”

Rolling her eyes at your words, Agatha shook her head. “Try not to make me regret my decision, dear. Take a seat a few rows back, I’ll be starting rehearsal soon.”

Sure enough, just as you took your seat Agatha had the orchestra tuning before instructing them to start at the beginning of the first movement of the Dvorak. You loved every movement of Dvorak Symphony No. 9, and while you adored the fourth movement, there was something quite special about the first. There was this beautiful building intensity that started in the strings before slowly rising to include the entire ensemble. It was passionate, colorful, and left you eager for more.

As much as you loved performing, and you did more than anything, you found yourself enjoying getting to observe the rehearsal from your seat in the audience. It allowed you to focus on so much more than when you would be sitting in the first violin section. Before you never saw how Jimmy appears to have his entire part memorized since he usually has his eyes locked on Agatha the entire time. Or how talented Darcy was. You knew she had to be a good percussionist to be subbing for the MSO, but she performed with so much energy you found it hard to tear your eyes away from her.

Then there was Agatha. The conductor appeared lost in the music as she mindlessly conducted, but you swore you never saw anything more beautiful. Every single time you had the privilege of watching her conduct you swore she kept finding new ways to draw you in. How someone could make the simple movements with a baton and her hand so enticing. She had so much energy in her while conducting, and the love she had for the music was so clear in her eyes. What was even more fascinating to you was how easily the rest of the orchestra seemed to follow her. All of her cues were perfect, and she never missed a downbeat. She was by far the best conductor you had ever seen and you would never tire of getting to see this side of her.

The movement progressed and you turned your attention to the first violin section. Monica was was entirely in her element, and you immediately felt a slight pang at not being next to her on stage. You had a few stand partners who had been lovely over the years but Monica was better than all of them combined. She was so precise in her playing, and her technique was absolutely flawless. But what made Monica so unique was how genuinely kind she was. A lot of violinists were so focused on their craft it didn’t matter who they stepped on to get their way, but it was clear Monica didn’t play by those rules.

As you felt your eyes wander, they landed on the new violinist. John Walker. He was...good. The egomaniac violinist inside of you wanted to argue that you were better, but you shoved those comments away. For one thing he used far too much bow on his tremolos, and you were worried he was going to send his bow flying across the stage with the way he was holding it. Then there was his posture, he sat so rigid in his seat. After a few moments, you realized you were sounding more and more like Agatha.

Tearing your eyes away from the first violin section, you wrote down a few notes on sound quality throughout the movement and forced yourself to stay focused. The movement progressed and you couldn’t help but note how good the orchestra was sounding. Granted Agatha ran them hard, but it was clearly paying off. They were good before, but they were finally playing with more of a purpose. Unfortunately, you didn’t think Agatha felt the same was. As soon as the final chord rang out, the conductor whipped her baton on her stand, and you could tell she was angry.

“I don’t know where to begin,” Agatha spat out as she flipped through her score. “That was the saddest attempt of Dvorak I have ever heard in all my years of conducting. I’ve worked with youth symphonies who sounded better than all of you combined.”

Personally you felt Agatha was exaggerating a tad, but you watched her continue to rant.

“Woo, your projection is eons better than before but I still need more,” Agatha called out to the winds section, and you saw Jimmy shoot up in his seat as the conductor called his name. From the percussion section, Darcy also appeared to notice Jimmy’s change in posture and she glanced over and shook her head at you.

“If the rest of you could play as well as Woo I doubt we would be having this conversation but alas,” Agatha sighed, before tapping her baton on the stand. “Flutes, I’m starting to wonder if all of you are deaf or just enjoy the sound of my voice berating you, because what the hell was that? Jones, all of your solos are splitting my brain open. Either work on your intonation and have it fixed by tomorrow morning or I’ll be moving you to second chair.”

Dottie slouched in her seat and you bit your lip. Agatha had lost her temper before during rehearsal but this was slowly starting to get worse.

“I don’t have to time to rerun all of this because we have the idi-Miss Maximoff joining us shortly, but please turn your attention to measure seventy-five,” Agatha instructed the ensemble, before turning her attention to the first violins. “First violins, I need this melody to be sweet and light as we begin, don’t give me too much too soon.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the new violinist raise his bow to ask a question. Oh good. That would definitely end well...Agatha continued rambling on about vibrato and tone, seemingly unaware of the violinist and a part of you hoped perhaps he would simply move on and ask the question later. But it appeared he was the persistent type as he cleared his throat to get the conductor’s attention. Although you were positive Agatha heard him, you were a few rows back and the sound was clear as day, she continued her rant, ignoring him completely. At this point the rest of the orchestra seemed aware of what was going on and everyone seemed to be waiting for Agatha to acknowledge him.

“Maestra? I had a question,” The violinist’s voice boomed through the hall, and you internally winced as you watched Agatha whip her head to look at him.

“Ah yes, our new addition,” Agatha said briefly, as she eyed the violinist. “John Walker, is it?”

He nodded. “I hate to interrupt Maestra-“

Agatha cut him off, appearing to grow more uninterested with every word that came out of his mouth. “Yet you still proceed to act like a privileged toddler to get my attention, so please, Walker, what is it?”

“I merely wanted to suggest a different approach to measure seventy-five,” John explained and he had far too much cockiness for your liking. “I know you feel it’s best to take a softer approach, I was always told to start with a bigger sound then slowly decrescendo. It’s just a suggestion.”

There was another pause as Agatha stared at the violinist with a calculating and cold stare. A part of you wondered if this would be the day she finally snapped and whipped her baton at someone. You had heard rumors of a betting pool the interns had on when Agatha would inevitably strangle someone for making her too angry. You had thought they were being a bit drastic at the time, but seeing the way she was looking at Walker was making you reconsider that.

“Thank you for sharing your very generous suggestions with us, Mr. Walker,” Agatha replied, and there was emphasis on the word suggestions. “I’m not sure if you are aware of where you are, but this is my orchestra.”

John frowned at that, and once again unwisely opened his mouth. “Maestra, I wasn’t attempting to overstep. I just thought I would offer my opinion on how to make the section stronger.”

“Ah yes, my mistake. I must have forgot when I asked for your opinion,” Agatha retorted. her temper appearing to grow more and more heated. “Would you like to offer any other suggestions, Walker? I’m positive the entire orchestra is simply dying to hear your words of wisdom.”

This time John remained silent, but you saw how darker his appearance grew at being called out in front of the entire orchestra. Agatha appeared satisfied by that and she tapped her baton against the stand again. “Lovely to see the newbie catching on. Measure seventy-five.”

The rehearsal of Dvorak continued to drag, and you marked a few notes for suggestions like Agatha had asked you to. You would occasionally check the clock, wondering when Wanda would be arriving since the orchestra was set to rehearse Rachmaninoff at 8:30 sharp. Eventually the doors to the hall opened, but instead of Wanda entering the room it was one of the interns Agatha hadn’t managed to scare away during her early reign of terror. The intern appeared nervous about something, who knows what, and they quickly sought you out.

“Y/N, you have to tell Maestra Harkness that Miss Maximoff won’t be attending rehearsal this evening,” the intern told you, and it looked like they were going to pass out from the fear of having to tell Agatha.

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal?” You asked curiously.

The intern quickly nodded. “She’s sick.”

Sick? You had just seen the pianist a couple hours ago and she appeared fine, but maybe she just came down with something. Giving the intern a small smile, you stood up. “I’ll tell Maestra, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” the intern said sincerely. “I’m pretty sure if I tell her she’ll find a way to fire me.”

The intern hurried back out of the hall and you slowly made your way to the front of the stage, hoping Agatha would call for the orchestra to take a break so you could make your move. With there only being a few rehearsals left until opening night you knew the absence of a soloist would send the conductor over the edge. But hopefully her strong dislike of Wanda would lighten the blow. As if the two of you were telepathically connected, Agatha turned around as you approached the stage and signaled for the orchestra to stop.

“Let’s take ten,” Agatha instructed them. “Have Rachmaninoff ready by the time we come back.”

The musicians all but hurried off the stage, and said hello to the few you had gotten to know over the past few weeks. Darcy caught your eye as she walked down the stairs and motioned her head to where John Walker was standing by his case, rolling her eyes in the process. You swallowed the laughter that threatened to escape as you went to join Agatha on stage. It didn’t take the older woman long to realize something was wrong.

“If you’re going to say I was being too hard on Walker, don’t,” Agatha quietly warned you, and it was apparent she was still fuming.

“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to throw a temper tantrum after I tell you this,” you said, and your tone was light, but Agatha gave you a look.

“I do not throw temper tantrums,” the conductor hissed as you motioned for her to follow you backstage.

“Of course not, Maestra. Your outbursts are completely normal for a woman of your-“ you quickly paused as Agatha arched an eyebrow at you, clearly unamused.

“My what, darling?” Agatha questioned, giving you an unconvincing glare as you laughed.

“Your stature,” you corrected yourself.

“You’re on thin ice,” the conductor warned you. “I’m not sure I like how easily you tease me.”

“Coming from the woman who’s done nothing but tease me since we met I think it’s only fair,” you offered, and Agatha smirked. “But really, please don’t freak out.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’ll have no choice but to tie you up and force the words out of you myself,” Agatha mused, causing you to blush, which made her smirk grow wider. “Ah, do you like the sound of that, darling?”

“The rest of the orchestra is only a few feet away,” you warned her as she took a step closer to you. “If our relationship is supposed to stay private wouldn’t it be a bit unwise to...”

“Oh no, dear, don’t stop using your words now,” Agatha practically purred, she closed the distance between you, lightly shoving you against the wall. “We’re just getting started.”

“Agatha, I really think maybe we should do this somewhere-“ you began to say, and you truly had every intention of trying to be the rational one here, but any remaining brain function you had left was erased as Agatha’s lips began trailing up your neck, occasionally stoping to nip at skin. “Agatha...”

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Agatha whispered against your ear, the warm air of her breath sending tingles down your spine. “Or do I need to encourage you a bit more?”

“I don’t know how you doing this is supposed to encourage me to talk,” you argued, and bit back a moan as the conductor bit down on your earlobe.

“I’m just trying to help, darling,” Agatha insisted, pulling you impossibly closer to her as you were pressed against the wall. “I can help even more if you would like.”

“Wanda’s not coming to rehearsal,” you finally managed to let out with a gasp, and Agatha paused her movements at that.

“Darling, I know I’m a bit distracted but I believe you just said the Sokovian dingbat won’t be at rehearsal,” Agatha said slowly, as if she was trying to wrap her brain around what you just said.

Unwrapping yourself from the conductor, you nodded, trying to gauge her reaction. “She’s sick so she won’t be in attendance today.”

Agatha scoffed, shaking her head at your words. “Wanda Maximoff doesn’t get sick and miss rehearsal. I was-I worked with her long enough to know that.”

“Well that’s what personnel told me, so I’m not sure what to tell you,” you said, and you found yourself stuck on what Agatha had almost said. What wasn’t she telling you?

The conductor took a moment to pull her phone out of her pocket and her frown deepened even more. “Oh for the love of...” Agatha trailed off before whipping her phone against the wall, shattering it in the process.

You jumped at the sound, but Agatha barely seemed to notice you as she was entirely too lost in her thoughts. “Agatha, what’s wrong?”

“Cancel the rest of rehearsal,” Agatha said dismissively as she straightened her sweater. “Those idiots are infuriating me far too much and without Wanda we won’t make any progress on the Rachmaninoff.”

Gaping at her, you took a moment to process what she said. “You’ve never cancelled rehearsal before. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Now, Y/N. I have something I need to do,” Agatha said before storming out of the room, leaving you alone.

To say the MSO musicians were relieved Agatha had cancelled the remaining two hours of rehearsal would have been a vast understatement. You swore you never saw half of them move so quickly when you gave them the okay to leave. Since Agatha had apparently left for the day, you took the liberty of grabbing her belongings and dropped them off in her office on your way out. It wasn’t out of character for Agatha to lose her temper, you had grown used to her yelling and ranting. But her outburst backstage was unlike anything you had ever seen before. There was something the conductor wasn’t telling you, and while you had no idea what it was there was a sinking feeling in your chest that it had something to do with Wanda. Regardless of how curious, and anxious, you were over Agatha’s abrupt exit, you knew there was no good in worrying. She would tell you what was wrong...right?

It had been two days since you heard from Agatha. You received a call from management personnel early Saturday morning informing you that the conductor had cancelled all weekend rehearsals due to a stomach bug, which made you immediately go to call her until you remembered she left her shattered phone backstage. It wasn’t unusual for you to go a day without hearing from Agatha, the conductor valued her privacy and you respected her enough to give her what she needed. But after the practical smothering you had received from the older woman since the blind audition, it left you with a gut feeling that you had done something wrong.

What were the odds that Agatha was sick mere hours after storming out of rehearsal? They were slim, and it didn’t take a genius to tell you that. You had told Sam and Bucky what happened, and while they thought it was suspicious they also agreed that giving Agatha space would be the smartest move. Rationally speaking you knew that everything was fine, it just would have been nice to have received confirmation from the woman you were worrying so much about.

It had been a long time since you last had a Saturday off, so you spent your weekend watching Disney movies and napping while trying your best to keep your mind off Agatha. In fact you had been so distracted with the radio silence from the conductor that you almost forgot about Natasha Romanov and Vienna. The keyword being almost. You knew you needed to make a decision on if you were going to meet with the violinist, and you needed to make one soon. There was no guarantee Natasha would even choose you for her group, but still you found yourself imagining a world where you were performing in Vienna and finally getting to live your dreams. Only those dreams seemed somewhat bittersweet at the prospect of having them without Agatha. It was cliche being this attached this soon, but you couldn’t help it. You had never felt this strongly for anyone you dated before, there was something so different about Agatha that kept drawing you in.

Would it be fair to her if you moved to another continent when you were just starting your relationship? You knew she was concerned you would leave the Symphony after not getting the chair placement. While she had never directly told you, it was what made the most sense when considering her recent behavior. You didn’t want to leave her, you really didn’t. Agatha had given you so much while asking for nothing in return.

But the voice in your head asked if it was fair for you to stay somewhere you wouldn’t be happy. Would you grow to resent your job, or Agatha by association by remaining on as her assistant? Sam had been right when he said there were other jobs in New York City, but you knew nothing here would compare to the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. While quitting would allow the two of you to date publicly, maybe, it would also ruin any chance you still had of hoping to join the MSO. Was that something you were willing to sacrifice? You had a lot you needed to consider, you just wished Agatha was there to help you.

Monday morning came far too quickly for your liking. You were anxious to see Agatha, to make sure she was okay, but you also had to make up your mind on whether to meet with Natasha Romanov. Wanda had sent you a polite, but short, email late Sunday night asking if you made a decision or not. You were still just as torn as you had been all weekend, and sadly this was a decision only you could make for yourself. As you exited the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised to see Agatha’s car waiting for you. The rear window was rolled down and Agatha had her gaze fixated on yours. Giving her a small smile, you approached the car while balancing both coffees.

“Good morning Maestra. Fancy seeing you here.”

Agatha rolled her eyes before helping open the door. “Yes yes, good morning dear. Please hurry up and get in before I have Hank leave without you.”

“You’re in a mood today,” you said lightly after making yourself comfortable in the vehicle. “Rough weekend?”

Agatha grimaced at your choice of words before shrugging. “Oh it was fine. A lot better since I didn’t have to hear those morons butcher Dvorak on Saturday.”

You gave her a look as you motioned to your coffee. “Oh right, your stomach bug? Maybe this won’t sit well then, should I give it to Hank?”

The conductor all but snatched the coffee out of your hands, glaring at you. “Funny, as always darling. I’m feeling much better now.”

So she was sticking with the sick story. As much as you wanted to press and find out why she stormed out of rehearsal so suddenly, you thought it best to not start a possible argument this early in the morning. Besides, Agatha wouldn’t lie to you, right?

You decided to take the safe approach. “Well I should probably keep my distance in case you’re still contagious. Wouldn’t want to catch anything.”

“If that’s what you think best, dear,” Agatha replied. “I would hate to get you sick.”

That’s how things remained the rest of the day. Agatha was clearly not over whatever upset her on Friday, and it appeared she wasn’t willing to share her troubles with you. So you did what you did best, and ignored the persistent voice begging you to talk to her. You busied yourself with various tasks both in and out of the conductor’s office. Opening night was in two weeks and there was much to do still. Even though Agatha had promised to be nicer to the interns, it appeared her generosity had run out as you began counting the number of crying individuals sent running from her office since lunch. Her mood was only growing more and more unstable as the hours passed, and even you found being in her company to be slightly unbearable. Agatha was clearly stressed, and you understood she was under a lot of pressure, you just wish she thought of healthier outlets to relieve it.

Towards the end of the day you received yet another polite, yet persistent email from Wanda and you knew the time had come. On one hand you wanted to ask Agatha’s opinion on the potential job, for you valued her opinion over anyone else’s. But the fear of a fight, especially over something involving Wanda, was enough to make you realize now was not the right time to bring up a potential move to Vienna. Plus you were only meeting with Natasha, it wasn’t like she was going to offer you a job on sight. There would be little to no harm in setting up a meeting. Then you could talk to Agatha.

Satisfied with your decision, you sent a quick reply to Wanda stating you would be interested in meeting with Natasha before heading back to Agatha’s office. Hopefully the conductor had enough time to cool down to consider leaving work within the next few hours. However, when you opened the door you were surprised to find her hunched over her desk, eyes locked on her laptop. She didn’t appear to hear you enter, and a part of you wondered if you should leave and come back later. Ultimately deciding that you would stay, you lightly knocked on the door to attempt to draw her attention away from the screen. It worked, only when she finally looked at you, you saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Fear.

“Y/N...” Agatha trailed off, and you could practically see the frown lines become embedded in her skin.

“Agatha?” You barely recognized the sound of your own voice as you approached the conductor. “What’s wrong?”

Before the conductor could reply, your phone began to repeatedly ding. Pulling it out of your pocket you felt your heart sink at the notification. You had several texts from Sam, Bucky, Monica, even Darcy, but what caught your eye was an article from The New York Times.

‘Agatha All Along? An Inside Scoop to the Alleged Affair Between MSO Conductor Agatha Harkness and Concert Pianist Wanda Maximoff’

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness #agatha wandavision #agatha harkness x you #wandavision #wandavision au

220 notes · View notes

typical-simplelove · 3 years

Text

Comfort (M. Barzal)

Author's Note: This is based on this photo of Mathew's arms. I know this should probably be a smutty piece, but I don't feel comfortable with that or have the abilities to do that, so here's a fluffy piece instead!

Warnings: mentions of heart disease but only in passing.

Word Count: 1.7k

Comfort. What did that truly mean? By definition, comfort means a state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint. When people are asked about where they feel the most comfortable in their lives, many say in the comfort of their own home, their childhood home, or in the comfort of a grandparent’s house. It’s funny; in order to describe where one’s comfort place is, one has to use the word “comfort” in the response.

So, where’s your comfort spot? Sure, you could say you found comfort in a cocoon of blankets and pillows on your bed on a rainy day with your best friend next to you. Or, you found comfort sitting in your childhood home reminiscing about your childhood. Or, sitting on a chair in your grandmother’s house. All these were spots where you found comfort. However, where you found comfort was not a place but someone. It was in the hold of a certain someone. Who was that someone? Mathew Barzal. Your best friend.

For as long as you could remember, you weren’t big on touch or anything of that sort. However, Mathew made you want to be in someone’s embrace. You wanted, no craved, to be held by Mathew. You weren’t sure what it was. Maybe it was the warmth that always seemed to radiate off his body. Or, maybe it was his warm personality that drew you into him. It might be the way that you always felt calm around him. Or, it might have been his arms. His strong, muscular arms would hold you tightly but not make you feel like you’re suffocating. Maybe, it was a mix of it all. When you’d sit on your bed surrounded by pillows and blankets, the warmth you had didn’t come from the blankets or the pillows or the heating system; no, the warmth came from Mathew. His arms holding you against his chest allowed for the warmth to transfer from his body to yours. You could spend hours with Mathew’s arms around you holding you close to his chest.

When you’d have a bad day, the one thing that’d be able to make you feel better and calm you down was Mathew. He knew. You’d call him, and the way you greeted him, Mathew would know that you needed him to hold you. He’d rush over to your apartment, let himself in, and just wrap his arms around you. It didn’t matter if you were standing over the sink washing dishes or standing over the stove cooking dinner, Mathew would gently wrap his arms around you. Mathew would know that his arms around you calmed you down and comforted you when you’d breathe out heavily. You’d lean your back against Mathew’s chest, and all your worries would slip away.

Through finding comfort in your best friend, one constant thought continuously loomed in your head that begged to be addressed: Mathew was holding you and comforting you as a friend; however, you wanted him to hold you and comfort you as more than a friend. You didn’t want Mathew’s comforting to end with just holding you. You wanted Mathew to kiss you on your forehead or on your temple or on your cheek in comfort. You wanted Mathew to hold your hand in public and squeeze it reassuringly. You wanted everything with Mathew. It seemed, though, that Mathew didn’t want to give you that same comfort. You thought that you were being obvious in how you felt, but it seemed that Matthew didn’t catch on to your hints.

It was a particularly rough day at work. Everything happened to go wrong. Your boss was putting more pressure on you, and your coworkers were very officious and aggravating today. You knew that when you got in your car, you needed Mathew. You needed Mathew to comfort you and make you calm. You called him, and he just knew. The fact that he just knew made your heart warm. There wasn’t any way he reciprocated how you felt, right?

You got to your apartment, and Mathew was already sitting outside your door. He looked cute and comfortable wearing sweats and a sweatshirt. Your heart began to beat out of your chest at first sight. He greets you, asks if he can hug you, and wraps you into a hug when you say yes and get closer to him. You breathe in his scent, and suddenly, all of your worries went away. You knew that as long as you were around Mathew, you’d be more than fine. Even if Mathew was in the same room as you, you knew that he’d be able to calm you down and fill you with comfort.

Mathew releases you when you tell him you have to go inside your apartment; however, he wraps an arm around your waist ensuring that he always has an arm on you. You tell him you want to get changed, so you walk into your bedroom and change while Mathew does whatever in the kitchen. When you walk out of your bedroom, Mathew’s sitting on your couch with his arms open for you with a blanket and a mug of tea sitting on the coffee table. You grab the mug and settle into Mathew’s side. He wraps the blanket around your legs and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly, and you absorb his warmth. You sit there sipping your tea as Mathew holds you and comforts you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mathew asks thinking that you’re feeling a bit better. You shake your head. Suddenly, your bad day didn’t exist anymore. Just being in Mathew’s embrace and hold, your entire day drifted away. You set your empty mug on the coffee table and curl into Mathew’s chest. He turns on a sitcom rerun on TV, and you both watch along. You both watch the show ignoring the reality of your situation. Your head was resting on Mathew’s chest, and you could feel his heart beating quicker than an adult male of Mathew’s health and size. Not only that, your heart rate matched his closely.

At one point, Mathew leads you into your bedroom, and you both fell asleep there. Mathew held you as you slept and didn’t want to leave. Why would he want to leave when he had the best sleep of his life when he was in your bed, holding you, and right next to you? He never wanted to wake up because, in the morning, you would get out of the bed, and the comfort he sought from you would be gone.

Mathew knows that his embrace calms you down; he knows that when he holds you, you reach a feeling of tranquility that no one else is able to make you feel. You, however, don’t know the effect and comfort you bring him. When he holds and embraces you, not only is he comforting you, you’re comforting him. When the nerves and standards of being a hockey player begin to get to his head and get to him, Mathew can always count on holding you and feeling your warmth as comfort and solace. He’d do anything to have you by his side forever. When he holds you, do you notice his heart beating like crazy?

One night, you’re sitting in Mathew’s apartment after a particularly long week for the both of you. Work was hectic and driving you crazy, and the Isles came back from a road trip that didn’t go particularly well and in their favor. You were laying in Mathew’s bed beneath his blankets and nestles into Mathew’s arms. Your face was resting on Mathew’s chest as he strokes your arm softly. Whatever rerun was playing softly on the TV was long forgotten as you’re focusing on listening to Mathew’s heartbeat. It was faster than average; it’s not unnormal for it to sound beat this fast, but you were getting worried that Mathew might have a heart condition.

“Hey, Mathew?” you ask softly, and Mathew hums lowly, and you feel the vibration. “Why is your heart beating so fast? I’m kind of worried that it might be a sign of a heart or blood pressure problem.”

“It’s not a heart problem,” he mumbles. You’re not quite sure if you heard him properly, so you look up at him asking him to repeat himself. He repeats what he says but even less audible.

“Mathew, I couldn’t hear you.”

“It’s not a heart problem,” Mathew says.

“I’m not so sure, Mathew; I think you might need to go to the doctor.”

“No, I’m okay,” Mathew insists.

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“It’s not a heart problem, Yn,” Mathew says and looks down at you. You meet his eyes, and you see a look of contemplation in his eyes. “It’s because of you.”

“Me?” you ask in confusion and crinkle your eyebrows. Why would you cause Mathew’s heart rate to be so fast? Did you scare him so much that he feared for his life?

“It’s not a bad thing, Yn, I promise,” Mathew is quick to say when he sees the confusion laced in your facial features. “Promise you won’t freak out on me?”

You sit up and face Mathew. In the process, you take yourself out of Mathew’s strong, comforting hold. “Maybe.”

Mathew takes a deep breath. “I guess that would work.”

You raise your eyebrows asking Mathew to continue silently.

“I’m in love with you, Yn. I don’t want to hold you and do this with you as just friends anymore. I want to come home to you and love you and kiss you and be with you in every way and more.”

“Oh,” you say softly. You break out into a wide smile. “I feel the same way, Mathew.”

“Really?” Mathew asks excitedly.

You nod.

“That’s amazing; I — can I kiss you?” Mathew asks nervously.

“Yeah,” you nod. You lean closer to him and gently place your lips on his. He cups your cheek and rubs his thumb on your cheek in a circular pattern. It was perfect, absolutely perfect. You found the comfort you always wanted with the one person you loved.

Taglist: @goalision @coffee-ontherocks @glassdanse @barzal-burakovsky @boqvistsbabe @heatherawoowoo @heaveniish @stars-canucks @tkapuckit @mellany1997 @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @heybarzy @2manytabsopen @habsfan @besthockeyfics @plds2000 @kaitieskidmore1 @iwantahockeyhimbo @barzysandmarnersbitch @ollywahlygator @leafs-forever @laurenairay @no-pucks-given @sixmapleleafs @thebestoffanfiction @davopuck @tysonsjosty (Join my taglist here!)

#mathew barzal #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal x reader #mathew barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl writing #nhl fic #hockey fic #hockey imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #new york islanders #new york islanders x reader #new york islanders fic #new york islanders imagine

205 notes · View notes

bubsdolan · 3 years

Note

hi bubba!! i have this really unusual tattoo (at least i think so, ive never see anyone do it), basically, i have stretchmarks that stretch on my hips and love handles so tatted on some of them are little flowers and the marks are basically the stems...if you get what i mean idk if i explained it really well lol....would u mind writing a blurb ab reader w this tattoo having a beach day w gray and he’s never seen her tattoos before and is basically really impressed and fascinated w it?? none of my past bfs liked it so :(

{ok firstly let me start by staying that is the most beautiful tattoo idea i think ive ever heard of. it’s so unique & i just know you look absolutely stunning.}

“baby, you coming in the ocean?”

grayson’s mesmerising hazel eyes bore into you as he watches you get your little station of sun lotion, a book, snacks and all your other beach essentials set up for your day of relaxation ahead. you could never say no to grayson, his face was one of those you became so desperate to hold, to kiss, to touch whenever he looked at you the way he was right now- love. he was so beautiful you often wondered what he saw in you.

you giggle as a puppy like grayson bounces on his feet before you. with ethan and kristina long gone, chasing and splashing in each in the cooling water under the 80 degree heat of la, grayson was just as eagar to follow behind, but he wouldn't go anywhere without you right by his side.

“s’give me a minute, i’ll meet you there.” you lean over to place a quick peck on his lips, feeling him smile in the kiss as he thrived in the affection you gave him and in nature. he loved being outside that was a given, in the fresh air and beautiful scenery with the woman he planned on one day marrying. you, his twin and nature was all grayson needed to survive and right now, he couldn’t be happier.

accepting your kiss, grayson soon turns contently to meet his brother and his girlfriend in the water he was so desparte to indulge himself in. however he stopped short of hitting it, when he saw you hesitantly strip your body from the cover up you insisted on wearing in the heat and leaving you in nothing but your tiny bikini that made his mouth water. he couldn't take his eyes off you.

raking in the breathtaking site of your body, the one he worshiped every night but never fully got to idolise as you always made a conscious habit of wearing his t-shirt in the bedroom. his breathing hitches and eyes falling when he noticed the art that adorned your hips.

there, in plain sight were tiny little flowers, all shapes and sizes, grazing your stretch marks. scars grayson could only consider as beautiful as they acted as the strems of your creation.

it suited you perfectly, it made you stand out even more in his eyes and only confirmed the fact that you were damn near perfect for him. your body a priceless canvas as he fell in love with you even more at the sight of the new found discover. he fell harder, his soul already married to you. his future standing in front of him.

a niggle of doubt crossed his mind as to why he was only just seeing your masterpiece now. did you not feel comfortable around him? were you ashamed? grayson never failed to make you feel worthy, loved and worshipped, that he hated himself for not noticing sooner. how could miss something so vibrant and alluring.

“ready to go bear?” you place your hands on grayson’s pecks after jogging slightly to catch up with him, your fingers dancing over the skin of his heart as he didn't even realise he was lost in a trance of you, until your angelic voice brought him out of it.

his hands automatically find their home on your hips, his fingers trancing every elegantly precise line that helped shape your body. his fingers soothing, loving and warm. his eyes watched the gentle movements as he traced and memorised each petal, each leaf and each stretch mark. he had to pinch himself that you were real.

“s’come you never showed me this before?”

you heart drops, completely forgetting about the art you permanently drew on your body when you were just 18, after suffering with the insecurity of your scars most of your teenage years. ever since the day you ‘friends’ ridiculed you and doubted your life choice, you vowed to keep the tattoo in your own possession. not wanting to deal with the heartbreak of more judgement, especially from the only person who mattered the most.

you feared your stretch marks would put him off you, make you less attractive in his eyes and made you not fit in with the beauty standards that surrounded grayson daily due to his status. you feared he would find your stretch marks disgusting, off putting, not wanting to be with you any longer as you were scared. permanently damaged. you weren't like other girls grayson had been associate with in the past, and that in turn forced you to keep this secret from him for many months.

you avoided his strong gaze and instead focused on the way his hands praised your body by continuously following where the tattoo leads. there was nothing but love in his eyes, he was truly fascinated by the way you turned such an already beautiful part of you, into something more breathtaking.

you gulp, your own thoughts running away with you as you thought back to the moment your friends and family laughed at you. claiming you made a mistake and ruined your body forever.

“i- erm,- i wasn’t sure what you would think about it. didn't want you to be turned off or laugh at me, m’sorry.”

grayson whips his head up to look at you so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. he was completely taken aback by your comments, as he never once gave you the impression he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you. the odds of existed are slim, so the odds of you and grayson existing at the same time is next to impossible. but that was the beauty of your relationship and grayson vowed to never take it for granted.

bringing one hand up from your waist, he lifts your chin delicately between his fingers and forces you to look at him. his touch electrifying, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin due to the outpouring of love being shown to you.

“fuck baby, i couldn't be more in love with you if i tired. this-” he refers, point down to your tattoo that has taken his breath away, “only makes you more beautiful.”

“plus i think it’s super badass my girl is tatted.”

you search his eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but when you are met with nothing of the sort, you break down. tears free falling as you crash into grayson’s chest and let yourself be held by him in a way that made you feel safe. all your pent up fears, doubts and insecurity’s washing away in a matter of seconds by thr kindness and love grayson showed you thoughout your entire relationship. you felt silly for ever thinking different. a tattoo doesn't change you a person, it doesn't define you and it cetinaly doesn't make you incapable of love.

grayson listened to your soft sobs, a mix or both happy and sad tears as he wished he could capture all your sadness in the grasp of his palm, clutching it tighly and ensuring it could never find it’s way back to you. he wished to vanish all the negative opinions of people in your past who made you feel any less than perfect. any less than beautiful and any less worthy of being loved the way he loved you.

as graysn held you, shushing your whimpers and kissing your forehead repeatedly, his hand presume their precision back on your hips. unable to draw himself away from the art that in his mind has him already planning a similar tattoo. maybe he’ll even get you to design and hand draw it. a sign of his love for you that was permanently and going to stay with him till the day he parts the earth. with you by his side.

103 notes · View notes

aka-ashi-keiji · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet

Akaashi Keiji

soft angst, unrequited love

a/n: this was for a school assignment lmao but i really really enjoyed writing it, even though love stories are def not my forte :(( but angst definitely is, so enjoy!!

Keiji, such a beautiful name. This was the name of someone who you held so closely to your heart, but weren’t necessarily as close to his. Despite this fact, the fondation in which your friendship was built off of will always overpower your sense of heartbreak as you realize that not all the feelings you feel for Keiji are reciprocated. The earliest memories your mind encapsulated revolved around the amount of time you spent with him as a child. Your mothers being best friends and your houses set on the same street, you each had a “built in best friend”, as your parents would like to tell you. And it was true, he was your best friend all through the enjoyable years of grades kindergarten to fifth. As well as staying through the hell bound years of grades six to twelve.

The core memories accumulated through the daily interactions between you two, stood out so brightly in your mind even years after graduation. Racing each other down hills even though those races always ended with either you or both of you with scraped knees. the scars still graced your skin and were visible under the skirt you wore to your office job day in and day out. Spending time sat in the shade provided by your house, in the backyard as your backs faced each other. On these days of your early preteen years, Keiji would bring you a new book every time, insisting that you would adore it. You nearly always did, and when you think about it now you’re not entirely sure if you truly did like these books, or if you just adored the person sitting with his back to yours as he read the same set of words.

Despite whether you adored the books or if you adored him subconsciously, this admiration soon became a conscious thought that consumed your entire being. It all started with the garden of flowers that grew near the back door. Tiger lilies, roses, tulips, all varieties of each end of the color spectrum, definitely the second most beautiful thing that took part of Keiji’s household. The first being obvious, but nonetheless beautiful. But one specific flower soon had woven its roots of beauty and simplicity into your mind. Forget-me-Nots were simple, easy to overlook, kinda like Keiji and yourself. But when examined closely, they were completely immersed with beauty. Or, that’s what he would tell you everytime he handed you a bundle of these precious plants. Every morning since fourth grade, you would walk with Keiji to school. Every single one of these walks began the same. Around when you both were first years in high school, you finally asked.

“Why do you give Forget-Me-Nots every morning?”

To which he replied with, “Maybe if I give you them enough, you’ll never forget me.”

At this point in time, you had become conscious of the romantic feelings you had for keiji, but you could see it in the way he looked at you and in the way he gazed at the girl who sat next to you in English. His eyes weren’t tainted with the same love you felt for him, his eyes only became tainted when they were focused on her.

You had read about this, the emotion of something much worse than a breakup. Unrequited love. The concept only existed in stories you read with the person who manifested this fictional feeling into your reality. But that feeling started to dull as his closeness started to become tainted just as your eyes had been for so many years. This had started your third and final year of high school, after the girl you sat next to in english had dumped him on his birthday. You were at that party, you watched it happen, You watched as she laughed with another the next day, while Keiji wept into your shoulder. You had never seen such genuine and painful tears spring from his beautiful dark blue eyes. His eyes were no longer tainted with that love, but instead flowed through to his actions.

He started to linger longer after walking you home, bringing books over ‘just because’. He stayed for dinner now on the days where he would normally be out on a date, and not just on the weekends like before. Everything that unrequited love had taken from you, was now slowly making its way back into your life. The taint that still clung to your eyes seemed to force yourself to see the same emotions through his actions. Maybe this unrequited love was finally starting to go both ways. You knew in the back of your love sick brain that you were just being hopeful, and that he most likely was just being himself and his love was still only platonic. But a heart that had been bruised so many times can only handle the bleeding inside for so long.

Your emotions had begun to spur your actions, linking your arms with his in the halls at school, legs over his lap as you both read on the couch, the grazing of your knuckles when you two walked too close together. He too, mimicked these habits. His head finding its way to your shoulder as you two studied, squeezing your hand when he sensed your unease, and even the smallest glance of his daring eyes seemed to hold yours for a second longer than would be comfortable, but it was comfortable with him. Even though the words never came from Keiji’s lips, you could’ve sworn you felt them with every move. I love you too.

One day however, your feelings became too great to live in your mind. The love that manifested in fourth grade in his backyard was finally going to be voiced and accepted into the world. This day was like any other school routine, but the excitement and nausea was the catch. You waited patiently to hear Keiji’s strong but subtle footsteps come into earshot as you waited on your porch. Once they had, your heart nearly pulled you to his side, the giddiness concerning Keiji.

“Are you alright? Are you cold, you're shaking.” He asked quietly as he began to take off his uniform blazer. Oh only if he knew. He placed it over your shoulders and began to reach back to the side of his school bag as you softly thanked him. What happened next was something so completely normal, but it still made your cheeks dust pink everytime. And today was no exception. He held out a single bundle of the precious flowers, his soft subtle smile gracing his face. You smiled back brightly as you took them, and with that you started your commute.

You nervously picked at the stems as you fought the urge to just blurt out your confession. You nearly decided against it, but you shook your head as you promised to go through with it. You owed it to yourself, after all the years of pain you unnecessarily had put yourself through. And even though you knew you had to come clean, you still feared that maybe this was just a side effect of a love sick brain and a heart damaged by an emotion you read in a teen fiction book in seventh grade. But that taint in your eyes never left and it remained glossy as ever. So as your steps fell in time with Keiji’s, you spoke.

“I like you”

He slowed down a bit and turned his head to see you staring at the gift he had given you. “What?” You both had stopped in your tracks now. Slowly but surely, your eyes connected to his and with one look, the taint had spread through your body and infected your heart.

“I like you, or actually I love you.” You stammered out, the weight that sat so heavily on your head and heart finally receded. But soon returned as the air around Keiji was filled with silence. “That’s what I wanted to tell you.” You spoke again, hope filling your voice. You smiled at him as his eyes had suddenly become a shade darker.

“Oh.” One word, that’s all you got. And that one word shattered the taint that covered your heart, and bruised it once more.

“Oh?” you questioned, silently begging for more of an answer. Hoping for the answer you wanted. But you knew you wouldn’t get. His eyes still bore into yours, your smile fading along with any hope of this going the way your feelings had told you it would.

After the few seconds that felt like eons, his explanation finally fell from his lips. The words gentle, but still sharp enough to draw blood.

“Y/n look, y’know I care about you and I’ll always be your best friend but it’s just that-”

You cut him off, you knew what he was about to say and if he said it, it would’ve split your heart in two. You saying it didn’t dull the damage as much as you hoped.

“You still love her, huh?” You asked quietly, your heart pumping adrenaline into your veins, every muscle in your body working together to keep tears from falling. You didn;t want the answer even though you already knew it. You knew it from the start, you knew that fictional emotion wasn’t fiction and unfortunately, it was permanent. But you couldn’t blame yourself, you were sick, too love sick for your own good. And something you wished that book had told you, was that unrequited love could be deadly.

A single nod was all it took. And when you think about that day now, you remind yourself that you should really listen to the thoughts that stick around long enough. The thoughts that don’t deter even when you have the strongest of feelings. You didn’t know how to feel, or what to say. In all honesty, what could you do? So you did the one thing you had mastered over all these years, you hid your true feelings.

“Okay, that’s alright!” You said brightly, beginning to walk once again. His steps fell in time with yours, and he even tried to apologize, apologize for being honest. But you assured him that it was okay, that you two were okay. You couldn’t be mad, but that didn;t stop you from being broken. It was true, your friendship continued as always, never letting the side effects of unrequited love over power the strength of the love manifested in your friendship.

You both soon graduated, promising to keep in touch. And that you did. You both began to travel quite a lot after university, your jobs moving you all around the globe. But the tradition of the flowers that grew in Keiji’s backyard never ceased no matter the distance. They may have not shown up everyday, but they made their way to you on most occasions.

On one very specific day, the day your first company launched, the bouquet of the dainty little flowers made their way to your office desk. However this time, they came with a note.

“You didn’t forget me yet did you? I always knew you’d do great things. Congratulations y/n, come visit soon. I have some new books I think you’ll adore.

- K.”

You could never forget him, you couldn’t ever forget Keiji even if you wanted to. The memory of him brought you back to that emotion that only existed in the fiction books you read in seventh grade. It wasn’t fiction, it was most definitely and undeniably real. Unrequited love was bitter, but with Keiji it was also sweet. And that’s something you could never forget.

************************************************

a/n pt. two: as an akaashi simp and stan this hurt my heart.

part two is under construction :))

200 notes · View notes

hercleverboy · 3 years

Text

jealous

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer comes to terms with the fact that the reader will never love him the way he loves her.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ heartbreak, unrequited love.

word count ↠ 2.6k

“But I always thought you’d come back, tell me that all you found was heartbreak and misery.” — Jealous by Labrinth

‘I'm jealous of the rain

That falls upon your skin

It's closer than my hands have been

I'm jealous of the rain’

Spencer loved the rain.

Well, not exactly. He loved to watch how it fell from the grey, angry clouds above as he sat warm and cosy in his apartment. He loved the rain if he was safe inside. He wouldn’tlike to get caught in a downpour, however.

He watched contently as the droplets fell against the window, staining the glass and jarring his view of the street below. It made him feel peaceful, and he would argue that there was no better sound to read to than that of the rain.

His focus dropped from the copy of ‘War and Peace’ in his hands, his mind focused on something else entirely.

Not so much something but someone.

Y/N had been Spencer’s closest friend for years at that point, having met him a few months after he’d started working at the BAU.

They spent pretty much any moment they could together. Spencer took her to museum exhibits and art galleries and she would listen intently as he rambled. He’d always stop mid-sentence and blush, apologising for getting ahead of himself but she’d simply smile and shake her head.

“You don’t ever have to apologise for sharing your wonderful knowledge with me, Spence. You know I could listen to you all day,” She’d say, “Keep going, please?”

He never could say no to her.

If there was anyone in the world he felt most comfortable with, it was her. She never ridiculed him or babied him like the team had a habit of doing. If there was a case that ended poorly she never pushed for him to confide in her, giving him the time and space to disclose his feelings when he was ready (something he was incredibly grateful for.)

For a long while, things were strictly platonic for Spencer. One day she was his best friend, the person he felt the most himself around, and the next day it was something more. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which his feelings for her changed, or what had caused them too. Since when had her welcoming hugs begun feel so warm? At what point had her giggle caused the butterflies in his stomach that he’d only ever read of in great poetry or love stories?

He tried to push the feelings away, he really did, but ultimately his attempts to avoid his newfound affection for her were fruitless. Nothing could be done, he finally had to face the facts. He was in love with her. In love with every adorable quirk, every smile, and every part of her; even the parts she deemed unworthy and ugly, he loved them all the same.

He wanted her to be his so badly.

There was only one slight problem.

Y/N wasn’t his to have. She had a boyfriend, a long term one at that. She was in a committed relationship with a man that wasn’t Spencer and he’d still allowed himself to fall in love with her.

Nice one, Spencer.

Spencer looked up at the clouds above him, frowning at the sight of the different shades of grey they were. He looked over at Y/N who walked alongside him. He’d gotten them tickets to a Russian Film festival, and he’d insisted she went with him so he could do a simultaneous whisper translation while they watched.

“It looks like it’s going to rain.” He broke the comfortable silence between them, his voice wavering slightly.

She looked up, a grin coming to her lips at the sight. “I hope it does, you know I like the rain.”

He chuckled lightly at that. “I do too! But who wants to be caught in it and end up soaking wet?”

She gasped in mock hurt. “I’m sorry Mr. 187, maybe I want to get caught in the rain, like a scene in some cheesy rom-com.”

He shook his head at her, his gaze dropping back down to look at the pavement beneath them.

Then the downpour started, just as Spencer had predicted. The rain was heavy and cold, essentially soaking them in seconds.

Spencer ducked under nearby shelter, pulling his coat tighter around him. He looked back over at Y/N, surprised to find her stood out in the rain, her arms outstretched and a grin on her lips.

“Y/N! What are you doing? You’re gonna get cold!” He shouted out, trying to make himself heard over the loud pelts of rain.

“I’ll be fine!” She called back.

“You know there’s a widespread myth that you lose the most body heat through your head. Studies have actually concluded that you only lose about ten percent of heat through your head.” Spencer shouted, and she turned to him with a smile, one that dismissed his facts. “You’re not even wearing a jacket, Y/N!”

“You know as well as I do, Doctor, that there’s no direct correlation between the rain and getting sick, so don’t even try that with me.”

“You’re right, but there’s a very real chance of hypothermia. Actually, last year it was reported that approximately 700 people in the US died of hypothermia-”

“Spence!” She grinned, politely interrupting his statistics. “Come join me! Live a little!”

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m okay, thank you. But you carry on.”

He watched on in awe at the sight before him. He pushed all the statistics on the probability of her getting sick to the back of his head, focused on how she looked it that moment. Her body was lit only by pale moonlight and dim streetlamps, but Spencer thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

He should’ve told her, then. Should’ve told her how much he loved her, how he could give her everything she craved, more than her boyfriend ever could. He wondered how he would put into words that he’d find a way to give her the world if she asked for it.

But he said nothing.

He could envision himself saying it.

He allowed himself to dream of speaking the words, how her face would light up and he’d finally get to hold her the way he yearned to. He thought of how proud Garcia would be of him since she’d practically been begging him to make a move ever since she learned of the situation. (” It’s not that simple, Garcia. She has a boyfriend!” “That’s a minor detail, Reid!”)

He could picture himself saying the words. He could see how she’d look over at him with those adorably furrowed brows and stunning eyes. The rain would pour over them like in the scene from Pride and Prejudice, as he finally dared to say the words he’d held onto for so very long.

‘I love you, most ardently.’

His very own Elizabeth Bennet.

But he said nothing.

Instead, when she came back over to him, her figure shivering as the cold finally set in, he simply offered her a cheeky grin. A simple look that said, ‘I told you so’. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, waving off her protests that he was going to get cold now.

As if that mattered, as long as she was warm.

Any attempt to sleep seemed useless. No matter how many poems he read to himself in his mind, sleep simply wasn’t coming. With a frustrated huff he moved to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling defeatedly. Although he wished it wouldn’t, his mind travelled to Y/N. His heart lurched and just the thought of her, accompanied by the newest of the plethora of emotions he was feeling- jealousy. He wondered if her boyfriend knew just how lucky he was to be lying next to her, to have the privilege of holding her close, of telling her he loved her.

Spencer wasn’t a possessive man, he knew very well that Y/N didn’t belong to him, nor did she belong to anyone. She wasn’t an object to be had, and Spencer would never treat her as such. However, he found himself wishing to a being he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be his. Perhaps it was selfish and wrong, to hope that she’d turn up heartbroken on his doorstep so that he could pick up the pieces of her broken by another man. It was definitely selfish to wish her so much heartache so that he could ultimately get what he wanted.

He recognised that she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t owe him her love in return for his. But that almost made it worse; that this situation was nobody’s fault. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault for not returning his affections, nor was it her boyfriends’. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault either, he knew that deep down. He knew that no matter how many times he wished he’d told her sooner, before another man had swept her away, it wouldn’t have changed her feelings for him.

It almost brought him to tears. It’d be easier, he thought, easier if she did something that made me hate her. But he didn’t hate her, he didn’t think he ever could. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything and there no words to describe the burning pain in his chest as the realisation that he was all alone dawned on him.

Y/N didn’t love him. At least, not in the way he wanted her too.

He could almost kid himself into thinking that she was going to knock on his door, tell him she’d left her boyfriend and confess her love for him. It was silly, and really doing him more damage than good to indulge in this self-serving fantasy he’d created, but it was the only thing that gave him enough peace to finally fall into slumber.

He nearly said it one day.

It was a Friday evening, and they were sat together at his apartment, having just finished watching a bunch of films. Y/N was mid-tangent about an interesting fan theory she’d read up on, while Spencer sat next to her trying to clear his thoughts.

His mind was screaming at him, this is it, it said, this is your chance. He knew it was selfish, quite possibly the most selfish thing he’d ever do. Especially when she was with someone else, the man she was building a life with- and Spencer was going to tear it all down with three simple words.

The most selfish thing he’d ever do.

And some part of him, some silly, hopelessly romantic part of him told him she wasn’t going to reject him. No, instead, she would admit she loved him too- and everything would be okay. Right?

“Y/N I-“ He interrupted her, and she looked over surprised as she stopped talking. She took in his tone of voice; how pained it sounded. She watched at how he cringed for interrupting her, his trembling hands coming to clutch fistfuls of his beige coloured cardigan in a nervous attempt to calm himself.

He evidently had something he needed to get off his chest.

“Yeah, Spence?” She prodded when he didn’t speak.

“I- I have to tell you something, something I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He rushed out, his voice shaking. He knew he’d have to force himself to say the words. He told himself to stop thinking so hard and just say them, because he knew all too well that he wouldn’t get the opportunity again.

“Okay. It’s okay, take your time. It’s just me.”

“I-I” He stuttered, trying to force the three simple words to leave his lips but he couldn’t seem to do it. He desperately wanted to, and it ached because he could feel them on the tip of his tongue.

Then his eyes met hers, and he stopped. His brain seemed to grant him a moment of clarity among the chaos and overwhelming thoughts. He tried to profile her, to use what he knew about human behaviour and how he’d read once that the eyes were the windows to the soul. He recalled how happy she always was when she spoke of her boyfriend, and Spencer couldn’t deny that from what he’d heard, he treated her well. Like she deserved. It shattered his heart all over again, but how could he sit there and tear away the happiness of the woman he loved? He knew what him confessing would do to her. She’d go into overdrive trying to compensate for not feeling the same, overexert herself trying to be the greatest friend she could be — and all the while she’d smile, as though the knowledge that she’d (unintentionally) hurt her best friend wasn’t killing her inside.

He couldn’t do that to her.

Not as he stared at her now, her worried eyes on him as she tried to figure out how to help him.

He couldn’t hurt her like that.

Spencer would hurt himself a hundred times over if it meant she was unharmed. He supposed that was what the meaning of love really was. Sacrificing yourself for the one you love.

He gave a sad smile and shook his head. “Um, you know what? It’s nothing.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she scoffed. “Seriously? You’re gonna leave me hanging like that?” Her tone was amused although she feigned disappointment.

“Guess so.” He forced a chuckle, and Y/N opened her mouth to speak before the sound of her phone ringing cut through the air. She looked over at it, a small smile reaching her features at the sight of the name that flashed across the screen.

“Is that your boyfriend calling?” Spencer asked quietly.

She nodded. “I’ll tell him to call back later.” She moved her hand to click decline but Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“No. It’s okay. You should answer it now, it might be important.”

She seemed hesitant but nodded nonetheless, moving a few paces away from him before answering and talking softly into the phone. A few minutes later she hung up.

“Everything okay?” Spencer questioned.

She hummed. “Of course. He just wanted to know if I wanted to grab dinner with him, but I told him I’ve got plans with you-”

“No- no- you should go. With him.” Spencer breathed out.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna order in from that Chinese place you love?”

He gave her a small shrug. “We can take a rain check. You should go, I-I wouldn’t want you to be late for dinner.”

She frowned over at him, pocketing her phone as she moved closer to him. She clasped his shoulders in her hands and pulled her to him in a hug. He tensed at the initial contact, but eventually he relaxed into her hold and wrapped his arms around her.

“You know you can tell me anything?” She promised, her voice soft, warm.

“I know.” His voice broke, and his throat burned with the sob he was holding back.

She pulled back, concern on her features as she hesitantly let go of him. She promised she would give him a call later that evening before leaving the apartment.

Spencer stood for a moment; eyes fixated on the door as it closed behind her.

He wondered how he was ever going to move on from her, from the dreams of a future that was so close but just barely out of reach.

Ultimately, he wasn’t jealous of the man who got to have her.

He was jealous of the fact that she was happy because he could only wish that he was happy too.

‘It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way

You're happy without me’

permanant taglist; @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @ssa-m-187

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #criminal minds #spencer x y/n

236 notes · View notes

pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

Somebody to You (Chapter 2/4)

Isobel was not even a little bit what Alex expected her to be. She flipped her hair as he’d imagined she would, and she had the same sneaky smirk that Michael did that made Alex’s heart ache, but as they strolled the museum halls, passing painting after sculpture after painting after ancient pieces of New Mexican history, her remarks were never teasing but genuine.

She seemed fascinated less with the actual artwork and more with what Alex thought of it himself. As if she hoped to unravel the mystery of him by knowing his opinion on the mundane.

“What about this one?” she pointed at a piece. “And that one? What about this?”

“Isobel,” Max panicked, “don’t touch that!”

Alex hid a smile. Max and Isobel had the relationship he’d always secretly wished he had with his brothers, despite their differences. Despite their father trying to get in between them and pin them against each other.

He should’ve been sad, should’ve felt left out as he usually did when Michael started flirting with a girl when they were hanging out; like everything was a reminder of how much he didn’t fit, but . . . Max kept looking for his reactions, and Isobel kept her arm hooked around his and glaring at anyone that gave the only gay kid a sideways glance, and both of them felt the need to fill Alex in on any inside joke they had.

By the end of the museum visit, Alex realized the entire trip had been listening to more of the Evans’ stories than knowing anything about the pieces they’d seen. It was nice, like being with Liz and Kyle, except one of them kept watching him, raising an inconspicuous brow whenever Alex pulled his phone out and the other kept giving him covert glances and smirking, like she knew something Alex didn’t.

Alex almost wanted to tell Isobel that he knew about Max’s feelings for him, as surprising and out of character as they were, but couldn’t bring himself to confess to them. They’d feel real, like he was humoring Max instead of the truth, which was pining and loving his brother and forever miserable at the strange distance Michael seemed to be taking with him now.

Too lost in his thoughts about Michael, Alex didn’t even realize that Max was holding a smoothie in his face until his nose hit the cold cup.

Alex blinked, startled, and Max smiled softly. “Sorry. Pineapple’s your favorite, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex said slowly, taking the cup. Isobel was holding something aggressively pink and Max’s own was a deep blue. “How’d you know?”

An unreadable expression crossed Max’s face for a split second, but it was gone so quickly that Alex was sure he must’ve imagined it.

“I asked Michael,” he said, gaging Alex’s reaction as he took a sip.

Alex had no idea how much it felt like he was suffocating until he had something cold and delicious trickle into his chest, like a window was open to his heart and he was able to breathe.

His eyes fluttered and he sighed, content. Max’s smile widened.

Alex pulled off the straw and looked down. He was used to being watched, but people’s interests usually quickly faded. Max, on the other hand, seemed to stare more and more.

He cleared his throat, swirling the yellow smoothie. He glanced at Isobel, to make sure was busy harassing the enamored girl behind the desk about her right to have more granola. “Can I ask you something?”

“Me?” Max blinked. “Yeah!”

“Why now?” Alex asked. “I mean, we’ve been around each other since middle school.”

Max seemed to think about this a moment, then, “I guess I just never looked at you that way. I mean, you’re – you’re my brother’s best friend.”

“But that hasn’t changed.”

“No,” he agreed. “But . . . Michael told me you play the piano.”

“So?”

“So,” Max swallowed, “I didn’t know that. I never even imagined it. You have this whole emo thing going, but . . . it feels . . . like . . . there’s more to you, I guess?” He shut his eyes. “Which I know is so stupid to say because I don’t know you that well, but I – I want to. I want to . . . know the guy that looks like he could rule the Underworld and still plays beautiful music on his piano and who laughs around his friends and who’s always there for the people that need him. You’re just good, Alex.” He turned red and wouldn’t meet Alex’s eyes when he continued, “You’re – you’re cute and you’re good, and . . . I don’t know, that feels like the best kind of story.”

Alex stared until beads of ice water fell down the side of the cup and over his fingers. He blinked, and looked down. He should’ve been angry that some stranger would claim to know anything about him, but only Michael had ever been able to tell when Alex was angry about his father, and rebelling in everything from his clothes to his makeup to his words. When he found comfort in the dark aesthetic, but everyone else was uneased by it. Alex was scary and unapproachable. Only Michael had ever known of how weighed down he could be by others’ aversion to him, how much mattered to him. And now, it seemed, so did Max.

Alex swallowed thickly, running through the million things he would say. How’d you know? Don’t read my mind like that. How did you so easily say what Michael never seems to want to? In the end, however, he settled for, “Oh.”

Watching Alex and Isobel together was . . . not unpleasant. Far from it, actually, Max found himself laughing when Isobel eagerly tugged Alex along every few blocks to gossip about who-knows-what, and Alex scrunched his nose every so often in a way that made Max’s heart flutter. It was either giggle a little breathlessly at his reactions or press his hand over his chest and question what his racing heart meant.

“What’s so funny?” Alex asked at one point.

Max blushed at the idea of confessing, but he figured it would help his case, so he murmured, “You’re kind of adorable,” and took a long gulp of his drink, refusing to look at Alex for his reaction.

They walked along the neighborhood for a long time. Isobel treated them each to a beer, and if Alex was annoyed by her at all, he definitely didn’t show it. In fact, he looked amused every time she spoke, and it made something in Max’s protective heart melt.

Stop it, he scolded. This is fake, this is all fake. Remember your mission.

When the time came for them to part ways, Max insisted on walking Alex to his house.

“Ooh, Max,” Isobel hooked her arm around Alex’s. “Such a gentleman! Ready to go, Alex?”

But Alex, Max now realized, had faltered.

“Erm,” he gently removed his arm from Isobel’s. He looked, for the first time that Max had ever seen him, nervous. “Th-That’s okay. I like walking by myself.”

Max shook his head. “Alex, it’s really late, I can just –”

“It’s fine, okay?” Alex said with some edge, walking backwards. “Seriously, I don’t need help.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Thanks though. I had a lot of fun. Really. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Isobel murmured back, her brows pinched, and when she looked to Max, he saw the same confused concern on her face that he felt. He’d thought everything was going fine. He’d thought offering to take Alex home would be a good thing. Had he said something wrong?

When he and Isobel made it back into the house, they stopped in the corridor that separated their rooms. Isobel leaned her shoulder against her door a moment, and with a gentle smile, she said, “I like him.”

Max pursed his lips. The same words were on his tongue, but they felt wrong to say. Isobel didn’t know that all of it was an act, that he had only gone out with Alex to help get rid of his feelings for Michael. The softness of her blue eyes forbid Max from confessing to that truth.

So all he did was hum, mutter a goodnight, and open his door. When he stepped in, he found Michael on the edge of his bed, leaning his elbows on his knees, his hands interlocked tightly.

Finding Michael in his room at ungodly hours was no surprise, but Max rarely saw him so distressed, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused ahead as if he barely noticed his brother, his thumb carving into the back of his other hand, his foot tapping restlessly on the hardwood floors.

“Hey,” Max said warily, closing his door.

“How was the museum?” Michael said in lieu of a greeting.

Max understood, closing the door. “Good. Great, actually, you don’t have to worry.” He sat down next to Michael with a sigh. “Isobel came with, he had a lot of fun.”

Michael dropped his head into his hands, his fingers tugging at his curls. “Great,” he said hoarsely.

Max stared a long moment, and his shoulders slumped. “Michael, you got to stop this. Just talk to Alex –”

“Stop it, Max,” he ground out.

Max shook his head. “What happened? I thought Saturdays were for you and Alex, why’d he call me?”

“I . . .” he growled and stood, kicking a dresser. Max said nothing as his brother paced the length of his room.

“It’s okay,” he finally said. “He couldn’t hate you, no matter what you –”

“You didn’t see his face,” he said. “I said – I can’t believe I . . . but it had to be done. I had to . . . he wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

Max swallowed. He didn’t know why, but the idea that Alex wouldn’t have called him if Michael hadn’t pushed him to do it upset him more than it should.

“R-Right,” he said and cleared his throat. “Look, would you just sit down please?”

Michael sat down with a huff, his foot still tapping. Max gripped his knee firmly. “Hey,” he said. “I can tell you what he did.”

Michael nodded, eyes wide and afraid. “O-Okay. Yeah, okay.”

So Max told him everything, from the moment Alex had come over, to Isobel inviting herself along, to the museum trip, to the smoothies they had, to the beers. When he told Michael about offering to walk Alex home and Alex’s reaction, Michael didn’t look the least bit surprised. If anything, he looked angry all over again.

“Asshole,” he grumbled, rubbing his face with one hand.

“Hey,” Max said heatedly, “I tried to –”

“Not you,” Michael rolled his eyes. “Alex’s dad. Jesse Manes.” He sighed. “If he gets even a feeling that Alex might be dating a guy, he . . .” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Max said, remembering the fear in Alex’s eyes when he had offered to walk him back. “Michael, he was freaked out –”

“I know,” Michael cut him off firmly. “Just . . . let it go, Max. There’s nothing you can do. Just don’t let his dad see you together. No matter what. Alex will be the one paying for it.”

Max swallowed, thinking. He had rarely seen Jesse Manes around town, knowing only that everyone admired him for his military service. Max had never had an opinion other than the fact that Jesse had seemed too cold to approach, but he was nothing like Alex.

With Alex he saw a warm light. With Jesse, there was none.

Nonetheless, he just nodded until Michael stopped looking worried about it, and brought in another pillow and blanket for his brother to sleep in his room.

When he laid there in bed, he pulled his phone out, scrolling mindlessly for fifteen minutes before he convinced himself that pulling Alex’s number was a good idea. He didn’t think he wanted to or should call, but . . .

Get home okay? he texted, and regretted it the second it sent.

“Shit,” he whispered, his eyes falling shut. Michael was asleep against the wall, snoring away. Max tapped the edge of the phone when he got no response, then shut it off, leaving it on his nightstand and not at all expecting a response. Then –

Ting!

Max swallowed and grabbed his phone.

Safe and sound, Alex’s message read.

He bit his lower lip, hesitated, then typed out, Good. Sweet dreams.

Now that was the one he regretted. Sweet dreams? He groaned, turning his face into the pillow and tossing the phone aside.

He stared at it from where it sat on the carpet, not expecting an answer, or maybe for Alex to make fun of him or tease him for it. Then the screen lit up and he almost fell off the bed.

You, too, Max.

It was stupid. It was so, unbelievably stupid, but a smile tugged at Max’s lips and a chuckle escaped before he even realized it had formed. He could almost hear Alex’s voice, soft and amused, saying his name. What if he thought Max was cute? Or kind? Or unique? What if he was just humoring Max’s ridiculousness? It didn’t matter. He hadn’t laughed at him, he hadn’t ignored him. It made Max smile.

“You really are good,” he murmured into the night. Michael slept on.

As soon as he woke up, Michael half-groggily reached for his phone, expecting to find texts and pictures that Alex had taken on their Saturday together. Just before he opened his screen to a single text and picture from Isobel, he remembered that he and Alex hadn’t actually spent any time yesterday with each other.

Michael deflated entirely, his phone in front of his face as he thoughtlessly clicked on the message. He sat up at once. It was a picture of Isobel taking a selfie with a begrudging Alex on her arm, laughing in that cute way he did when his nose was scrunched and his eyes narrowed.

He swallowed. This was supposed to be him and Alex yesterday. But what really caught his eyes was Max in the corner. He wasn’t looking at the camera, but at Alex, and the look in his eyes . . . the way he smiled . . .

Michael had never seen that before. He looked at Max, still sleeping soundly, and thought about this plan to bring his best friend and brother together.

His thumb tapped the edge of his phone. He wasn’t bringing them together. He was just diverting Alex’s affections for a second. And then Max would go after Liz, the person he actually wanted, and all of this would be over.

Max doesn’t have a crush on Alex, he told his half-asleep mind, trying to calm himself down as he stepped out of bed. He doesn’t.

Then for no reason at all, Michael typed out a text to Alex, asking him to meet in the park nearby. Max murmured something in his sleep, and Michael snapped out of his thoughts. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. What was he doing? He was so close now. He couldn’t stop this.

So he fixed his text. He asked Alex to meet both him and Max. Alex took an entire half hour to answer, and Michael knew he was an early riser, so he tried not to feel panicked that his best friend might be too angry to respond, and when the text came that Alex would need twenty minutes to get there, some relief settled in Michael’s chest and he went to wake Max.

“Huh?” Max sat up, alert, his eyes still closed. “What – what’s happening?”

“Get up,” Michael said with a heaviness and unwillingness he forced himself to push aside. “We’re going to see Alex.”

Alex swung back and forth on the swing, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, waiting for any other word from Michael. He was convincing himself that he was excited to see him, but the memory of his words yesterday had gone from the back of his mind to the forefront, and he couldn’t help but still feel hurt that he’d been dismissed so easily.

“I’m just trying to have a little fun here. Am I supposed to turn down a hot girl for you?”

Alex’s fingers gripped the swing’s chains tightly, his eyes burning. Like Alex was some nuisance, a second thought. He’d never imagined those words leaving Michael’s lips. He’d never imagined Michael, of all people, making him feel so . . . unwanted.

Then, before he could help it, his thoughts wandered to Max. Max, who had hurried him away from the large mansion only because he was terrified his sister would scare him away. Who had been eager to get Alex’s opinion on every painting, sculpture, and relic, and actually listened when he spoke. He’d never been able to speak to strangers so easily, but sometimes it was hard to remember that that was what Max was supposed to be. It was just so easy to talk to him . . . and so easy to forget the bad things around him . . .

Alex shook himself of those thoughts. What was wrong with him? Max was just a cuddly teddy bear, someone who had helped out once when Michael was too busy. No matter what he said or confessed to, he’d get bored and tired of the chase soon enough. He’d get bored and tired of Alex, just like everyone else did.

When he looked up, he saw Michael first, and started to stand. Then he saw Max, and his shoulders fell.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he murmured, and heaved a sigh as he sat back down. He wasn’t going to just run back into Michael’s arms when his schedule allowed him to remember they were supposed to be best friends. Ruining the only day they might’ve had alone was the final straw.

“Hey,” Michael smiled wide, and Alex’s heart started to flutter. It made him want to cry. It was so unfair, especially when he knew that Michael used that smile on every pretty girl he saw. Until yesterday, Alex had believed he was different.

Alex ignored Michael’s greeting and glanced at Max instead, who was sleepily rubbing his eyes. Alex faltered. Had Max gotten out of bed just to see him? The thought made him soften. It wasn’t fair, after all, to blame Max for Michael’s behavior.

“Hi, Max,” he said, and Max blinked, clearly surprised at being spoken to.

He put his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Uh – hey, Alex.” Another glance at Michael. “Y-You look nice.”

Maybe Max was waiting for Michael to approve of this compliment, to tell him how smooth he was being with his crush, but Michael’s eyes were focused on Alex, his expression solemn.

Max seemed to sense the tension because he exhaled slowly and pointed at the swing next to Alex’s. “That swing taken?”

Alex couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips, no matter how brief, and he shook his head. Max took the swing and swung back and forth as if nobody else was there.

“Come on, Alex,” Michael murmured, kneeling in front of him. “If this is about yesterday –”

“If it’s about yesterday?” Alex scoffed humorlessly. “Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”

Michael looked hurt. “That – that’s not fair.”

“No?” Alex shook his head. “Saturdays are supposed to be ours, Guerin, and you treated me like some brat you had to put up with!”

“I didn’t –” Michael’s mouth opened and closed on several sentences, seemingly appalled at the idea. “Alex, I just –”

In a voice too quiet for Max to hear, Alex said, “You invited Maria. Was that just to hurt me?”

His eyes widened. “No!”

“Did I –” Alex faltered. “Did I do something to piss you off, or –”

“Alex!” Michael couldn’t seem to believe that Alex would go down that road.

Alex clenched his jaw. “Well, what was I supposed to think? I can’t believe you would even talk to her again after what she did to me! I –” he broke off with a shaky sigh, looking away from Michael and Max to keep them from seeing the tears fill his eyes. “I thought you were my friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Michael said hoarsely, taking Alex’s hand in his. Alex hated the shivers it sent down his body. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I – I just knew that it hurt losing a friend like that, and I thought that it would make you feel better if – if I could fix it –”

“The only person in the world I care about losing is you,” Alex argued, and Michael said nothing for a moment. Alex realized his mistake at once, and he looked down, his face heated. “I thought I was losing you yesterday. I thought you’d . . . forgiven her for what she’d done. Like my feelings didn’t matter as much as a pretty girl.”

A moment of silence. Even the creaking of Max’s swing had stopped. Then Michael tugged on his hand.

“No one . . .” Michael started and abruptly cut himself off. Alex looked back at him to see his expression was conflicted. Before Alex could ask what was wrong, what had been wrong with him lately, Michael forced a smile to his lips. It was a play at his usual light one without any of the lightness.

“You know the fair’s going on until next week,” he said. “Why don’t – uh – why don’t we go together? Tomorrow? Just you and me?”

Alex should’ve been thrilled at the idea, but something . . . something was off. Michael looked like he was more miserable at asking for it, and Max was looking at them strangely solemn.

Realization dawned. Michael was hesitant to go out with Alex alone when he knew his brother had feelings for him. Alex glanced at Max again. He would’ve preferred to be on his own with Michael, but the idea of going with Max didn’t seem so bad either.

He internally sighed. “Max,” he turned to him, “why don’t you come with us?”

Max raised a brow. Michael stopped pretending to smile and his brows furrowed. Alex didn’t understand. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?

Then Max smiled, and Alex’s attention was caught. “Yeah? You really want me to come?”

Warmth bloomed in Alex’s chest, and something like a breath of relief escaped his lips, his first real breath since he’d gotten Michael’s text to meet. Maybe Max would get tired of the chase, but . . . better to get the inevitable over with sooner than later, right?

“I mean, if you want to,” Alex played at a shrug. Max chuckled and looked down.

He nodded. “Yeah, yes, I do.”

Alex realized he and Max were just staring at each other. He blushed and looked back at Michael, expecting to see him overjoyed. But his smile was tighter than ever.

“Great,” Michael said. “That’s just . . . perfect. Exactly what I was hoping for.”

“Okay,” Max plopped down on the bed, feeling filled up on lunch and something else he’d been feeling since Alex had invited him along with them to the fair tomorrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Michael sniffed roughly, replacing his jacket with another one of his own that he’d left in Max’s closet. “It’s all going according to plan, right?”

“Yeah,” Max nodded, “so why do you look like you’re two seconds away from clocking me?”

“What?” Michael looked over his shoulder with pursed lips, without actually looking at Max. “I’m not. It’s great, right? He invited you all by himself.”

Max smiled to himself at the thought. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft to his own ears.

Michael finally met Max’s eyes for a long while, studying his expression. Then he turned, smiling with narrowed eyes. “Are you . . . you’re not . . .?”

Max raised a brow, waiting for his brother to elaborate.

“You’re not . . . starting to actually like Alex, are you?”

Max’s eyes widened and he scoffed. He started to say that he absolutely wasn’t when he caught himself. He thought of Alex’s kind eyes and his laugh and the hurt in his voice when Michael ignored him. He thought Alex had had enough people dismissing him behind his back.

“Of course I like him,” he said. “He’s nice, you know? There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“Yeah,” Michael said with a nod, as if reassuring himself. “Yeah, I mean . . . you like him like you like Kyle, right?”

Max hesitated. “Michael . . . do you like Alex?”

“I love Alex,” he said at once. “Just not like that.”

No, Max silently agreed. Not like that. Michael’s feelings seemed more . . . possessive, though he didn’t want to talk about things he wasn’t sure of. All he knew was that Michael wanted Alex to himself. He didn’t know how to tell him that that wouldn’t work with the plan.

“I’m sure he just brought me along because he felt bad for me,” Max placated, though the idea made him want to curl up on his bed. “You know, you did bring me along for no reason.”

“No,” Michael said with that same forced lightness, turning back to his clothes. “No, this is good. Like I said, it’s great! Alex is starting to want you along. The plan is working perfectly.”

“Yeah,” Max muttered, noticing the way Michael roughly tugged his sleeves down. “Perfectly.”

“This is a bad idea,” Kyle said as soon as Alex had called to tell him his plans for tonight. “I think you’re forgiving him way too easily.”

Alex’s phone sat on speaker on his nightstand. He sighed, fixing his hair so that it looked less like he’d walked through a hurricane, but the strands remained windswept and messy and he gave up.

“He made a mistake,” Alex said for what felt like the millionth time. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not that kind of mistake!” Kyle argued, his frustration evident. “Alex, he invited Maria!” Alex flinched at the name and was glad his friend couldn’t see him. “That’s like if I invited Jared!”

“Jared Wilson is a homophobic ass,” Alex argued at once, and calmed the edge in his voice. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Both of them made life a lot harder for you when they realized you were gay.”

To that, Alex had no response. He didn’t care. He loved Michael, and being angry with him felt wrong. He didn’t want it.

He sat on his bed’s edge and played with the buttons on his black cardigan. It was new, something he wanted to wait to wear until he and Michael were alone, because Michael always liked hugging Alex as they walked and clinging to his side, and Alex had wanted Michael to feel soft and warm when he hugged him. It should bother him that he did so much of what he did with the worry of how Michael will take it, even though they’re not dating and could probably never date, but every so often, that traitorous bit of hope would claw its way to the surface and tell him that it could still happen.

Maybe all it took was Michael knowing how he felt. It didn’t matter. Alex could never do it.

“I don’t want to lose him,” he said quietly. Kyle didn’t answer. Alex half-wished that he hadn’t heard him, but he doubted it.

Finally, Kyle sighed and said, “I know.” A pause, then, “What about Max?”

Alex blinked. “Max?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Seems like he really likes you.”

Alex wanted to scoff, but what left his lips instead was, “Yeah?” Kyle chuckled and Alex blushed. “N-Not that I care! I just don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

He hummed. Alex hated how he could hear the amusement in his voice. “Okay, well,” he said, “don’t count him out just yet.”

Alex was about to retort when a door suddenly slammed outside his bedroom. He heard the heavy footsteps of hunting boots and swallowed thickly. He tried to keep his light voice as he turned off his speaker and held the phone up, “Hey, I-I’ll see you at school, okay?”

“Uh –” Kyle was clearly thrown off by the sudden change in conversation. “Sure, but are you –”

Before he could finish his question, Alex hung up and put his phone aside. Then he caught himself in the mirror. His eyeliner. He was already wearing it.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His heart hammered in his throat as the footsteps stopped outside his room and the door swung open. His father stood there.

“Did I hear you talking to a boy?” he demanded.

“N-No,” Alex said at once, cursing his stammering. “I mean, yes, but it was just Kyle.”

Jesse hummed. Alex’s heart sunk into his stomach when Jesse closed the door behind him and stayed inside.

“Dad,” he started, “really, I was just –”

“Come here,” Jesse said with a wave of his fingers. When Alex didn’t move, Jesse fixed his son with his cold blue eyes. “Alex, come here.”

Alex swallowed and resisted the urge to cower away. If his father hated disobedience, he hated a coward more. So Alex marched up to him swiftly as he was trained to do, his shoulders straight despite his lowered eyes, and the second he was close enough, Jesse grabbed his face in one hand, his grip painful.

“What is that,” he said coldly, “on your eyes?”

Alex clenched his jaw, trying not to whimper even as his dad’s hand nearly broke his jaw. Even as he knew what was coming. Not for the first time, as his fingers trembled on his dad’s wrist, he wished Michael could be here to protect him.

Max was in Alex’s class, and it was rare that a Manes was late, but Alex didn’t show up until halfway through the first lecture. He had a black sweater on with a collar that hid most of his chin and long sleeves that fell past his fingers, despite the fairly warm weather. His arms were stiff at his side, and his eyeliner was smudged a little bit.

The math teacher said nothing to his most brilliant student about being late, and just gestured at him to take a seat. Max lifted his head off his desk and tried to catch Alex’s eyes, but Alex was staring straight ahead.

Liz turned around in her seat, her brows furrowed. Max didn’t hear her murmurs, but whatever she said, Alex merely nodded once in response, his smile small. Liz didn’t look reassured, and Max realized he was inching out of his seat.

“Yes, Mr. Evans?” the teacher said.

“Uh – nothing, sir,” Max said and sat back down. “Sorry.”

Some of the other students snickered, but Max didn’t care, because at least Liz was looking at him. He swallowed and pointed at Alex, the silent message clear. Liz nudged Alex’s arm softly and gestured with her chin at Max. Alex looked over.

Max didn’t know what to do but raise his hand in a little wave. Alex just looked away again, his shoulders scrunched as he almost folded in on himself. He looked out the window and didn’t seem to pay attention to another word of the lecture.

Max tried to catch Alex in the hall in between classes, to ask him if he was all right, but Alex just shrunk away from him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Alex, wait a second,” Max tried, instinctively reaching for his wrist.

He’d barely touched him when Alex flinched away. “Don’t do that!” he snapped, making the entire hallway of students stop and turn to stare. Alex looked furious and terrified all at once. “Don’t ever, ever grab me!”

Max stood frozen with his hand outstretched, stunned, and the hall filled with a heavy, tense silence. Alex didn’t seem to care. He kept glaring at Max a moment longer, his breathing quick like he was on the verge of crying, and he whipped around to where a startled and concerned Liz was ready to guide him away.

Murmurs broke out over the crowd, and Max heard more than a few people call Alex a number of things, all ranging from “freak” to “psycho,” before they came to check that Max was okay after that outburst. Max could only be offended.

Alex was clearly suffering with something, didn’t anyone notice or care?

When Max got to lunch, Isobel was already standing. She looked as she rarely did; her bright smile gone, replaced with a solemn frown. “Hey,” she tugged Max down as soon as she caught sight of him. “What happened with Alex in the hallway? Rosa said he suddenly started screaming at you?”

Max shook his head. “Something’s wrong with him,” he said.

Isobel’s frown deepened. “Hey, don’t say that, you don’t know what could be –”

“No,” Max cut her off, indignant that she could assume he meant the worst. “I mean, something’s wrong with him, like something must’ve happened. He’s usually a lot nicer. And he showed up late. He never shows up late.”

Isobel rubbed her jaw as she looked over at Alex’s table where both Liz and Kyle were encouraging him to eat something, the concern evident on their faces.

“I mean, it’s not exactly new, right?” she muttered. “He’s freaked out like this before.”

Max pursed his lips. Alex had seemed so excited yesterday when Michael had asked him to the fair. What could’ve happened from then till now? Had Michael done something? No, he would’ve warned Max.

Then he remembered something Michael had told him about Jesse Manes . . .

His shoulders fell. “Shit.”

Isobel seemed to realize he’d figured it out, and eagerly asked, “What? What is it?”

Max hesitated. “You can’t tell anyone. I mean, not even the Ortechos. No one, Isobel.”

“My lips are sealed,” she quickly promised.

Max licked his lips. “Well, remember how nervous he was when I offered to walk him home the other night?”

“Yeah?”

“Michael told me about his dad,” he said. “Apparently, he really, really doesn’t want his son to be gay.”

Isobel’s eyes widened with horror. “Alex is scared of his dad?”

“He’s wearing long sleeves, and he’s sweating through it,” Max said darkly by way of saying what he didn’t want to outright.

Isobel gasped. “You think he . . . hits him?”

Max shook his head, not wanting to believe that Alex had that kind of father, but . . . “I’ve never heard Michael so unnerved by someone outside of his foster parents.”

“Oh my god,” Isobel whispered, her wide, glassy eyes turning to Alex who was sitting slumped in his chair as if allowing himself a few seconds to stop pretending he was fine. “Oh my god,” she started to stand, to go over to him, but Max grabbed her arm and sat her back down.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Michael didn’t want to tell me, and I doubt Alex wants anyone to know.”

“He’s beating him!” Isobel whisper-yelled through grit teeth. “We – we have to tell somebody!”

“Not if Alex doesn’t want us to,” Max argued.

“Max!”

“He has brothers,” Max said, and Isobel fell silent. “The last thing Alex needs right now is for the only family he has to hate him because they think he told on their dad. Not if Alex doesn’t want us to.”

Isobel clenched her jaw, her eyes miserable, and she nodded. It was clearly the last thing she wanted to do.

“I don’t know how you can bear it,” she breathed, looking over to Alex like she wanted nothing more than to hug and protect him. “He’s so sweet, I don’t know how you can bear it.”

Isobel, of course, couldn’t see Max’s clenched, trembling fists beneath the table as he watched Alex start to eat despite himself, start to smile like he was so used to the beatings that he’d learned to work past them after a while, wondering the exact same thing.

Technically, Michael’s official house was an airstream at the junkyard where old man Sanders had let him stay while he had a part time job after school. Max wished Alex hadn’t known the whole story because then at least, as they went together to the auto shop, Max would have something to say instead of wallowing in the awkward silence between them.

In fact, awkward wasn’t really the right word. Heavy seemed more appropriate.

The weather was cooling quickly, making it more bearable for Alex’s sweater. Max half-wondered what Alex would do if he reached down and looked for his fingers underneath the sleeves.

“I’m sorry,” Alex mumbled, and Max snapped out of his thoughts. Alex had said nothing on the drive over, nodding quietly in thanks when Max had offered to drive him as they were both going together, but his eyes were on the ground now.

He looked so shy for once that Max was caught off guard.

“Huh?”

“For yelling at you,” he went on, even more quiet. “I didn’t mean to . . . I just don’t like . . .”

“Being grabbed,” Max finished. He stopped, and Alex did the same. “Alex, I would never hurt you, okay? I wouldn’t.”

Alex wouldn’t look at Max, but Max could see his breathing getting quicker, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter.

“What did Michael tell you?”

Max tried to school his features. “Nothing.”

He was sure Alex would snap at him, would turn right around and cut off his friendship with both him and Michael. Instead, he scoffed wearily. “You’re just as bad a liar as he is.”

Raising his chin and pretending that it didn’t cause him pain to fix the bag on his shoulder, Alex forged on ahead. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

Max followed in silence, but only for a minute. “My mom knows someone in the state council, I could talk to her –”

Alex whipped around, his eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t! You can’t, Max, please, don’t ever –”

“Okay!” Max took Alex’s hands to calm him. He was rambling, his fingers shaking. “Okay, I – I won’t, Alex, calm down.” When Alex had been reduced to a trembling figure, Max pulled him in gently against him. “I won’t tell, I promise. Just calm down, okay? Please, calm down.”

Max’s chin was on Alex’s head. He had a hand in Alex’s hair – it was so much softer than he could’ve imagined – his other hand running up and down his back, trying not to scare him again with any sudden movements.

“It’s just me,” Alex croaked out against Max’s chest. “It’s only me. Because I’m . . .” He shook his head. “He doesn’t hurt them. They – they don’t care about enlisting. They’re happy to do it. I don’t want to ruin their lives, please –”

“Okay,” Max whispered into Alex’s hair. He smelled like vanilla. “Okay, Alex, it’s okay. I won’t tell, I promise. I promise.”

They stood there like that for a long time, Max’s fingers raking through Alex’s hair, taking in the way each strand felt against his fingers. He felt the strong muscles of Alex’s back even through his sweater. He couldn’t help it. Everything about Alex was a mystery, and the more he uncovered, the more he wanted to know.

A breath escaped his lips, and Alex tensed. He stepped back, unwilling to look at Max, his face tinged pink.

“S-Sorry,” he murmured.

Max nodded, putting his hands in his back pockets to keep from reaching out for him again. “Me, too. It’s – uh . . . been a long couple of days.”

Alex sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. Max resisted the urge to ask how bad the pain was underneath the sweater, but if he was being honest, he didn’t think either of them wanted the answer to that question. So he nudged his head towards Michael’s trailer, and waited for Alex to lead the way.

“What’s your favorite fair treat?” Max asked before they could get to the door. He didn’t know why, but he wanted just a few more seconds before Michael joined them.

“What?”

“Fair treat,” he repeated. “You know, they sell a lot of snacks at fairs. They’ll be selling a lot tonight. Which one do you like best?”

“Uh . . .” Alex thought about it. “Cotton candy? I guess? The, you know, big swirls?”

“Okay,” Max nodded, grinning. “Then I’ll buy you the biggest swirl they have.”

Alex’s eyes widened and he turned pinker. It was so cute that Max had to giggle.

“I have my own money.”

“So?” Max shrugged. “I want to get you something. I thought about winning you a prize during one of the games, but that feels a little cliché, you know?”

Alex opened and closed his mouth on several sentences, and Max wondered if Michael had ever offered to buy him anything with the promise that it meant something more.

Alex looked away with a shake of his head. “You’re silly,” he muttered, and opened the door, climbing inside.

Max followed, still grinning. They found Michael dressed and looking for the keys to his truck.

“Hey!” Alex said a little breathlessly. “You ready to go?”

Michael froze, looking over his shoulder. Max’s smile fell at once. Oh no . . .

“Crap,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Crap, we said we were going to the fair tonight!”

Another act, Max thought. “Michael,” he said quietly, a private warning, “today really isn’t the day to –”

“I don’t get it,” Alex cut him off, his brows furrowed. “If you – if you forgot about the fair tonight, then why’re you in such a hurry to leave?”

Michael shrugged, glanced at Max, and said, “I have a date.”

Alex was silent a moment. “You . . . have a date.”

“Yeah.”

“But –” Alex shook his head. “The fair was your idea. Why’d you ask me to come with you if you knew you were going to be busy?”

“I didn’t know when I asked you,” Michael said, and Alex stared. Despite his hidden fingers, Max did not miss the way they curled to fists.

“So you –” Alex cut himself off abruptly, smiling incredulously, like he couldn’t believe his other half had stooped so low. “You made plans with someone else when you already had plans with me?”

“Alex,” he huffed, exasperated. “Are you gonna get like this every time I’m meeting someone? A very attractive friend asked me out tonight, I said yes.”

“But you’re my friend, too,” Alex argued. “When we make promises to each other, we’re supposed to follow through on them, it shouldn’t matter if you have a ton of friends or not.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you don’t have any friends, Alex.”

“Michael!” Max stepped forward, but Alex held a hand up. He didn’t look tense or frozen to the spot. He looked like every horrible thought that had ever crossed his mind about his friendship with Michael, every doubt that had ever haunted him, every fear of being unwanted or not good enough, it was all coming true.

To Alex, Michael didn’t consider him worth anything.

To Alex, Michael wasn’t protecting their friendship. He was shattering it beyond repair.

He looked resigned and exhausted. Michael seemed to realize that too late.

“W-Wait,” he tried, “I didn’t – I didn’t mean –”

“You’re my friend,” Alex quietly defended. “You’re . . . you’re my . . .” He shook his head, like it didn’t matter anymore. He turned to Max. “D-Do you – uh – do you still want to come with me? To the – the fair?”

He was clearly terrified, clearly unwilling to go at all if Michael didn’t want to, but wanting to prove that he was unhurt. That he wouldn’t break. Max was in awe of his courage.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” Max said.

A brief, barely-there smile tugged at Alex’s lips before it was gone. Without another word or glance at Michael, he left. Michael stared at the open door like he wasn’t even in the room, like he was numb and out of body. He’d gone too far this time.

Max shook his head. “You were so terrified that he was in love with you . . . that you decided to make him hate you instead.”

“I told you,” Michael said hoarsely, his eyes filling with tears. “He’ll only hate me for a little bit.”

“And you’re willing to bet on that?” Max tilted his head. He promised Alex he wouldn’t tell anyone else what his father had done to him, but he leaned in anyway and said, “Because if I were you, I would think a little harder instead about why he’s wearing such a long sweater near the end of spring.”

And with those final words, Max turned and left, catching only the realization in Michael’s eyes before he shut the door behind him. Alex was already in the car, hugging his arms and staring out the window.

Max got in and shut the door. He exhaled slowly, “Alex –”

“Just drive,” Alex said hoarsely, like he’d been crying for hours though his eyes were dry. “Please just drive.”

Max swallowed and turned on the ignition. He didn’t want to be a hero here. He didn’t feel like one. The only reason Michael had hurt Alex this badly at all was so that he could swoop in. But this seemed like too high a cost.

It didn’t matter in the end. Max did as Alex wanted, and drove.

The fairy lights were already strung up when Max and Alex got to the fair, plenty of booths already up with lanterns lighting the way, showering everything in gold. It looked more like a market with a few chances for the kids to win toys, but Max watched as Alex eyed each booth and necklace and dress like they were the only good parts of a bad memory.

“My mom used to bring us here a lot,” he said, “back when she was around.”

“When did she die?” Max asked quietly.

“She didn’t,” Alex said simply. “She left. But this fair . . . it’s my favorite time of the year. Michael knew that.”

“Alex,” Max shook his head. “I’m sure . . . I’m sure he had a reason for what he did.”

Alex scoffed, but the press of his lips was both sad and sincere. “I know he did. But god, what could be worth all this?” he gestured at his own face, the exhaustion and misery there. “I can usually read him, but this time I just . . . can’t. I hate not knowing.”

Max thought about that, and realized he was the same way when it had to do with someone he loved. How was he going to save someone who didn’t want to be saved?

“Tell me something you do know,” he offered. “You said your brothers are happy to enlist. Does your dad make them all?”

“No,” Alex sniffled. “No, dad would never make any of us enlist. He pushes it hard, and all the time, but . . . no, if you don’t want to enlist, then just don’t bother coming back home, you know?”

Max hesitated. “Have you ever . . .?”

He expected Alex to laugh it off or be indignant about anyone even considering that he would ever enlist, but he only sighed and confessed, “Sometimes.”

Max stared. “S-Seriously?”

Alex shook his head, smiling, and for once, he didn’t look sarcastic or amused. He just looked sad. “You don’t know what it’s like there. Or how bad it gets, and – and sometimes I think . . . I couldn’t afford a place of my own. I could escape him though. I could rise in ranks, I could beat him –”

“Beat him some other way!” Max argued, and a few heads turned to look. Alex didn’t look like he cared, he never did, but Max stepped closer. “You can’t enlist, Alex.”

Alex looked away. “I said I thought about it, okay? Only when things get really, really bad. It doesn’t mean I’ll do it. I’ll find some other way.”

He didn’t sound sure, but Max couldn’t have been more sure of his abilities and talent. Alex was the strongest and smartest person he knew, he could easily make it out there. And what if . . . what if he had Max there with him? Supporting him? Helping him? The two of them together in a small apartment in New York or something –

Max shut his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to think like that. This wasn’t supposed to be long-term. Soon enough, Michael would tell him the truth, and it would all be over. Alex might even hate him for it. He didn’t want to think about that though, so he bought Alex the biggest blue cotton candy swirl, got one for himself, and laughed with Alex about the sizes.

About an hour in, Alex seemed to really be having a lot of fun. He was laughing at Max’s stupid jokes and tugging on his arm to show him little ceramic toys for sale and even a small aquamarine necklace that glittered in the moonlight with a gold chain so thin it was almost a silk thread.

When Alex wasn’t looking, Max bought the necklace, and snuck up behind him, letting it rest in the dip of his collarbone.

“W-What –”

“For you,” Max said.

Alex touched the stone, still stunned. “Max, I’m not – I’m uncomfortable accepting so many gifts from people.”

“I’m not just people though,” Max said simply. “I’m your . . .” he caught himself, “f-friend.”

Alex looked at him. Max may have been wrong, but he could’ve sworn Alex had seemed disappointed for a moment at the use of the word friend.

“R-Right,” he murmured. “Still, no more gifts, okay?”

“No promises,” Max grinned, and his heart jumped when Alex’s face turned that same shade of pink. He was starting to wonder if he could turn it any darker when Alex glanced up and froze.

“Oh my god,” he breathed.

“What?” Max followed his gaze, and understood what it was that had terrified him. Making their way towards them was some man in uniform, and beside him was Jesse Manes, hands folded behind his back with his medals shining on his uniform jacket, smiling at booths and laughing with children who ran past.

That, Max realized, was the most frightening part. Who would believe Alex if he told them their beloved sergeant was a monster?

Alex stepped back, already trembling. He turned, but the crowd had gathered around them. Even if he stood in the shadows outside the lanterns’ light, he was still visible to anyone passing by, especially if his dad was looking through the booths. He would see Alex here, and just the implication that he was here with Max would get him hurt again.

Alex hugged himself. “Think, Alex,” he whispered to himself, looking around frantically for a hiding spot. “Think.”

Max looked back at Jesse. He was getting closer. He couldn’t stand seeing the usually intimidating Alex so frightened now. He had to protect him.

He took Alex’s hand in his own and pulled him into the shadows, up against a booth. “Is your dad uncomfortable with PDA?”

“What?”

“Is he?”

“Uh – yeah!” Alex shook his head, confused. “He hates it –”

“Good,” Max breathed, taking Alex’s face in his hands, and before Alex could ask what he was doing, Max closed the distance between them and covered Alex’s mouth with his own. Alex stood frozen against him, but Max wouldn’t pull away, his body blocking Alex’s from sight.

Half of him was silently urging Alex to play along, if only long enough to get his father’s attention away, but as Alex whimpered softly against his lips, his body melting against Max’s, his hands coming up to Max’s chest, clutching his shirt, Max suddenly forgot all about Jesse Manes.

He forgot about the fair, he forgot about the booths around him, the crowd of people. He couldn’t think of anything but how soft Alex’s lips were, how perfectly he fit in Max’s arms. Max wanted to taste more of him, so he slipped his tongue in. Alex moaned, pressing unbearably close, and Max could feel him. His toned chest, his flat stomach.

Max had never wanted to feel another man’s chest until this moment, to claw down his stomach, to feel the muscles of his back. Max tilted his head, bringing his hand around the nape of Alex’s neck and reaching his fingers through his hair, tugging a little on the strands.

Alex’s hands came up to Max’s face, one hand reaching into his hair. Max wanted to tilt his head, to deepen the kiss, to put his hands up Alex’s shirt and feel his skin. He wondered if it was as sexy as the rest of him – he knew it had to be – and his hand had just fallen to Alex’s hip, tugging at the hem of his sweater, when he heard someone behind him scoff –

“Ugh, disgusting,” a voice said, and Max snapped out of his thoughts.

He pulled away, pressing his forehead to Alex’s, the both of them panting heavily. Alex’s eyes were closed, and Max took the opportunity to trace his deeply red cheeks with the tips of his fingers, his rosy, kiss-swollen lips.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Alex swallowed and opened his eyes. They fluttered again as Max traced his thumb across his lips for the second time. “That – that was –”

“Wow,” Max finished.

Alex huffed a breathless chuckle. “Are you okay?”

Max shook his head. “Wow.”

Alex started to laugh, but seemed to remember they were supposed to be hiding. He covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide. Max wanted to hear his laugh, so he looked over his shoulder for any sign of Alex’s dad, but he was so far down the path that by the time Max had tilted his chin up to get a better look, Jesse Manes and his friend were completely gone.

When he nodded to Alex, Alex’s grin widened and he laughed happily into the night. He jumped into Max’s arms, his own wrapped around Max’s shoulders.

“Thank you!” Alex said into his shoulder, his voice muffled and filling Max’s chest with butterflies. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He heaved a deep sigh, probably the deepest he’d had in a while. “Thank you, Max.”

Max wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist, keeping him close and steady against him. In the back of his mind, he could hear Michael’s one, big warning about Alex.

“Don’t kiss him.”

But now, in this moment, as he could still feel Alex’s soft, warm lips against his own, as he could hear his moans and smell his sweet scent, he couldn’t remember why.

He smiled into the crook of Alex’s neck and said, “You’re welcome, Manes.”

It’s finally here! Please please please comment and reblog/share if you enjoyed reading even a little bit, it always makes the world of a difference 💗 I’m going to bed.

#alex manes #max evans #sheriff manes #sheriff manes fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #nathan dean parsons

27 notes · View notes

narrators-journal · 3 years

Text

Welcome home

I hope this sequelette was enjoyable! It was a lot of fun to write, even if it was kinda difficult.

Previous part: here

first part: here

The rest of the night was a blur. In the chaos of Illumi confronting you, you had been too scatter-brained from fear to inform him that you were having 'practice contractions', and you definitely weren't in any sort of mindset to tell him you might be near labor, however, the stoic assassin always had a plan for things, and had accounted for you potentially going into early labor at any point. So, after your declaration, he picked you up and rushed you over to the van he had waiting. In your distressed state, everything whizzed by after that. You were vaguely aware of what the Zoldyck family doctor told you to do, but aside from when you were moved from the van to a secondary location, you couldn't seem to focus at all under the maelstrom of panic and pain. Time, your situation, all forms of possible consequence, none of it mattered anymore as you clung to your fiance-to-be's hand and followed every order the doctor gave. At some point though, you must've passed out from the pain, because in what felt like the blink of an eye, you were waking up.

Slowly, you blinked the world back into focus, your head slowly beginning to stop swimming from pain and hysteria, allowing you to gradually realize that you were laying in a hospital bed in some random, dark room that you didn't recognize. Was I out so long that I'm already back at the estate? You asked yourself, lifting your head a bit to try and discern exactly where you were through the hazy, groggy feeling clouding your mind. Upon closer inspection of your surroundings, you weren't in Illumi's family home. From what you could see by the dim light of the lamp in the corner, the room was too small and the furniture was too cheap, so you must be in some random, hopefully, abandoned home. "Where...am I." you croaked, though you weren't realy expecting an answer, so it startled you to hear Illumi respond. "You were nearly eight months pregnant, so I made sure there was a safe, private place for you to possibly give birth before I went to collect you. Good thing I did, I'd have hated for you to be forced to have our son in that van." he mused from his seat in the arm chair next to the corner lamp, and when you looked over at him, your brain zeroed in on the little bundle he held instead of focusing on the danger or the dread you could feel creeping across your skin, both of which were dampened by the powerful, and sudden, urge to hold your baby. It was a shockingly powerful burst of feeling, but some part of you desperately wanted to hold your infant child. It was only when you moved your arms to reach out for your child that you registered the soft clatter of the cuff on your wrist, securing you to the metal sides of the bed, and for a moment, that somewhat reminded you that something wasn't quite right here. However, that thought was near-instantly swept away by your spacey, baby-focused thoughts. "Wha...why am I handcuffed??" Both the thought and your words came out as more disappointed than startled, like they probably should've sounded, since you were still rather out of it, but then the memories of your entire predicament set in at long last. It finally began to set in that you'd been caught by the assassin who'd snatched you up, the one who'd been the center of your paranoia for the past few months. Just as you were about to panic though, Illumi grabbed your chin and made you look into his hypnotic eyes, "Can you please just calm down?" he asked, slightly annoyed, but he still had an authoritative edge that washed away the majority of your anxieties for the time being before he released your face and gave over your baby to let you hold the little bundle of blue while he slept with barely a whine at being jostled. You stared at him for a moment as your partner's powers ebbed, just letting it soak in that this was your baby. "You were out for at least a full day, so I had the doctor look him over and fed him from a bottle, but it would be best if you breastfed. He'll be healthier that way." Illumi hummed, the annoyance from before gone from his words, though his voice still snapped you out of your motherly trance as he brought the armchair over to your bed and sat beside you. When he did, you looked over at him to try and glean any possible foreshadowing of your expected punishment, but, instead, for this small moment, with that soft, happy expression on his face and the way he just laid his head on his arm against the metal sides of your bed to watch your son sleep in your arms, you found that you could almost believe that he hadn't likely broken into your home, stalked you, and kidnapped you. Then the moment was broken and things got a bit awkward when you realized he was looking back into your (e/c) eyes with his own dark ones, though this time his gaze lacked that trance-enducing power he'd put behind it before, and you'd been staring at him. "Is something wrong?" He asked quietly, blinking slowly as if you were a cat he was trying to win the trust of. You just shook your head in response, "I just...I don't know how to feel right now," you confessed, looking back at the infant in your arms and tightening your hold on him a bit while his father sighed, "I'd expect you to be happy," he hummed, "and I want to let you be happy and bask in the joy of our child being born and healthy, but..." he pushed himself into a proper sitting position and his voice returned to it's usual cold temperature as he continued, "You very much need to be talked to about your behavior before that." And with that, your stomach dropped. You could almost feel that other shoe finally drop with his words as the anchor, pushing the excitement to the backburner. Instead of remaining in that slightly dopey, tired moment of joy, you switched to a far more protective, guarded mode and gave him a cautious, dirty look as a result while holding your child closer to yourself. "You shouldn't have run away like that. If you had stayed at home, like I'd wanted you to, you wouldn't have had to put our child at risk by working as a maid like you did." he scolded, and your blood ran cold at the mention of your job, "W-wait, how long have you known where I was?? Did...did you hurt anyone I've worked for?" you asked, and amidst your fearful worries over your helpful boss you found a sense of hostility you'd never used against him, "I knew where you were after about a week, and not to worry, I didn't hurt the woman who helped you. You can thank mother for the fact you weren't brought back while I was in such a foul mood." he replied curtly, and while you could tell he was curbing his own hostility, you somehow felt more anger than fear at it, "She talked me out of bringing you back, and father advised against bringing you back until you were almost through with your pregnancy as to lower the distress you'd go through. If it were up to me alone, I wouldn't have needed to plan for any premature labors, you'd be pissed and upset, but safe and healthy at home." he continued, "As if staying somewhere I felt like a fucking prisoner would've made my pregnancy last longer?! Are you forgetting how scary and deranged you became when I told you I was pregnant?? How about when you kidnapped me?" "I didn't kidnap you, I moved you home so you would be in less danger, unless you would've preferred Hisoka return?" he snapped, but you didn't back down just yet, "You're just glazing over the fact that I didn't want any of this! I didn't want to be scooped up and taken to some fancy ass prison, or rushed into marriage just because I was having a baby!" You snapped back, feeling a mix of angry, scared, and generally just upset tears fill your eyes as you glared at Illumi. The only thing that forced you to stop was when the child nestled against you squirmed and began to fuss. For a long moment, you didn't look at the assassin beside your hospital bed, and neither of you spoke while the infant fell back asleep. When Illumi did finally speak, he wasn't cold, or angry, he just sounded upset. "I'm...so confused." he sighed, running a pale hand through his dark hair, "I don't know what else I was supposed to do, leave you there? In a plain house with no guards and not be there for my kid?" he asked, looking to you to explain things. So, with a sniffle and a sigh, you tried your best to help the emotionally stunted man. "Look. I'm not going to hold it against you that you insisted on getting married, but you scared me really badly when you reacted the way you did when I suggested other things. Do you realize how terrifying you are? Because you don't seem to." you pointed out, and he just listened, "That's my biggest issue. You saved me from likely running into that other man again, but you also became a threat of your own. How can I just accept the fact that you moved me to a place that i can't escape from? That, plus how aggressive you became, I fear you're going to hurt me, so I don't want to go back." You explained, returning to not looking at him as you spoke. After a long period of silence, he sighed, finally speaking again, "Well...I can't go back and fix the way I reacted and scared you." he said, and it was likely the best you'd get apology-wise, "and I can't let you off for running away and scaring me like you did. Don't give me that look, I'm an assassin, not a monster." He gave you a dirty look when you gave a tiny laugh at that last part, but you did stop eyeing him in disbelief, so he went on, "What I can do, is adjust the punishment to not be as scary. However, that comes with a condition." when he finished, you once again briefly tightened your grip on your son. "I'm not giving up my baby." you said firmly, and Illumi only snorted, "No, but you will be going through each birth without pain medication." He said darkly, and your eyes widened before you grimaced a bit, knowing exactly who to thank for that 'compromise'. "It was either that, or my punishment, which was to break your legs." he offered, laughing a bit when you swiftly accepted the first option. After that, Illumi seemed to relax again, laying his head back on his arm against your bed's railing and just watching your son sleep. You however, had to wait for your heart to slow down and your panic to subside before you could ask another question, "so...if painful births are my punishment for this...what's the condition?" Illumi's eyes moved to look at you, but he didn't lift his head as he coolly told you, "On the condition that you treat me like you did before the pregnancy," You thought a bit at that proposition, than nodded, "Alright. A-as long as you don't become abusive or scare me like you did, I can do that." at that he hummed again, finally moving to give your cheek a kiss, than he spoke again. "Also, if you ever run away, or do anything to put our children or yourself at risk," his voice suddenly became dark, "I get to break. Every. unnecessary. bone. in. your. body." It was a cruel hiss of a threat that sent a tsunami of dread down your spine, but after a moment of weighing your options, really debating whether you could survive in a world with him hunting you down, you nodded. As long as you didn't do anything to warrant that, you'd be okay. However, you did have one final question eating at you. "Um...what'll-what'll happen to our son?" your voice was quiet, and you quietly plead for Illumi not to confirm your worst fear, but he only gave you a knowing look, "You know what will happen, not even I can stop my family from training him to follow my footsteps, but, I can make you a similar promise to the one father made to mother." he offered, resting his cheek on top of your head affectionately while laying his hand over yours on your son. "If you let the first one become an assassin, the others won't have to be." With that, you swallowed back your regret, and agreed.

#illumi x reader #sequel #x reader #hxh #hunter x hunter #sequelette #outrunning karma #fanfiction #quotev

60 notes · View notes

oikawaplssteponme · 3 years

Text

Til Forever Falls Apart

pairing: (timeskip!) Tobio Kageyama x fem! reader

warnings: swearing, breakup, timeskip spoilers

genre: angst, established relationship

word count: ~2k

synopsis: A goodbye you always saw coming and the hello you never expected. He was and is your forever, only you weren’t his.

a/n: did i cry while writing this? most certainly i did not... (that is a lie) i love hurting my own feelings so now im gonna hurt yours. i need to stop writing angst for my favorite characters...reblogs are greatly appreciated! enjoy xx

═════════════════

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

“Yes you do.”

“Y/N-”

“Tobio, this is an amazing opportunity. You can’t just say no to the Japan National Team,” you insisted. Kageyama looked back at his laptop. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.

“But what about you-”

“Please don’t tell me you’re hesitant because of me?”

Kageyama grabbed your hand.

“We agreed that long distant relationships don’t work.”

“I still stand by that.”

“So if I decide to accept the offer-”

“Then we would have to break up. I know that.”

You had imagined this conversation a million times in your head. But now that it was here, it almost felt surreal. There was no doubt in your mind that Kageyama would play volleyball professionally, he was too talented not to. You knew that all along. From your days in high school to now, you knew there would be a point where the two of you would have to separate, but only for a little while.

“I don’t want to have to choose between us and them.”

“I don’t want you to either. I want you to accept the offer.”

You gently cupped Kageyama’s face, trying your best not to show that your heart was breaking by just looking at him.

“If you stay here, with me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Come on Y/N-”

“Nope, I’m serious. Kags you’ll be miserable. You’ll pout around here and spend your days thinking ‘oh if only I accepted that offer instead of picking my dumb girlfriend’. You’re gonna see pictures of Hinata and all your friends and wish you were playing on the same court as them instead of watching them on a T.V. screen,” you said. Kageyama let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re not dumb.”

“But you are if you think I’m gonna let you stay here,” you smiled. Kageyama removed your hands from his cheeks, kissing them before holding them in his lap.

“I guess I would be pretty upset...”

“Exactly! Don’t worry, I’m always gonna be here. This opportunity won’t be.”

“What if you meet someone while I’m away? Or I meet someone-”

“If I find someone that makes me happier than you ever did, then that will be a miracle,” you chuckled.

“There’s no way I’d find anyone better than you.”

“So there is no need for us to worry. Besides, while you’re away you should be focused on volleyball, not me.”

Kageyama pulled you towards him, kissing the top of your head.

“I promise when I get back, I’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend again,” he smiled. You giggled.

“I promise to say yes.”

“Can we stay together until I leave though?” He asked. You nodded.

“Sure Tobio. Break up at the airport?” Kageyama gave you a quick kiss.

“Break up at the airport.”

It was a few hours before Kageyama’s flight. The pit in your stomach wouldn’t go away, however you refused to show it. You wouldn’t show how much you were going to miss him, because if you did, you knew that he would stay.

You parked in the garage of the Tokyo Airport and began to help Kageyama with his bags.

“Are you sure you have everything?” You asks.

“I’m sure Y/N.”

Kageyama held his suitcase with one hand, and your hand with his other.

You two walked inside the large building. The whole team would be leaving together. You spotted the large crowd of similar apparel to Kageyama’s.

“Y/N! Kageyama! There you two are!” Hinata greeted the two of you excitedly.

“Hi Shoyo. It’s been a while,” you smiled.

“It really has. Kageyama never shuts up about you though so it feels like I see you all the time!” laughed Shoyo. Kageyama gave him a glare.

“At least I have a girlfriend to talk about,” he teased.

“Had,” you whispered. Kageyama’s eyes widened.

“What?” questioned Hinata. Kageyama shook his head.

“I’ll explain later. We’re supposed to be heading to security now,” he explained. You nodded.

“Right.”

The rest of the players began to wish their farewells to their family and friends. You handed Kageyama his final bag.

“So...”

“I’m not entirely sure how to do this,” he admitted. You shrugged.

“I’m not too sure either. I’ve never had to break up with the love of my life before.”

“Come on Y/N don’t say it like that...”

“I’m sorry but it’s true...”

Kageyama didn’t know the right words. How do you break up with the love of your life?

He simply pulled you towards him, into the tightest hug imaginable. You buried your face into his shoulder, gripping onto the fabric of his jacket. You refused to cry. Not here.

“I love you,” he whispered. You gripped onto him a little tighter.

“I love you.”

“Alright, we’ve got a plane to catch!” announced the coach. You broke away from the hug, using all your power as to now bawl your eyes out.

Kageyama kissed your cheek.

“Maybe we should hold back on texting for a bit...just to make this a little easier.”

“Y-Yeah, you’re right. Could you at least text me when you land? Just so I know you’re safe?”

“Sure babe-I mean- Y/N. I will.”

“Thank you.”

“Kageyama! Let’s go!”

Tobio picked up his bags, giving you one final nod, before turning around and joining his team.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you whispered, however he was already too far ahead to hear you.

You felt a hand pat your back gently.

“Oh Akaashi... did you come to say goodbye to Bokuto?” You asked. He nodded, wiping his glasses.

“Yeah. It’s never easy seeing them leave, is it?”

You sighed.

“Not at all.”

“Are you and Tobio doing long distance?”

“No actually, we just broke up.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened.

“Oh my god I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay. It’s for the best. Anyway, I know that when he gets back, we’ll get back together. He promised.”

Akaashi gave you a quick shoulder hug, letting out a sigh.

“For his and yours sake, I hope he keeps that promise.”

You sat in your car. Alone. You pressed your quivering lips together, shaking your head. You rested your forehead on the steering wheel as your teas dropped to the floor. You felt so empty. So powerless. You knew it would’ve been selfish to ask him to stay, but honestly the soreness in your heart made it seem like being selfish wouldn’t have been so bad. You sobbed in the parking lot, hoping no one would see you. Hopefully you were worried for nothing. That these months would pass with ease. That when you see him again, everything would go back to the way it was. You held onto that hope. You held on for dear life.

11 months later

“Yes I know-I can’t talk right now I’m supposed to meet Kags at the airport- yes I’ll call once I’m with him-I’m taking him out for dinner tonight so please don’t call- I mean that in the nicest way- okay bye.”

You hung up your phone call before grabbing your car keys. Today was the day. The day where you would see your beloved Tobio again. Where everything would be whole again.

You parked at the airport, funny enough in the same spot where you had dropped him off those months ago. You were so excited. You hadn’t spoken to Kageyama in months, and now you were finally gonna see him face to face. You could barely contain yourself.

You walked up the stairs to the same spot where you said goodbye the last time. You were glad to be saying hello instead.

“Y/N!” Akaashi waved you over. You smiled.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you teased. Akaashi chuckled.

“They should be here any minute now.”

You stared up at the escalators, waiting for him to appear. You could barely hold still. You had dreamed of this moment. When you would finally see him again, feel him again, kiss him again. You missed him more than anything.

You watched as a smiling Hinata waved from the top of the escalators. You waved back. You looked around for Kageyama. Still no sign of him. As more players began to show up, your heart rate picked up. Ever dark haired figure caught your eye, but none of them were Kageyama.

You soon saw a woman step onto the escalators. You didn’t think twice about it, assuming that she just happened to be on the same flight as them. It wasn’t until you saw Kageyama put his arm around her that your heart dropped to the floor.

It had to be friendly right? Maybe she was an assistant coach. That had to be it. You tried to prepare for the worst.

The Japan players greeted their family and friends, the room swelling up with love and anticipation. You watched as Kageyama and the woman walked closer to you. You kept your eyes on him. He finally spotted you. Kageyama’s face turned as white as snow, as if he had seen a ghost. You watched as he whispered something to the woman, before walking towards you.

“Y-Y/N...wow I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said nervously. You tilted your head.

“You didn’t think I was coming?”

“No no I just-here-” Kageyama gave you a quick, but strange hug. Certainly not the hug you had imagined after not seeing him for so long.

“Kags? What’s going on?” You asked. Kageyama scratched the back of his head.

“Listen Y/N...”

“Everything alright over here?”

The woman who walked out with Kageyama now stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

“Kags, what’s going on?” You repeated. Kageyama sighed.

“Y/N this is Mei. Mei, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you-”

“Tobio Kageyama what is going on here?” You asked firmly. Kageyama took a step towards you.

“Y/N just let me explain-”

“Who is this bitch?” You shouted. The airport went silent. Mei scoffed.

“Excuse me but I happen to be his fiancé.”

The next sequence of events happened in slow motion. You walked backwards, stepping on your heart as you moved. You watched as Kageyama reached out for you but you shook him away. You turned around and headed for the parking lot.

“Mei wait here- Y/N WAIT-”

Kageyama chased after you. He stood before you, his hands on your shoulders.

“Look I wanted to tell you but I didn’t know how-”

“Bullshit. Don’t you ever lie to me again Tobio.”

“Please Y/N I didn’t expect this to happen but it just did-”

“Oh of course, you just happened to propose to a girl you’ve known for eleven months even though we dated since out first year of high school!”

“Hey you said that if I meet someone else-”

“Oh I know what I said that day- but I also know what you said! You promised that-”

“Y/N we were broken up! We are broken up! That was it! You didn’t actually think I wouldn’t meet someone else?”

You wiped away your tears forcefully, pushing Kageyama’s hands off of you.

“I did actually, I did think that! I thought that you would’ve waited for me how I waited for you! God, Kags we were perfect! We were supposed to be forever damnit!” You shouted. Kageyama clenched his fists.

“Well maybe our forever fell apart, didn’t it?”

You pressed your lips together, sniffling.

“It certainly did.”

Kageyama looked at you. This time, he was the one holding back any tears.

“I still want you in my life Y/N-”

“No. Absolutely not. You do not get to keep me around anymore. You clearly won’t miss me. You clearly didn’t miss me. I wish you and your blow-up doll over there nothing but the best, I really do-”

“Y/N don’t do this-”

“-I wish you both the forever that we never got. The one that we deserved. I really do.”

You began to walk away, watching as all eyes landed on you and Tobio. You stopped and looked at him once more.

“I guess I’m the miserable one now, aren’t I? Well that’s okay. At least I had the pleasure of loving you, I had the best time falling in love with you. I’ll let you know once I land.”

Kageyama began to walk back to her.

“Goodbye Tobio Kageyama. It was fun while it lasted.”

•

[general taglist: @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @katlingclaw ]

91 notes · View notes