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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Can I request a celebrity AU with Elizabeth Olsen and Female Reader? Where R is Vision in the MCU. And like throughout a series of interviews and behind the scenes shots, you can see how the two actually fall in love in real life. And in like the final interview they ask “Are you two dating?” And this time they can finally say yes

Hello darling, how are you? I hope well. This took me a while, and i’m not sure you’re even going to like it. But i hope you do. It was honestly kind of strange to write for Lizzie, i kept mistaken the name as Wanda. Also, i changed your idea a bit, because i could find the right way to write the interviews. But anyway, here it is. Good reading.

Elizabeth Olsen x Reader - Love is outside the screen

Summary: The one where Reader plays Vision in the MCU and she falls in love with her co-worker Elizabeth Olsen.

Warnings: None.

Words: 4.308 words //// Read on AO3

Marks: @wandamaximoffpuppy

Part. 2 || Part 3

Eight years ago

Your agent was calling you for the third time, and you thought you should answer before you lost your contract.

Letting out an impatient sigh as you reached for your cell phone, you left it on speaker.

- Hello, Sara. - You say with a slight irony as you relax your body in the water of the jacuzzi again.

- It's not polite to ignore someone who keeps you employed. - she said irritated, making you laugh.

- Sorry, but I told you I was on vacation. - You reminded her. - And what did you keep doing? Oh yes, calling me.

- Don't be so grumpy, woman. - She replied with a light humor in her voice, and you could hear the clatter of keystrokes, suggesting that she was working. - I have an opportunity for you.

You raised your eyebrows in curiosity, but said nothing. And by your silence, Sara kept talking.

- Tell me, have you ever thought about being a superhero?

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking it was a joke.

- I'm not going to make any weird latex movies, Sara. - You warn her, and she lets out a laugh.

- Actually, honey, it's Marvel.

You blink in surprise, and then turn to rest your arms on the edge of the jacuzzi and look directly at your cell phone.

- What are you talking about?

- Ah, caught your interest, huh? - She remarks. - You actors are all the same, one famous name and you fall to your knees.

- Sara...

- No, it's okay. - She giggles. - They want a openly queer actress to play a lesbian heroine, I think. And then they called me.

- Wow, Marvel doing something like that? - You comment. - It sounds like a lie.

Sara giggles.

- It pays well anyway. - She says, and then a notification pops up on the screen. - I just sent you the script. Let me know if I can confirm your audition.

You let out a sigh before saying goodbye and hanging up, grabbing your cell phone to read the script.

It is the scene description of your character's appearance, and there is also a note for the chemistry test. You bite your lips thoughtfully. You were known in the media for roles in international, indie and cult films, mostly lesbian romance. You had a few academy nominations, and had been awarded twice by the critics. Superheroes were not really what you were looking for. But then you remembered how much you missed having a lgbt reference in media like this, and then you are sending a message to your agent confirming your audition.

//-//

Present

You are twiddling your thumbs in your dressing room. It must be the ninth interview in less than two weeks. Letting out a sigh, you stand up, momentarily looking at your appearance in the mirror. The make-up team did a good job, you look well. And then you are walking outside, to the dressing room next to yours.

You knock on the door, and are soon answered. But Elizabeth doesn't smile when she pulls you inside.

- Hey, Lizzie, what's up? - you ask worriedly as you close the door. The next second she's hugging you tight, and you sigh. - You're anxious, aren't you?

- I feel like my heart is going to burst out of my mouth. - She grumbles and you start stroking her back, trying to calm her down.

- Remember that exercise we practiced, okay? - You ask her tenderly as you move your feet so that you move together toward the sofa in the living room. You break the embrace slowly, to sit Lizzie down on the couch as you kneel in front of her. She looks on the verge of tears, and you place your hands on top of hers. - Breathe with me, okay?

It will take you many minutes to calm her down, but you don't care. And then she smiles, and brings your foreheads together.

- Thank you. - She whispers before kissing you. She walks away too quickly in your opinion, but you can't say anything because the producer is calling you next, announcing that the interview starts in two minutes. You smile at Liz before getting up.

//-//

Seven years ago.

You had just finished filming your last scene in Age of Ultron when your agent called you. Scrolling your finger quickly across the screen, you answered while your cell phone rested on the table in your dressing room, and you kept your hands busy trying to pin up your hair.

- I'm leaving the studio, Sara, what's up? - you told her.

- I wanted to congratulate you on the affair, although I'm surprised it happened so quickly. - She says and you frown in confusion, finishing up with your bun. You pick up your cell phone next.

- What are you talking about?

Sara giggles, and sends you an attachment. You pull your cell phone away from your ear to look at it. It is a photo of you and Elizabeth, your teammate and romantic partner in the franchise, taken the same day you discovered Liz had social anxiety and took her out for coffee with you to take her focus off the celebrity world for a while. The paparazzi managed to capture the exact moment when you kissed her on the cheek in farewell.

- This is all over the gossip sites as Marvel's mysterious romantic couple. - Your agent commented, and you rubbed your fingers across your forehead in irritation.

- You want me to publicly deny a relationship, is that it? - you ask, walking around the dressing room and gathering your things.

- What? No! This is great for advertising. - she says with slight excitement in her voice. - Especially after the movie comes out! Fans love couples who fall in love behind the screen.

You roll your eyes, switching your cell phone to your ear.

- I'm not going to make a relationship contract if that's what you're thinking! - You say with irritation and can imagine Sara rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

- Yes, yes, we've been over this, Miss Morally Correct. - She scoffs lightly. - But I really called to talk about the premiere. We have details to discuss.

Sighing, you ask her to wait. Then you finished putting your things away, and grabbed the phone as you walked out the door.

//-//

Six years ago, California

Interviewers can be motherfuckers when they want to be, you thought as you bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your face impassive as you watched the woman in front of you list the "missed moments" from the Avengers set. You knew that your agent had talked to the show's staff about the authorized questions, and yet here you were on live television, having to declare whether the timely photos taken on the Avengers set meant that you had a secret relationship with your best friend Elizabeth Olsen.

A slideshow was playing on the screen behind you. There were pictures from the footage, many where you and Liz were laughing together, or having lunch together. There were some where she was sitting on your lap, or vice versa. Your expression softened when you noticed one where she was looking at you adoringly. It was so strange to be an artist sometimes. You smiled politely at the presenter.

- Come on, Ellen, you know how these things are. - You said. - Things are different on camera, Lizzie and I are friends.

The audience let out a chorus of displeasure, and Ellen laughed lightly.

- You know that many of the fans would like this rumor to be true, especially since you two play a couple and you are openly queer. - She says, and you wiggle your fingers in your lap, uncomfortable with where this conversation is going, but you nod in agreement. - Furthermore, you say that the paparazzi cameras are deceiving, but what about the stories you post on your personal networks?

She asks with a chuckle, and then other videos are playing on the screen, and you force yourself to smile and watch.

The vast majority are harmless, and platonic. You spend a lot of time at Liz's house because when she moved in, you were her reference and tour guide, and so you got into the habit of checking up on her. And then you became friends and you spent more time at her house than at yours.There were many videos and pictures on yours and her instagram where you two were tending a garden, playing board games, cooking together, or watching sports. You bit back a smile as you watched the memories through the images.

- See?It's hard to believe that this is just platonic. - Ellen insisted again, and the audience laughed. You tried to cover it up with a smile. - But since you claim to be single, we're going to play a game now. It's called "Who Would You Rather?

The audience applauded and you giggled, straightening your posture in your chair. And then the studio screen had a sign with the name of the game.

- It's very simple, you just have to choose which of the artists you would rather. - She explains, and you blink.

- Rather what?

Ellen lets out a giggle, and you understand, nodding in embarrassment. The audience laughs. The picture changes to two pictures.

- Who would you rather, Scarlett Johansson or Chris Hemsworth?

- Wow, that sounds like a trap. - You comment awkwardly, making the audience laugh. And then you bite your lips. - I think Scarlett.

Ellen gives you a suggestive look, and the audience chuckles, you force yourself to imitate them. The picture changes again.

- Scarlett or Sebastian Stan?

You laugh, smoothing your hair slightly.

- I don't know, I think Seb. - You answer. And then the picture changes again, and you want to run away when the audience gives a chorus of excitement.

- Sebastian Stan or Elizabeth Olsen?

- There it is the trap. - You comment clumsily, causing the audience to bust out laughing. You swallow dryly and look down at your lap before saying. - I'd say Elizabeth Olsen.

You played for a few more minutes, and then the game ended with you choosing Elizabeth at the end, which got the audience cheering and celebrating. When the interview was over, Sara was calling you, and you were massaging your forehead when you answered.

- I thought you said you two weren't dating. - She teased, and you grumbled in irritation.

- I thought you had discussed these matters with the staff. - You retorted, slightly irritated. - She only asked me about Lizzie and dating the entire interview.

- Honey, you're America's sweet couple. - She sneered. - Ellen wants viewers and will ask the questions that the audience wants to know.

- That's ridiculous. - You said and then sighed. - Why did you call me anyway?

- I have your new shooting location, so get your coats and jackets ready.

//-//

Six years ago, Berlin.

You are laughing at Anthony's imitation of Robert. Sitting in the shared dining hall, you were having a good time over lunch with your other colleagues while you were recording Civil War.

And then you were in scene again, many minutes later, and you found it strange that the nervousness was crossing beyond your character during a specific scene in which you were counteracting with Elizabeth.

You saw her laughing at a comment your character made, and you should have this expression of surprise and embarrassment, but you didn't even have to act it out. Your cheeks reddened naturally at the image of Liz laughing. And then the director said cut when you were done and you were rushing out to clean up your makeup.

Later that day, after the shoot was over, the team wanted to visit a local pub, and you accepted the invitation, ignoring the previous event, and smiling when Elizabeth touched your arm to get your attention.

- A toast to the Avengers! - shouted the camera crew chief when you were all gathered at the bar, you thought maybe he had had too much to drink, but you joined in the toast.

You stood next to Lizzie and Chris at a table while sipping a dark drink that might have been craft beer, or something German.

Your cell phone vibrates with a notification and you choke in surprise at the content of the message. Sara had sent you a note from TMZ, stating that your secret romance with Elizabeth Olsen was threatened because you had been seen leaving a coffee shop with Katie McGrath.

Chris and Lizzie look at you curiously, and you just lay your cell phone down on the table for them to see while you turn the entire glass of beer in your mouth.

- Wow, so your type really is super heroines. - Chris commented with a smile, and you laugh, pushing him away slightly.

- I swear, I can't be seen talking to any woman that she is automatically my girlfriend. - You say irritated as you put your beer glass back on the table. Your gaze returns to Lizzie, who has picked up your cell phone from the table and is reading the news. Then she hands the phone back to you, and gets a strange look on her face that you can't read very well, but she forces a smile.

- At least you cheated on me with a pretty girl. - she says and you frown in surprise. Chris laughs at the joke, but before you could have any other reaction, the rest of the team is joining you.

//-//

Five years ago, California.

You gave up fighting the questions about your relationship with Elizabeth. They would happen anyway, whether your agent talked to the teams or not, so you just smiled politely when you told people you were just friends and remained truthful in your statements.

Usually the interviews with Lizzie were easier, because you went into protective mode and your brain was ready to give sharp, snappy answers to keep Elizabeth from being embarrassed.

So here you were on the Night Show, with one of your favorite interviewers, and your best friend by your side. Jimmy was asking good questions, and he was funny. You hoped he wouldn't ask anything too embarrassing.

After many questions about employment, and worldview, which was refreshing, he finally asked you about the rumors of your secret relationship.

- Girls, you know that the public wants to know. - He began with a smile, and you laughed lightly, exchanging a look with Lizzie. - And actually, we have arguments this time.

- Here we go. - You commented with light irony which made the audience laugh.

Your latest posts on instagram were visible on the big screen.

- Last Tuesday, both of you posted these stories on your personal accounts. - Jimmy started with excitement. - And it rocked the internet completely, because the location was visible on your instagram, Elizabeth.

Lizzie let out an embarrassed giggle.

- Well, if the public's doubt is whether we were together there, they can confirm it. - She said, and Jimmy let out an excited exclamation. Lizzie waited for the audience to stop their celebratory chorus before speaking again. - But this was a special celebration, since it was my birthday.

- And I took her on a trip to Mexico. - You completed the story with a slight smile. The audience let out a chorus of happiness and you looked at them in confusion. - Guys, friends do this!

Jimmy and the audience laughed for a moment and then the image came off the screen.

- Come on girls, you're giving us material. - He remarked with a smile. - And you're still going to deny the relationship like you always do, I imagine.

You and Wanda exchange a short chuckle.

- Look, Jimmy, all I have to say is that Lizzie is amazing, she really is. - You saw yourself confessing. - Anyone would be lucky to date this brilliant, spectacular, sweet, fun-loving woman. But that person is not me.

Jimmy lets out an exclamation of sadness along with the audience, but then they applaud your words, and you smile wryly. You risk a glance at Lizzie for a second, and she has slightly flushed cheeks, and looks surprised at your words.

You ignore the nervous feeling at the pit of your stomach, and decide to keep your posture polite as you answer the next questions.

//-//

Four years ago.

You had to kiss Lizzie. And then you shook your head. No, not you. Vision. Your character, Vision, had to kiss Lizzie's character, Wanda Maximoff. And you repeated this like a mantra as you walked from your dressing room to the set.

The day you read this scene, you smiled politely at your agent, and disguised any apparent nervousness. And then you spent the last few weeks pretending that if you didn't think about it, eventually the director would make a change and the scene wouldn't even exist. But here you were, trying to have one last drop of professionalism.

You weren't even recording the scene officially, it was just the rehearsal of lines and marking, and you had sweaty hands.

As you walked through the studio, the staff smiled and greeted you, and then you spotted Lizzie and ignored the uneven beating of your heart.

- Let's get started girls. - announced Russo as soon as he caught sight of you. He signaled for you to follow the team's prearranged schedule. You smiled at Lizzie as you took your place. - We can test the order of the scene directly. I need to know which angle is best to have Vision ask Wanda to stay with her.

And then you started recording. And now you were Vision. There was no time to think about how naturally your hand fit into Lizzie's, or how good it felt to feel her hugging you. And then Russo shouted cut again.

- That's pretty good. - He commented, looking at the monitor. - Let's shoot the stone scene okay, then the action scene.

The scene started, and you said your lines the way you were supposed to. And then you were looking at Lizzie, and she kissed you as the script said. You held the sigh in your throat, and pulled away. Vision doesn't sigh, so you shouldn't either. And then you are smiling as written, and the director closes the scene again.

You were getting pretty good at hiding how affected you are by Lizzie the more you kiss her onstage. And then you wrap up the day's shooting, and you are mentally exhausted. You want to sleep in your dressing room, but you decide to go home.

And as you are walking back to your car, Lizzie calls out to you.

- Hey, partner. - She greets me by walking beside you. - Don't you want to go for a drink tonight?

You let out a sigh, ignoring the urge to shout that you would go anywhere with her, and thinking about how tired your body is.

- I'm exhausted, Lizzie. - You tell her, and she looks upset, but you add with a smile. - But I'll take it if it's something at your place.

Lizzie's face lights up quickly, and she nods, and then says she'll leave something in her car. She returns when you are already in yours.

- All set? - You ask to confirm, and she smiles and nods. And then you start the car and drive out of the studio.

Lizzie turns on the car stereo a moment later, and you begin humming the song.

- You've been distant lately. - She comments distractedly as you drive away. - You know you can talk to me, right?

You smile, ignoring the feeling in your stomach.

- Yes, Lizzie. - You say without taking your eyes off the road. - I'm just busy, that's all. It's nothing.

Lizzie makes a noise of agreement and looks away. You think maybe she believes you're not telling her the truth, and you feel guilty. So you decide to change the subject.

- How are things at home, Liz? Are Mary-Kate and Ashley well? - you ask, and she looks at you quickly.

- Everything's fine. - she says, and then she bites her lip. - Did I do something?

You frown, glancing quickly at her before looking down the street again. The light was red. And when you turn your head toward her, she lets out a sigh.

- You don't talk to me anymore. - She says seriously, looking at you. - Since Berlin, you're just distant. Always busy, and with ready-made answers. And now you try small talk, even though you hate it. I wish you would tell me what I did wrong.

Your heart is racing at the accusations, because she is absolutely right. And then you swallow dry, and prepare to speak, but then Liz is pointing ahead, the headlight has opened. And you have to drive, and she crosses her arms and looks away to the window.

You drive the rest of the way to her house in silence, and when you park the car in the driveway, she mumbles a goodnight before getting out.

Squeezing the steering wheel in your fingers, you take a deep breath. And then you get out of the car, and the noise of the door opening surprises her because she turns to look. But you are walking toward her, and raising your hand to the back of her neck, bringing your mouths together. Lizzie chokes in surprise, but in the next second she melts against you as she kisses you back.

You part breathlessly, holding your foreheads together.

- I am in love with you. - You confess. - I'm sorry I was a complete idiot, but I was terrified.

Lizzie giggles, kissing you again quickly before hugging you. And then she is breaking the embrace to look at you, a shy smile on her lips.

- I'm in love with you too. - she says. - I'm glad that's the problem and not something else.

You laugh, and kiss her one last time before entwining your hands and walking toward her house.

You decide to take things slow, so naturally, two weeks later, you ask her to be your girlfriend over dinner. Lizzie smiles all night, but you know that if this is a secret, she can't wear the ring.

Public relationships mean contracts, and agents, and unwanted questions, and lots of opinions about your lives. And you two wanted to keep that to yourselves for the time being.

So when directors comment that your onstage chemistry is amazing, you two just nod and thank them. When the interviewers ask if you are together, you deny it as before.

The first time you sleep with Lizzie, you almost break the bed. And it's all right, because you two are laughing with happiness and pleasure, and she pulls you in for another kiss. And you entwine your hands, the commitment rings on your fingers.

A year and a half later, you are getting very busy with your participation in a youth series, and there are many rumors that you are dating your co-star, so Lizzie is jealous and you can't blame her.

You decide that the secret cannot go on any longer, at least not to your friends and employers. So you talk to Lizzie, and you both call your agents. Sara laughs for ten minutes when you tell her, but she is happy to talk to Lizzie's agent. You are not public yet, but it is important that all parties are in agreement. You hate bureaucracy, but you don't mind as long as Lizzie's hand is in yours. Your friends are very happy, and the other cast members tease you constantly about it.

When you shoot the last movie, you think you are going to be fired because your character has died. But then you and Lizzie get a series together.

You try not to overthink how you will deny the rumors on television, but Lizzie kisses you on the cheek and tells you that you will face it together.

It takes three more months for you to propose. You think your chest will explode with happiness when she accepts.

And then you are calling your agents again, and Sara almost faints when you tell her that you got married in secret at some registry office in the Caribbean and she needs to get the paperwork sorted out. When you get back to California, there is a small ceremony with your family members.

//-//

Present

You and Lizzie are sitting side by side in the interview. The questions about WandaVision are over, and now you know from Jimmy's expression what he is going to say.

- The last time you were here, I had only an instagram post as an argument for your secret relationship. - He says, making you, Lizzie and the audience laugh lightly. - But now I have talked to the production and they prepare a presentation.

- My goodness. - You remark, making him laugh. And then he waves to the big screen, and you try to disguise your nervousness.

A presentation of images began to play to the audience to the sound of "honeybee" by the band "The Head and The Heart". There are several studio shots, from photo rehearsals to behind-the-scene moments. There is a picture from the day you met, from the first cast test, from the Avengers taping, paparazzi shots of you laughing in the parking lot, or in the open areas. There are pictures of you walking around Los Angeles together, pictures of your rides, or your travels. There are clippings from instagram stories where you spend time together, laughing and hugging. The presentation ends with the BTS photo of WandaVision from the first day of recording where you have your arm around Lizzie, and the two of you are laughing.

You clear your throat away the emotion, but Lizzie wipes her eyes lightly.

- That was very beautiful. - She comments as Jimmy hands her a piece of tissue paper. The audience bursts into tears of excitement.

- I guess we can get to the part where you deny everything now can't we? - Jimmy jokes and you smile and straighten your posture.

- Actually, Jimmy, we have something to announce.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxyou #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #wandaxreader #wandamaximoffxreader #wandamaximoffxyou

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melo-yello · 3 years

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💤Can’t Sleep💤 w/ 💥🪨KiriBaku🪨💥 HeadCanons

Pairing(s): KiriBaku X black!reader, Eijirou Kirishima X Katsuki Bakugou X black!reader

A/N: fluff and ANGST. Like lots of ANGST. I had a rough week and honestly not very much sleep. What can I say. Sue me, I wanna hug and somebody to watch a movie with.

💤💥🪨 Lay on your stomach opening and closing your eyes as you try and convince yourself to sleep. Kirishima snores softly with an arm around Bakugou’s waist. He’s been pretty stressed lately so he gets to be middle spoon. Baku in turn has an arm draped over your shoulders.

💤💥🪨 The soft and peaceful looks on the boys’ faces are nothing but safe and warm and reassuring . Yet here you are unavailable to close your eyes long enough to drift off to sleep. Each time you close your eyes your heart attempts to tear a whole through your chest. The dim red light of the clock reads 2:56 as you slip out of Baku’s embrace for a glass of water

💤💥🪨 You settle on Jasmine tea instead. Quietly pulling a the kettle from the cabinet and turning on the tap just before placing it on the stove. You busy yourself in your phone in order to banish any form of thought from your head. Soon just blankly browsing through TikToks as you wait for the water to boil

💤💥🪨 The hair on the back of your neck stands at attention as you hear heavy footsteps and the creaking of the bedroom door. Short angry grumbles are traded with deep groggy grunts as the footsteps close in on your position. You glance up to see the time is now 3:22 and you hear the kettle whistling for the first. Mostly likely what woke your boyfriends to begin with. You scowl at the kettle.

💤💥🪨 “fuck you.” you curse under your breath snatching up the kettle to quiet it’s shouting as the two set of red eyes fix on you in the dim light of kitchen. Kiri’s long red hair pulled back into a messy plat, and Baku’s fluffy ash blonde sticking out in all directions except for the right side flatten to the side of his skull

💤💥🪨 “Oí, Chuchu Soul, do you have any idea what time it is?!!” Baku squints tiredly placing a hand on his hip. “That’s actually a good one.” You giggle surprised by his creativity. “I know right?! And they used to call him uncreative.” Kirishima smirks between a yawn. “ Well?” Bakugou’s features don’t change. More likely mad that he’s awake at this ungodly hour than anything else. “Was it another panic attack, Pebble?” Kiri questions walking to rest his hand on your lower back. You don’t acknowledge his soft gesture and busy yourself with pouring the newly hot water into your large mug with it’s awaiting tea bag.

💤💥🪨 “Run that shit back, Eiji?!? When was this?” Bakugou’s foggy apathetic sleepiness raises to concerned confusion . You curse under your breath for the third time tonight. Kiri racks his tired brain for an explanations as he trades tired glances between the temperamental blonde and the vaguely suspicious one blowing at tea. “Pebble you didn’t tell him about Friday Night?” He frowns looking down at you. “...i forgot...” you whisper sipping the overly hot tea and burning your tongue. Hell you wouldn’t have told him either, but he was right beside you when it happened.

💤💥🪨 That Friday night. You couldn’t speak. You stood in a dark room. Small and cramped. No windows. No doors. Just glowing ink on one wall in barely legiable font. Prove It. As soon as you touched the lettering it went blood red and the water began to pool at your feet. You begin to lose your composure trying to find an exit. In seconds the water is at your waist. Then your neck. Then the ceiling. Like that you’re choking and sputtering trying to find. The walls go translucent. Larger than life figures with unmistakable silhouettes and Pro hero customs hold your box in each hand. You bang tight fists to gain their attention. Your blood mixes with the water and you could barely breath. You thrashed across the sheets desperately trying to snatch yourself from your current nightmare. Suddenly Kiri shaking you awake and he’s coaching you into breathing again.

💤💥🪨 The memory of utter helplessness washes over you all over again. You sigh in frustration as tears pool at the corner of your eyes. “Come here, Pebs.”

💤💥🪨 Without another word, Kiri scoops you up bridal style and takes a seat on the couch placing you in his lap. Baku takes the seat next to him gently taking the hot tea from your trembling hands. You hadn’t even realized they were shaking until you touched his steady ones. “Babes, we hafta talk about this. Including Friday, this makes 3 days of shitty sleep. That’s not good or sustainable, Knucklehead.” Bakugou sighs placing the mug on the coffee table before wiping away a tear rolling down your cheek.

💤💥🪨 “It’s not like I don’t wanna do better, Kats. Eiji. I’m just...” you trail off mid explanation. You clasp fingers over your soft lips. Opening twice to speak, but only croaks come out. You try very hard to find a tangible reason for your reluctance to sleep, but there were none. Kiri squeezes your shoulders reassuringly and plants a gentle kiss on the top of your bonnet.

💤💥🪨 “We know you’re trying, love. It’s ok to be scared sometimes. Even the resident hardass, Katsuki still gets nightmares.” Kiri offers doing his best to let you ride these feelings out while comforting you as well. “Yea.”Baku’s grip tightens at the mention of his own nightmares before leaning his head on your legs

💤💥🪨 “I just can’t trust it ok! It’s scary. I’m panicking in sleep now?!! I’m only getting worse and now I crying about. FUCK! I’m just a scared bitchy crybaby who can’t sleep.” You sigh overwhelmed by all the physical closeness and their consistent and unwavering support. You mentally kick yourself for the not realizing sooner that you trusted them enough to hurt like this in front of them. There’s something that unnerves you about that. Tears streaming at full force at this piont

💤💥🪨Kiri holds you firmly to chest tucking your shaking form under his chin. Baku moves to wrap an embrace overlapping Kiri’s arms. “Just let it all out, Babygirl.” He hums leaning his head on your shoulder. Your chest tightens and your fingers curl into angry fists. Suddenly your frighteningly fierce temper rears it’s ugly head.

💤💥🪨 “No no no NO! Stop It! STOP ACTING SO NICE! STOP ACTING LIKE I DESRVE THIS! BE DISAPPOINTED! BE UPSET!! TELL ME TO TRY HARDER! TELL ME TO TAKE BETTER CARE OF MYSELF! TELL ME IT’S EASY! REALLY EASY! BE ANGRY I’M FUCKING IT ALL UP! BLAME ME! I BLAME ME! I blame me... I blame me for not being...better.” You fume trying to push them away. You do your best to squirm out of their gentle comfort and tender embrace your lovers have you wrapped in. Neither one of your boys moves. “No way, Pebs.” Kirishima says resolutely. “Not a fucking chance, Teddy.” Bakugou nods with the same unchanging confidence. The rage in your chest melts as fat tears and roll down your brown cheeks.

💤💥🪨 A heaving and broken sob racks your entire body as you fall apart in their arms. Anger subsides into terrified uncertainty and overwhelming futility settles in its place. Tears and mucus flood down your face and soak Kiri’s t-shirt. Sniffles from above draws you out of the dark thoughts swarming around you. Surely enough tears drip slowly down Kiri’s cheeks. Instinctively you cup his face with trembling hands. “...Sorry.. I’ll be strong...just gimme a sec” he mutters as his broad shoulders slump and he moves to bat away the falling droplets. Bakugou grabs his hand and kisses it while wiping the red head’s face. “Eijirou, you don’t have to. Not right now” You sputter between choppy breaths.

💤💥🪨 His usually unwavering features muddy with insecurity. A fairly uncommon expression for someone so death defyingly optimistic and confident. “But it’s what I’m good at. If I can’t be strong for the people I love most then what good am I?” He retorts apathetically tightening his grip as the tears still trickle. You slink an arm around his hips, and place your face to his chest. “Bullshit. You’re plenty strong enough for us, Eijirou. Stop being so hard headed!” Bakugou raves putting a hand behind his neck and his forehead against his for emphasis before continuing, “You’re allowed to feel more than one thing. You are complex and unique and fearless and fearful all in one. You’re human, Eiji. It’s ok.”

💤💥🪨 “Katsuki, you’re so compassionate and kind.” You hum softly and absentmindedly almost. You don’t know why this observation came but it just feels right. Eiji smiles leaning in the blonde’s embrace. “Honestly Kats, you love remarkably deep and painfully unselfishly. Thank you.” Kiri hums kissing his cheek and you do the same. Hot little tears rest at the corners of his dark red eyes. Most of the public thinks he’s some kind of angry asshole devoid of any softer emotions. Comments on your relationship often criticized Katsuki for snagging partners ‘much nicer than he deserved’. And just like that you are scooting over to make room for Bakugou in Kiri’s lap.

💤💥🪨 “Such a shitty little week.” Baku sighs with misty eyes. There’s a small comfort in the collective collapse washing over the three of you. All of you holding the hurt from the others in hopes it would just fizzle away like a bad dream. It didn’t. You sob, Kiri sniffles, and Baku lets two hot tear slip from his glassy eyes. None of you break contact with each other. Your fingers linked with Kiri and Baku’s in the opposite hand. A head glued affectionately onto the red head’s broad shoulder. After what seems like a lifetime and you can’t cry anymore and feeling a surprising amount of relief sinks onto you, you clear your throat.

💤💥🪨 “Wanna watch How to Train a Dragon?” You rasp with tired and strained vocal chords. “I’ll get the popcorn.” Kiri sighs kissing each of you on the cheek as he ushers you both out of his lap. He sashays into the kitchen to find a bowl and the popcorn. Baku stands handing you your cool tea as he grabs the remote. Flipping decisively through Amazon Prime, he queues up the movie as he settles onto the far side of the couch to lay out fully. You sip contently tucking your knees to your chest so you can press the soles of your feet into his. “That tickles.” Bakugou deadpans wiggling his own toes. Soft giggles flutter out of your chest.

💤💥🪨 Kiri strolls back in the room with two large bowls of popcorn and a blanket on each arm. He bows presenting them to their proper owners. Movie theater butter for Baku and kettle corn for you two to share. You sit your now empty mug on the coffee table as Kiri retakes his original spot and you settle comfortably into his lap cocooning you both in a cozy weighted blanket. Baku draped in a light throw typically the first to complain about being hot. The DreamWorks title sequence floats across the screen, and wave of peacefulness falls over the tired trio. Less then five minutes in, you and Bakugou snore quietly as Kiri’s heavy eyelids fight to watch the next couple scenes

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hizashiiis · 3 years

Text

Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two

PART ONE HERE

So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/

I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.

Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda

Sero Hanta

- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep

- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep

- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?

- He’s so sad

- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession.

- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake

- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”

- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late

- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there

- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you

- Often, you both just stay up like that

Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare.

Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned.

The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist.

He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that.

Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall.

“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.

“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it.

“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival.

“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way.

“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day.

As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”

He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.

Mina Ashido

- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake

- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing

- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do

- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same

- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide

- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep

Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring.

“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you.

You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone.

You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen.

“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment.

You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start.

“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”

Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!”

You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose.

“Press play, Mina.”

Kyoka Jirou

- Lol u think she sleeps?

- She does, but not at night

- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal

- So you try to remind her to go to sleep

- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs

- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play

- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them

- You aren’t Mineta.

- But anyway

- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play

- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it.

Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down.

She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen.

The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything.

You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?

“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.

“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little.

“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Confused, you nod, and she starts playing.

The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense.

Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor.

She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly.

“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes.

“Obviously.”

She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”

“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand.

“No.”

#mha fluff #mha x reader #mha imagines #sero x reader #sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #mina ashido #mina x reader #mina ashido x reader #jirou x reader #kyoka jirou x reader #mina ashido fluff #sero fluff #jirou fluff

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 3 years

Text

Always There (Faramir x Gender Neutral!reader)

Request: I'd like to send a Faramir request! And I thought maybe just some fluff, confessing their love to each other? ~ @midearthwritings

Word count: 2249 (sorry I got carried away, it was fun lol)

Warnings: The teensiest bit of angst, fluff, and kissing?

A/N Alright, I thoroughly enjoyed making this one, I always love me some Faramir! Just for reference, I have not gotten to Return of the King yet, I have only watched the movie, so if something seems to be incorrect, my deepest apologies. And yes, I bent the story to match my thoughts. It’s fine. Thank you so much to @guardianofrivendell for helping me with some scenes! Also, a Quisby is a lazy-ass and a yaldson is the son of a prostitute. I looked up medieval insults and thought they were pretty funny. May or may not be using them on my friends...

Denethor was a quisby, a yaldson. You clenched your jaw, seething with anger. You couldn’t say much, for fear of upsetting the king, no, the Steward. But he was sending his only son left to battle. A battle that he could not win. No one would survive. Wasteful. And he sent the love of your life.

Faramir had always been special to you. When you were younger you were closer with Boromir, but as you all grew up, fitting the molds made for you, things changed. Boromir was always learning policy and diplomacy as his father’s right hand. Faramir was left behind with the lesser jobs, that most would consider unpleasant for someone used to a grandeur life. You bonded quickly, soon knowing even the most minuscule details about each other. And all was well. Until Osgiliath was taken again. With Boromir’s success came more criticism of Faramir. This also led to Boromir sent to a secret council regarding a weapon that could change the war. But Boromir never returned from the mission. He never made it back home. To Faramir and you.

Denethor took the news horribly, but nothing compared to Faramir. He was distraught, hiding the most of his pain. He only confided in you, how lost and unappreciated he felt. He didn’t understand how those words also hurt you, carving deeper into the fresh wound of grief. He didn’t realize how much you appreciated him, how blind he was to your love. It was all you could do to not unravel then and there, piece by piece. But you held strong, for his sake. He had no one left but you. His father did not care for him. His brother who showered him with affection and praise was gone. It was just you two.

And now he was gone, sent on a death mission, little chance of making it back. You found yourself in your room, not remembering how you got there. Tears were streaming down your face, slowing down to your chin. You went onto the balcony, luckily one that did not face the battle. It would be unbearable to see it. You curled up, your back pressed against the cool stone. You wished you had told him. Told him how you had felt. You relished the memories you shared with him. Even though he only saw you as a friend, no more. The day passed quickly, but you stayed where you were, hidden. And then, a horn sounded. They were back. At least whoever was left. But there were worse things heading towards the gates. Gondor was under attack.

You rushed to the gates, your thoughts clouded with panic. Only one thought was constant. Where was Faramir? You reached the guards at the front.

“What happened? Who made it back?” You said hurriedly, seeing no signs of injury in the guards nearby.

“Only the Captain of Gondor made it back ma’am, he was injured horribly. Taken back to the citadel is what I heard. Hardly going to last the night.” The guard looked at you, concerned. “Are you the one Faramir talked about? I was by his side all through Osgiliath. Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but you like precisely like what he described.”

You bowed your head, cheeks a hint darker than normal. It didn’t matter, he only talked about you as a friend. And besides, he was horribly injured. This should be the last thing on your mind. “Aye, that would be me. But excuse me, I must be on my way. I need to find him.”

You turned from the slightly bemused guard and walked as quickly as you could without causing alarm. Although at this point, everybody had to have known about Faramir. Everyone except you. You turned a corner, quite distracted, and slammed into someone.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry I- what on Middle Earth?” You stuttered. A child looked up at you, no, not a child, but he was small enough to be a child. Not a dwarf though. Something completely different.

“Oh hello there! I’m guessing you have never seen a hobbit before! My name is Pippin, and don’t worry about accidentally running into me, it happens a lot. You look very in distress. What is wrong? Also, I am looking for a friend, so if you happen to see him please let me know.” The hobbit, Pippin babbled. You were a bit overwhelmed from everything you were going through but luckily found the patience to deal with this energetic hobbit.

“Oh, I am looking for a friend as well, his name is Faramir if you manage to find him. And don’t worry little one, I am just worried for his sake.” You responded back quickly, hoping to move on your way.

Unfortunately for you, the hobbit had different plans. “Oh yes, I am also looking for Faramir, as well as Gandalf. I saw him being led away, and I heard a mutter about the Steward going insane. I am trying to find him to help. But the trouble is brewing, and the fighting will start soon. I am worried, very worried.” Pippin babbled on as you searched the streets for this Gandalf.

After a little while, he finally saw who he was looking for. He explained quickly what was going on and why he needed to check on Faramir.

“Faramir is alive but Denethor wants to burn him. He thinks he's dead. ” Pippin spoke hurriedly, already rushing Gandalf along.

You gasped. “You did not tell me that Denethor was trying to burn him! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pippin looked confused. “I didn’t tell you? I could have sworn I did.”

You shook your head, your heart racing even faster than it had been before. To make things even worse, you could hear the sounds of battle. The city had finally been breached. Luckily you were far up enough that the orcs hadn’t reached you...yet. Gandalf was farther ahead of you, and you quickened your strides to match his. He turned and looked at you, his eyes piercing yours. You had the strangest feeling that your mind was being invaded.

“Patience child. We will stop that lunatic before anything happens. He will be alright.” He turned away again as if he hadn’t said a word. You gaped, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. He seemed familiar, but you didn’t know why. But alas, it did not matter at this moment, and you refocused your mind back on who you were trying to save. Faramir.

As you hurried along, you tried your hardest to remember. His smile. The dimples on his cheeks. How much fun you two had together. Running through the markets when you were younger, causing trouble, but laughing all the way. How he would be publicly humiliated by his father. How you would be there for him, comfort him, make him happier. The hidden smiles in the throne room, the silent laughter, and inside jokes.

You were quickly brought back to the present as some stone shattered right behind you, showering big chunks of rock. You ducked quickly and grabbed the hobbit, making him run faster. You had to get out of there. Gandalf showed you two through a small alley, and all too soon you had arrived at the top. But Faramir and Denethor were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, Gandalf knew exactly where they were, and took you to a smaller room, that was barricaded. He slammed open the doors as if it were nothing, and you ran right into a horrifying scene.

Denethor was standing on top of a pile of wood, and Faramir lay at his feet, both drenched in oil. Some soldiers had torches in their hands, and some looked hesitant. Everything drained away, all sound was muffled. All you could see was Faramir, and it was as if he knew you there. He rustled slightly and looked straight at you. His lips moved wordlessly, and you couldn’t move, an invisible force stopping you.

A scream and then fire engulfed the wood, Faramir was taken from your view. Your feet finally decided to start moving, and both you and Pippin ran towards the pyre, grabbing Faramir before the flames could engulf him. Another screech and then you realized that Denethor had been taken by the flames. He ran off to who knows where, and the guards left quickly, helping to aid in the battle.

It was soon just you, Faramir, Pippin, and Gandalf. Faramir’s eyes were closed, but his heart was still beating. You cradled his head in your lap, softly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Gandalf, will he be alright?” You asked tentatively, not daring to even look away from Faramir.

Gandalf sighed. “With time he will heal. But whether he will heal from the pain in his heart is unclear to me. He has been through far too much, as most have in such times, and for your sake, I hope he perseveres.”

You and Gandalf helped Faramir up, who at this point was able to open his eyes slightly. You both brought him to his room, as the medical wing was a greater distance. Pippin trailed behind like a lost puppy. The poor hobbit had probably never seen such violence in his life. You laid him in his bed, and Gandalf bid a quick goodbye, herding Pippin out.

It was just you and Faramir. You knelt at his bedside and grasped his hand, waiting, hoping, for anything. More memories ran through your mind. He taught you how to use a sword, to protect yourself if need be. And then on your birthday, he had gotten you a sword of your own, beautifully crafted, and balanced perfectly. It was quite a gift to receive, and you protested, but to no avail. It was in your room, hidden so that no one could take it. You remembered how your hands tingled when he gave it to you, just the slightest brush of fingers. But you were young and naive.

He stirred, and his eyes opened, looking at the ceiling. Then he tilted his head towards you and looked down at your intertwined hands. You stopped breathing for a second, nervous that you might have overstepped your bounds.

“I am still alive. What happened with my father? I remember the smell of smoke.” Faramir’s voice was raspy still, and quiet.

You looked away, trying to figure out what to tell him. You were the bearer of bad news this time it seemed. “Your father thought you dead and was going to have you burned. I showed up with Gandalf and Pippin only moments before it was to happen. ”

He groaned and turned away. But he held on tighter to your hand, as if you were his lifeline, the one last thing keeping him there with you. “Faramir,” you said hesitantly, “I-I was so afraid of losing you. I never want to lose you again. I-” You broke off, too afraid to say what was on your mind. He was looking right at you, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Continue, please,” he said. He reached his other hand across his body, softly grazing your arm.

You smiled slightly, taking in a shaky breath. “I love you Faramir. And I have for a long time. I am not creative enough to give a whole speech about my love for you, but my love for you is worthy of a speech if needed.”

Faramir smiled, the brightest you had ever seen it. “I love you too my dear, more than anything, and I am so sorry I never said anything before. Please forgive me.”

Then he slowly reached his hand up to your face, and you leaned towards him. But you went a bit too fast, and accidentally slammed your nose onto his, causing you both to cry out in pain. You felt like you were going to cry, you ruined the special moment. But then he smiled and started laughing so hard. You were so embarrassed, but you also started chuckling.

In between breaths, Faramir choked out, “Clearly, neither of us have done this.”

You nodded, keeping back a grin.

He cracked a smile, trying to hold in his laughter. But then he sobered up. “Well, I think we should try that again. Help me sit up?”

You felt even more butterflies in your stomach as you propped up a pillow for him and helped him up. You leaned back to make sure he was comfortable, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You laughed again, and he smiled. He traced a finger up your arm and all the way up to the back of your neck. He leaned in first, making an emphasis on how slow he was moving, but you were too nervous to laugh. Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. You barely moved, not daring to. But you slowly melted as he moved his other hand to the small of your back. You moved your hands, knotting them in his hair, pulling you even closer together. His lips molded against yours, slightly chapped, making you shiver. Ever so slowly, he began to pull away, much to your dismay. But he still held you in arms.

Slowly, you whispered, “We should have done that sooner.”

Faramir nodded and pulled you closer. “Thank you,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

#faramir x reader #faramir x y/n #faramir #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic

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luffles424 · 4 years

Text

Cigarette Burns

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader x Taehyung

☼ Genre: angel!reader, angel!Taehyung, horror, angst, some fluff, smut

☼ Count: 10.6K

☼ Warnings: 18+, death (minor characters), blood, mentions/descriptions of injuries, mentioned mutilation, hallucinations, oral (m receiving), double blowjob, cumplay, cum sharing, deep throating, face fucking, teasing, ball play, dom/sub themes, hair pulling

☼ Summary: Seokjin’s been tasked with finding a film that is thought to be a myth. A legend that caused a theater full of people to turn to violence and then was never seen again. With the mystery that swirls around the film and the increasingly strange things that happens as he hunts for it, is he fully prepared for what waits for him at the end of his journey?

☼ a/n: This is based on my favorite horror movie ever, Cigarette Burns! The story is changed some, but I can’t explain in a way that doesn’t spoil both the film and the fic. I’ve pulled back on some of the gore from the original film too. I hope you enjoy, as I’ve not really written a horror fic before! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo to fill the square Blood, Sweat, and Tears

The theater is quiet as Seokjin enters it, understandably so since it’s almost closing and the theater is so small that there’s likely no one at the last showing. One of the downsides of a more indie theater, he supposes. But it had been his dream, keep the older films alive, even if it didn’t necessarily prove to be super lucrative. Which is where his second job came in, that people (Taehyung) would argue should really be his primary job considering how good he is at it.

Seokjin doesn’t want his primary job to be hunting down rare prints. He likes it well enough, sure. It’s thrilling to find a new piece that was thought to be lost to time (and to negotiate into the deal that he’d get to hold a showing of whatever he found too). But it’s really only something to help keep the lights on at the theater. Taehyung also suggests adding newer films to the theater's showings to draw in new crowds and get them interested in the older ones so Seokjin chooses to ignore most of Taehyung’s “helpful” suggestions.

He makes his way to his office, where Taehyung is sprawled out in a chair, perking up once the older man enters.

“What’s the film this time?”

Seokjin chuckles as he sits down at his desk, setting a thin file down. Taehyung might be more invested in Seokjin’s side job than Seokjin is. Maybe he should teach Taehyung how to do it so the younger can take over. He’s inquisitive and bright enough that he’d be good at it. “Hi, how are you, Tae? Oh, me? I’m doing good.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, I saw you this morning. Now what film are you looking for?”

Seokjin eyes him up for a moment. He’s never seen Taehyung so interested; he seems more interested than usual and he doesn’t even know what the film is yet. He’s not sure if he’s interested in the film or hearing about the process Seokjin goes through to find them. Seokjin’s good at his job, good at finding the relics of an era where everything couldn’t be easily backed up. And while he makes sure to get a favorable deal and be able to show what he worked so hard to find, Seokjin maybe also makes duplicates for the sake of preserving the content of the old films. Taehyung always seems delighted to go through the unofficial prints that Seokjin keeps stored in the theater (or at his house because multiple copies is always best when it comes to preservation).

“I don’t know if I’ll find this one. It’s pretty legendary and notably thought to be either fake or destroyed.”

Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with barely contained interest. “What is it?”

“La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

There’s a flicker of something in Taehyung’s eyes that Seokjin can’t decipher and it’s gone too fast for him to even try. “Isn’t that that film that only ever had one showing and everyone at the showing killed each other or themselves?”

Seokjin nods, pulling a yellowed newspaper clipping from the folder he brought. It’s all in French but there’s a translation written in the blank space of the paper the clipping is attached to. It details the bloodbath that the theater turned into before the film even finished and how the only print of the film was destroyed right after.

Taehyung looks up at Seokjin, expression unreadable. “Do you think it still exists?”

Seokjin shrugs. “The guy, Bellinger, seemed very positive that it does. Said he would know if the film had been destroyed. I didn’t ask how because that seemed like a path I didn’t really want to go down. He was weirdly obsessed with the props he had from it. But he gave me the information he had and said that if I couldn’t track it down within a month that he would admit that it was gone. But he paid half up front for the whole month. Double my rate too. He seems to really want this found and to honestly believe that it’s still out there.”

Taehyung nods stiffly before he’s flashing Seokjin his usual boxy grin. “I’m sure you’ll find it. You are the best after all.”

Seokjin snorts. He wonders if he should question Taehyung’s sudden shift at the mention of the film. It’s not like him to be so serious about a film. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but thanks.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not really.” He flips open the folder and shows that besides the article clipping is just a printout of the poster from the film’s only showing and another printed page with a film review on it. He taps the review. “This was written by a critic who was at the showing. As far as I can tell, he’s still alive. But he seems to have become incredibly reclusive in the decades since the showing. I’m going to ask around and see if I can track him down.”

Taehyung stands and drums his fingers on the desk. “Well good luck. Keep me updated as always.” He turns to go, pausing in the doorway. “Seokjin… whatever you do, don’t watch the film.”

And then he leaves, leaving Seokjin confused because it seems like Taehyung believes the film still exists and that somehow something bad will happen if Seokjin were to watch it. Maybe he just believes the stories around it and thinks that the crazy stuff that happened was due to the film and not something more easily explained like the crowd being poisoned or something much more logical than the movie made them do it. He shakes his head, it’s probably just a friendly warning out of worry. Turning to his computer, he starts digging into the sole survivor of the film’s only showing.

It takes some time, hours of staring at the screen, to find anything substantial on the critic. It’s nearly morning, gray light filtering through the slates in his closed blinds, but he finally finds where the critic has most likely holed up. For what reason, no one seems to really know, just that he disappeared after his review and hasn’t really been seen since. But it’s as good a place to start as any. Seokjin saves the address onto his phone and leaves the theater, stopping at his apartment for a moment to shower, change, and pack a quick bag before he’s grabbing some coffee and heading to the airport.

Upstate New York is far more woodsy than Seokjin had expected. Although he supposes when he’s only imagined New York City when thinking of New York, that’s an easy mistake to make. The foliage makes navigating to the critic’s house in his rental car a little difficult since it’s seclusion means that the road to the house is nearly completely overgrown. He wonders how the guy gets food if the path there looks as if no one’s been on it in months. The house itself is simple, but appears abandoned given the lack of care to the outside and the way all the rooms that Seokjin can see into are darkened. Still, Seokjin isn’t one to be deterred, the porch looks nice enough, he can always just wait a while if there happens to be no one home before maybe finding an open window or door to check out the house. But first he approaches and knocks on the front door. He gets no immediate response but when he steps back to look in the windows on the far side of the door, he’s able to pick up the sound of a typewriter.

Well someone’s definitely home. He moves back to the door, knocking again.

“Mr. Meyers?” He calls out, the typing stops and he gets an answering ‘go away.’

“I just need to speak to you for a moment.” There’s a resounding ‘no’ in response and the typing starts up again. “Please, it’ll be quick. I wanted to ask you about your review for La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

The typing stops again and then there’s a loud buzz and the door swings open an inch. Eerie, but Seokjin pushes the door open and steps inside. The house is dark, blanketed in shadows caused by the only light that streams in through the cracked curtains. There’s a stale quality to the air, like the house has been closed up for months and there’s a gray cloud of smoke that clings to the ceiling, swirling with the sudden air flow. As Seokjin looks around, he sees that there are stacks and stacks of paper piled everywhere that there is space, leaving just a narrow pathway from the entrance to the living room. He rounds the corner into the living room and there’s even more stacks here, piled high around the critic as he sits hunched over his typewriter, typing away once more.

“Were there press notes?” He asks, glancing over one of the nearby stacks, skimming the top page. It talks about the film. He gets a curt ‘yes’ in response to his question. “Did you save them? Could I read them?”

“Dangerous.” Seokjin frowns at Meyers’ statement. They’re just notes, how could they possibly be dangerous. “The back said ‘Film in the right hands is a weapon.’ He was right and we didn’t even know it.” There’s a heavy silence before he continues. “We trust film makers when we go and watch films. We sit there, in the dark, and trust in what they’re going to show us. That it’ll affect us but we trust that they won’t go too far.”

Seokjin waits but Meyers doesn’t seem inclined to continue now, though his words haven’t been particularly helpful anyway. He’s not even particularly sure what he’s talking about. It’s almost like Meyers has used up all his words on the pages taking over his home or that he’s forgotten how to hold a conversation. Has he been here since the film release? If so, he’s been out here alone for decades.

Seokjin decides to try directing the conversation back to the film. “I’ve read your review. A few times on the plane. And I still have no idea what the film is even about.”

“Hans Backovic was a monster. He took that trust and abused it. He didn’t want to just hurt us, he wanted to absolutely destroy us.”

Seokjin feels like they’re having two different conversations. He’s not even sure that Meyers heard what he said. Backovic was a director, how could he possibly have destroyed an entire audience? “I’ve seen extreme gore before. It didn’t drive me to violence. Why is this film so dangerous? Surely all that violence in the theater was exaggerated?”

Meyers leans back in his chair and he looks older, exhausted. His eyes seem slightly unfocused. “Oh no, not at all. If anything, it was downplayed.” He pauses and takes a slow breath. He’s staring at his desk but the look in his eyes says he’s somewhere far away, reliving something he doesn’t want to be reliving. “I watched four people die. Blood slicked every inch of that theater floor. The chairs, the walls, the screen. It reeked of death.”

There’s a charged pause and then Meyers leans forward again, looking at Seokjin and Seokjin feels unsettled, that faraway look is gone, instead replaced by a wild almost manic look. “Backovic knew what he was doing. He told me exactly what would happen when that film played.” He chuckles and it’s completely humorless. “I thought he was joking.”

Seokjin moves closer, suddenly interested. Meyers had spoken to Backovic? About the film specifically? Finally, a possible lead, something to have made this trip worth it. “You spoke to him?”

“Yes. Before the film. I recorded an interview with him.”

“Do you still have that tape? Can I listen to it?”

“No one’s ready for that film. They weren’t then and they aren’t now. I failed in my one job as messenger for the film. That review was a joke. But everyone will know, once I finish my new review. They’ll see what the film is really about.” He seems to be almost talking to himself as he pulls the sheet of paper he’d been typing out of the typewriter and adds it to the pile beside him. He slips a blank sheet into the typewriter.

Seokjin glances around in alarm, gesturing to the stacks of paper. “Is that what all this is? Your new review?”

He lets out a slightly maniacal laugh. “I’m almost done!”

Seokjin swallows. There’s easily a million typed pages here. And it’s all about the film? Unease fills Seokjin as he casts his gaze over the stacks again. What happened in that theater that could drive someone to spend decades typing this much? And to call it a review? He doesn’t want to ask more about the review and what could possibly be compelling this man. “Well, there’s a chance that there’s still a print out there. I’ve been paid to find it.”

Meyers stares at him for a long moment and Seokjin shifts in discomfort. There’s so much mystery around this film and this talk with Meyers has only increased that. Then he laughs again and stands. Seokjin thinks maybe he should leave, for a split second he fears that Meyers has been so hard to find because he’s killed anyone who’s come to find him before. “You should know what you’re in for.” He says cryptically before moving to a trunk nearby. He rifles through it for a moment before pulling out a tape.

He presses it into Seokjin’s hands, but when Seokjin goes to pull away, Meyers’ hands tighten around his, keeping him in place. “Promise me. Promise when you find it that you’ll let me see it again. I’ve dreamt about that film every night since I’ve seen it. This film it… it crawls inside you. It just doesn’t leave.”

He releases Seokjin’s hands and goes back to his desk, staring at the typewriter for a long moment before he starts typing. It’s as clear a dismissal as anything and at this point, Seokjin is more than happy to leave Meyers to his stacks of papers.

Paris is the next stop for Seokjin. He has a friend, Henri, who works at one of the bigger film archives in the city and he might have leads for him. But first he needs a moment to himself, so he spends his first night in the hotel. Where he figures he might as well listen to the interview while he’s got some time. It could give him some help in where to look when he goes to see Henri tomorrow.

The interview seems normal enough. Backovic talks like most of the more pretentious indie filmmakers. Those who believe that their art is superior and above so much else of what’s out there, especially what comes out of Hollywood. Seokjin vows to never tell Taehyung about the interview because he’ll only use it as fodder to mock him and how he has the same ideas with his theater. Which is not true. Seokjin shows plenty of films aside from indies. They’re just usually classics, films from the 70s and 80s, cult classics that don’t really show in theaters that much. Things that draw specific crowds but aren’t always popular with most but the theater does just fine with how it is now. He sees no reason to change.

Halfway through listening to the interview, a searing pain flairs in Seokjin’s head and he jerks the headphones off as he tries to blink the orange ring from his vision.

His heart is pounding for the start and he sees the flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He stumbles off the bed to move towards the bathroom where he saw the shadow. The room is empty, which should be unsurprising since Seokjin is alone in his hotel room, though now he can’t remember if he had left the light on or not.

But it seemed so real, like there really was someone else here. He glances at the mirror and for a brief second, he swears that he sees Taehyung. He rubs at his eyes, heels digging in almost painfully. He blinks the spots from his vision and stares at the mirror a little longer, like if he stares at it enough, something will happen. Like Taehyung might appear on the surface again and prove that Seokjin is not losing his mind right now. But when nothing happens, he finally, reluctantly, moves back to the main room, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands shake as he picks up his phone to send a quick message to Taehyung.

He gets a response within a few minutes and it makes discomfort settle in him when Taehyung confirms that he’s at the theater right now working. He even makes a joke how he’s sure people come to see the old films on the days that he hangs around not for the films but to see Taehyung’s face. He knows Taehyung’s just trying to draw a response from him, to tease and coax him into some flirtatious banter. But Seokjin’s suddenly much too exhausted for that. He lays down without responding, but it takes him a long time to fall asleep and even when he does, it’s restless and plagued by dreams that leave him the second he wakes. But while the images fade with the growing light, the sound remains; the chilling screams that sound so much like Taehyung that Seokjin almost calls him just to confirm that he’s okay.

In the morning, he makes his way to the archives to speak with Henri, who apologizes that he can’t be of too much help since they’re in the process of moving, but he says he can help direct Seokjin in the right direction if he tells him what movie he’s looking for. Seokjin is a little reluctant after the meeting with the critic. He waves off the help, telling Henri that he’ll just look around on his own to not get in his way. Henri insists, saying that the move will make it harder for Seokjin to look.

When Seokjin mentions the film, Herni’s entire demeanor shifts, the friendly man suddenly cold as he tries to warn Seokjin away. When Seokjin won’t, Henri tells him he’s welcome to use his assistant’s office, though there’s not much on the film and that the film is certainly not there. He leaves him with an ominous warning about having to earn this film, hand tucked firmly in his pocket.

Seokjin pours over what little information there is. The most promising thing he gets is the crew list for the film, something that Seokjin didn’t see listed anywhere online and it really only lended to the idea that this film wasn’t real. But now he has some physical evidence that people worked on this, that they saw the film unfold in person. His joy at the discovery is short-lived though when he realizes that this is proving less and less useful with each name he has to cross off because they’re dead. Of the eleven crew members, all but two are dead. He goes out to find Henri, showing him the paper.

“How easy is it to find either of them?”

Henri looks at the list and nods, almost like he knew this was coming. Seokjin wonders how many people he’s seen come through here looking for the movie. “Patton was blinded after filming. And he won’t speak on the film. He nearly killed the last person to ask him about it.”

Seokjin gestures to the other name. “And Backovic? Surely he’d have some idea where his film ended up.”

Henri scoffs. “Backovic is dead.”

“How do you know that? There’s no death certificates or records or anything.”

Henri shoots him a look. “Trust me, Seokjin. Backovic is dead.” When Seokjin goes to speak again, Henri interrupts. “I’m sorry but I have nothing else to tell you.”

Seokjin knows that Henri’s not telling him something. Years of working together and he’s learned a thing or two about his friend and his tells. He doesn’t know what, but there’s something he knows that Seokjin knows he’ll need to be able to find this stupid film. He stops just outside the door, hidden from sight and he hears Henri make a phone call. He doesn’t know much French, but he knows that he mentions the film. Seokjin leaves quickly, making plans to come back later and force Henri to tell him what he knows.

Henri seems startled when Seokjin appears again a few hours later. He really should’ve expected it. Seokjin’s never been one to give up so easily and they both know that.

“I know you’re lying. You know more than you’re telling me.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand anything that’s happening. There’s so much mystery around this film, how can I possibly know anything. Fuck, last night I saw…” Seokjin trails off, he doesn’t know how to explain last night. Maybe it was just jet lag and exhaustion and the unknown of this film that caused the hallucinations. Or maybe he dreamed the whole thing.

Henri straightens, eyes wide with alarm. He moves closer to Seokjin. “A circle? Like the reel change in a movie?” At Seokjin’s nod, Henri pales. “Then it’s too late. You’ve already started a process which cannot be stopped. It’s only going to get worse. I’m so sorry.”

“What started? I don’t understand.”

“When you look for the film, it does something to you. You see those burns. It’s payment for every step closer you make to the film. You need to stop now. Before it’s really too late. You don’t want to continue on this path, Seokjin. You have to ignore the curiosity. The itch to dig a little deeper, find out a little more. Walk away. I know it’s hard. But you have to.”

“You know?”

Henri nods and pulls his hand from his pocket where he always keeps it tucked, revealing severe burns, so bad that his fingers have fused together. Seokjin takes a small step back in surprise.

“But… How?”

“I was the projectionist at a private screening of the film. I was curious about it too. Much like you. Much like everyone who eventually comes searching for the film that’s only been shown once, twice now. But most don’t know that. It was kept from the public and the film disappeared again.”

Henri pauses and takes a deep breath. “I chickened out. I got scared once it started and I looked away.” He closes his eyes. “When the screaming started, I tried to stop the projector but it wouldn’t stop. So I grabbed the film reel. I saw that some circle you did and I… I blacked out. When I came to, my hand was burned and the film was over.”

Seokjin swallows. This film is starting to seem more and more like a bad idea. Taehyung’s warning flits through his mind as well, telling him not to watch the film. Maybe he should’ve told him to just give up the job. Not that Seokjin would’ve listened. Maybe he should’ve charged more to find this. “I won’t watch it. I’ll just take it and give it to the collector. But… I could really use the money for the theater. I can’t just give up looking.”

Henri’s gaze darts over Seokjin’s face and then he gives a small nod. There’s a sadness in his eyes as he picks up a small piece of paper. “I wouldn’t call this man if I were you. He has an… extensive collection but he’s dangerous.” He hands the number over to Seokjin.

“Does he have it?”

Henri shakes his head. “No. But he’s been given things from the Backovic estate. He can possibly get you in contact with them.”

“Thank you.”

Henri shakes his head again. “Don’t thank me for sending a friend into danger.”

Seokjin takes a taxi to the address given to him when he calls the number that Henri gave him. The warehouse is run down looking and at a dead end about halfway up a big hill. The only other buildings are some houses further up the hill from the road and the town he can see over the road barricade looking down. He pays the taxi driver extra and tells her to stay then makes his way towards the two burly men who have appeared at the massive open doors to the warehouse.

The warehouse is shadowy, lighting sparse and everything appears to be covered by a layer of dust with the exception of a few items in the room that they lead him to.The room is large and another man stands almost in the middle of the room, he’s wearing all dark leather and has his back towards Seokjin. He stands just behind a wooden crate that’s been set on a chair. It has a printed label that reads ‘La Fin Absolue du Monde.’

“It’s not for me.” Seokjin begins. Might as well start with that. Maybe it’ll make it easier for him to get the film.

“But you’re curious.”

“I suppose a little. Have you seen it?”

“No. But I would. Who wouldn’t?” The man walks a few steps away to a camera and begins to fiddle with the settings. “I admire a man like Backovic. So unafraid to be real. I detest the fakeness of Hollywood. I want to be great like Backovic. Groundbreaking. Real.”

Seokjin moves to the crate, opening it up. He’d idly hoped that maybe it was the film and he could take it to Bellinger and be done with this. But the crate is only about half full, mostly with filler to keep a film reel cushioned during transport. Other than that, there’s a few different manila envelopes.

The first envelope has a return address to Katja Backovic. If Seokjin’s remembering correctly, that’s Backovic’s wife and according to Henri, is actually his widow. That’s certainly a good lead. There’s not a lot of information out there about her in recent years either. He sets it down and picks up another, it’s blank on the outside and so he slips the pictures out that are contained within.

The first is of a winged figure, one that appears to be a woman, her face turned away from the camera and surrounded by other people. Her wings look beautiful even through an image, glossy black and full. The next is a silhouette of a figure holding a knife and it looks like they’re in front of a window or some other light source.

As he shuffles through the photos, they become increasingly bizarre. A photo of someone on a neighborhood street and the sky is red but looks off, like someone has overlaid another image over the sky. He thinks they’re set photos. The last one shows two winged figures, both facing away from the camera and chained to the wall. Their heads are bowed towards each other. One seems to be the woman from the first still and the other seems to be a man, but there’s a table or something that blocks Seokjin from seeing much more than his wings and back of his head.

Seokjin is suddenly grabbed from behind, the photos falling from his hands to scatter on the floor as the two men drag him a few feet backwards. The other man, the one who he’d been speaking with has a syringe now. Seokjin’s blood runs cold.

“Oh, you can’t leave already. We have so much left to discuss.”

Seokjin squirms, trying to fight the men off, but their hold on him is firm and in a matter of seconds, the needle is in his neck and consciousness is leaving him.

Seokjin comes to some time later, he has no idea how long but there’s light filtering through the window so it’s either not been that long or he’s been out for a whole day. He’s tied to a chair and duct tape firm across his mouth. He feels foggy and when he looks around, he sees the two burly men are now operating the camera. There’s a woman tied to another chair in front of him and the man from before is now shirtless and holding a machete. Seokjin feels like he’s going to be sick.

He fights against his bonds, but he’s helpless to stop as the man approaches the woman and, with no preamble, embeds the machete in her neck with one strong thwack. He pulls it free and pushes her head so blood sprays his bare chest, head tilting back like he’s being hosed down on a hot day.

Seokjin screams, though it's muffled and continues to fight against his bonds as the man pulls the machete out and makes quick work of getting through her neck. Her head is dropped to the ground and then the man approaches him and Seokjin tries to push himself away. He talks about how he turned her into art, about the realness of what he’s created, but the words barely register to Seokjin in his panicked state. Maybe he should’ve told the taxi driver to call the authorities if he took too long.

The man leans closer. “Something happens when you point the camera at something terrible. The resulting film takes on power.” He grins and rips the tape off of Seokjin’s mouth.

“Snuff is not power! It’s just fucked up! It’s murder.”

The man laughs and straddles Seokjin’s lap and Seokjin feels his heart in his throat as his stomach turns in revulsion. He can feel the blood soaking through his jeans where the man sits.

“You’re not listening to me. You came all this way but you won’t listen. You want to know why the film destroyed its audience?” His hand squishes Seokjin’s cheeks and Seokjin tries not to think about how slick they feel against his skin. “Backovic was an exceptional editor. He understood the value of a cut. But there was more to it. They say the movie works subliminally while you watch it. But the thing that made the film a weapon?” His grin is deranged. “Blood. Spilled blood. What if you got hold of an angel? A divine being with the blood of God flowing through its veins. And what if you sacrificed it on camera?”

Seokjin gets a flash of the circle again, the sharp sting as his vision is suddenly obscured. He sees a flash of a woman, chained to the ground, shuddering and emaciated, a pair of glossy, black wings mounted on the wall behind her. His breath shudders through him as the man bleeds back into focus.

“Something that profound, that personal. It changes everyone who was a part of putting it on film. And everyone who sees it. The closer you get to the film, the more you’ll be changed too. That’s Backovic’s secret. ‘Film is magic,’ he said. And he was right.”

Seokjin sees another flash. A split second of a circle with Taehyung in the middle of it, face full of anguish.

“What do you see? What haunts you? Will they be waiting for you on the other side?”

Seokjin’s vision goes white.

When he comes to again, he’s standing, completely free of his bonds and machete in hand. He drops it immediately, it looks bloodier than it had before. He catches sight of the man laying on the ground not too far from him but he tries not to look at it. Vaguely grateful for the fact that the man has fallen half behind a crate. The camera’s been knocked over as well. The two burly and the woman’s body are gone. He doesn’t want to know what happened. He has a gut feeling and it’s not one that he particularly wants to think too hard on. He’d really just like to forget that this entire warehouse ever existed.

The box is beside him now and he digs through it quickly, finding the envelope with Katja’s address in Vancouver on it and runs, taking the road back to the main street on foot. When he gets to the main road, it’s getting dark and he takes a cab. Shakily handing the driver a few extra bills in the hopes that they won’t ask any questions about his state.

He takes a scalding shower once back at his hotel, scrubs himself raw but he can still feel like blood, no matter how hard and long he scrubs for. He stuffs the bloody clothes into a paper bag and gets dressed. He hastily packs the rest of his things and goes down to check out. He shoves the bag with the bloody clothes into a trash can on the street before getting into a taxi and heading to the airport. He’s ready to be fucking done with this. He’s ready to be away from this city.

Taehyung texts him while he’s on the flight. Asking how the search is going. He’s too exhausted to even think and so he leaves Taehyung unanswered.

He takes another shower once he lands in Vancouver, but he still feels dirty. He stares at himself in the mirror and tries to make it look like he’s not on the verge of a breakdown and leaves his room to Katja’s address.

Seokjin presses the button beside her name on the building.

“Yes?” Her voice is softer than he expected, though he’s not really sure what he was expecting.

“Mrs. Backovic? Can I speak to you for a minute? I’ve come a long way.”

He’s answered by the door buzzing open and he moves quickly through the lobby to the elevator. Seokjin presses the button for the penthouse, scrubbing his hand over his face once the elevator starts moving. Maybe he should make this his last film job. It’s far more than he expected it to be and he’s just so tired. There’s a jolt and then the elevator stops and the lights go out.

He feels a body press to his back and he tenses. It’s not real, he thinks, eyes squeezing shut. Just like everything else.

“Save her. Please.” When Seokjin turns and thrusts his hand out, he’s met only with air. The voice had been hauntingly familiar. It sounded like Taehyung. It’s not real, he repeats to himself. Taehyung is back home. Probably asleep right now. He can’t be here. It’s completely illogical.

The elevator dings and Seokjin opens his eyes to see the doors sliding open to reveal he’s at the top floor. He’d been moving the whole time. Seokjin blinks a few times. He needs to get this film and hand it off. Now. He walks towards the living room, revealing a woman standing there. Katja.

“Something happened in the elevator.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Sure. Something like that.”

“You must want this very bad to have some so far. I must admit, you’re the first to ever make it here.”

“I have… so many questions.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch her eyes. “I’m not sure I have your answers. But we’ll see.”

She leads him a little further into the room, taking a seat in an armchair and gesturing for him to take a seat on the adjoining sofa.

They sit in silence for a while, Seokjin taking a moment to think and gather his thoughts before finally speaking. “Do you have a copy of the film?”

She smiles that half smile again. “That’s not what you’re really curious about. You want to know if the stories are true.” Seokjin nods, though both are true. “They are. Unfortunately. Why are you looking for the film?”

“I was paid to.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not the real reason.”

Seokjin chews his lip. “I… I don’t know anymore. There’s… I just have to find it.” He doesn’t understand. He’s walked away from lesser jobs. He has no idea what keeps compelling him to push here, what’s making him want to find this so badly.

Her head tilts like she didn’t expect his answer. She observes him quietly before nodding to herself, like Seokjin just took some big test and she’s pleased with how he did.

Silence settles again before Seokjin asks a question he’s had since he saw the crew list. “Who produced this film?”

Katja’s eyebrows raise. “You’re quite direct.”

Seokjin just gives a small shrug. “I just want someone to say it.”

Sadness softens her features as she looks down. “I asked Hans the same question. Many times. The producers of this film produce many other things. Chaos, sorrow, suffering, famine.”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “What does that mean? The devil? Demons?”

Katja gives another sad smile. “Hans never put a name on it. ‘Evil is evil,’ he would say, ‘does a name really matter?’” They stare at each other, the real implication of her words settling between them, and then she stands. “Come with me.”

She leads him to a film editing studio. It’s a little dated, but the equipment is well taken care of. Reels still set up and ready for editing. Like any second Hans might walk in to begin working. Seokjin glances at her.

“How did he die? There’s no official records or anything about it.”

She glances away and Seokjin regrets asking only a little bit. This film has done so much damage, he has to know how the creator met his end. “He became… obsessed with La Fin Absolue du Monde. During the last year of his life, all he did was watch it. Over and over again. Like it was a punishment for what he had done. He got too close to the fire. The film worked the way it was meant. He became paranoid, skittish. It got to him.”

Tears gather in her eyes as she continues. “He grabbed a knife on the way to find me in the bedroom. Only when he slit my throat,” she pulls her scarf down to show a scar running across her throat, “he just disfigured me. When he did it to himself, he died.” She laughs bitterly. “I don’t know who got the better end of that. I was left to watch over the film. I hate that film. I hate everything that it caused. I hate that it was always going to be too late to make it better.”

Seokjin swallows. That’s a lot to take in. It still doesn’t really answer why there’s no record, though he supposes that given enough infamy and money, keeping a death quiet is easy enough.

“Can… I have the film?

She stares at him for a long moment then moves over to a rack of reels. She goes to touch it but her hand stops shy of making contact. “I put it here. I hate even having it in the house.”

Seokjin moves over when she steps back, fingers brushing the shelf just below where the film sits. He honestly can’t believe that he’s here. That he actually found it. What’s more baffling is that it seems that no one ever thought to check with Backovic’s wife for the location of the film. The easiest place to hide, in the most obvious place. “Ever since I’ve been tracking this, I’ve been seeing flashes. Circles with images inside.”

“The cigarette burns?” Katja’s eyes fill with pity at his nod. “When did they start?”

“I heard this interview, with Hans, from the night of the premiere-”

“You were marked. That’s how potent the film is. You don’t even have to watch it to be affected by it. As soon as you start getting close to it, it’s got you. Slowly, like sinking into quicksand.” She gives him a last sad smile, like she already knows what the future holds for him. “Take the film. It’s already too late.”

Seokjin takes the films from the shelf. He feels strange, something not quite sitting right with him. He’s not sure if it’s her cryptic answers or the way the films feel heavier that film reels should. But he leaves, flies back home because his current employer happens to live within driving distance of his apartment. He takes them as soon as he makes it back to his apartment. He wants them gone as soon as possible.

He leaves the reels in the trunk of his car because they make his skin crawl to have them on the seat beside him. He doesn’t want to touch them anymore than he has too.

When Seokjin arrives at Bellinger’s house, the man in question and his butler are both waiting on the steps. Seokjin pops the trunk open and Bellinger is quick to rub his hands across the cases, a pleased hum leaving him. Then he’s pulling them out and handing him to his butler with the instruction to go set up the projector.

Bellinger turns back to Seokjin. “I never showed you how I knew that this film still existed. Would you like to see before you leave?”

Seokjin shifts. He doesn’t really want to. He wants to go home, forget that he ever looked for this film. Go back to his normal life, taking care of his theater and spending time with Taehyung. But it seems rude and so he nods. Bellinger leads him into the house and down a short hallway. When he opens a door, Seokjin feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs with what he sees.

It’s the woman from the circles. Chained to the floor and wings mounted on the wall. Bellinger enters the room and she immediately cowers, giving Seokjin a view of her back and where two long, red cuts sit. Right about where wings would attach. They look fresher than decades old wounds should look. Because Seokjin knows she must be the one from the stills. One of the angels in Backovic’s film. The man from the warehouse’s words comes back to him as he’s staring at her. Divine blood spilled on camera. Seokjin’s chest aches.

Bellinger runs a hand across her head and she curls more into herself. “I happened to be lucky enough to acquire a few props from the film.”

Seokjin’s stomach turns at a being, an angel, being referred to as nothing more than a prop. “Can I have the rest of my payment?”

“Ah! Of course!” Bellinger reaches into his pocket and hands Seokjin an envelope.

Seokjin doesn’t even care if it’s the right amount. He needs to get out of here. He wants to claw his skin off the longer he stays. He turns and leaves, missing the look the angel sends him.

Seokjin rests his forehead against the steering wheel once he’s in the car. He allows himself a few deep breaths before finally pulling away from the house. He needs to just not think about this for a few hours. And then he can figure out what he should do with the new weight of information that’s been bestowed upon him. He taps the console, dialing Taehyung.

“Hey! You’ve been pretty quiet lately, you good?” He answers cheerily.

“Better now.”

“Oh?” Taehyung sounds excited. “What happened?”

“I found it. Fuck, I can’t… I can’t even explain anything properly. But… fuck, Tae, I really found it. I found La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

“Where is it now?”

Seokjin frowns. That’s a weird question. Taehyung knows pretty well how this works, plus Seokjin left Bellinger’s information in his office in case he needed Taehyung to get in contact with him should something go wrong. “Tae, what-” He cuts off when his call waiting pops up, revealing that Bellinger is calling him. “Sorry Tae, that’s the other line. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“Seokjin no! Wait! Whatever you do, don’t watch-” Seokjin cuts him off as he switches to Bellinger’s call.

Bellinger starts babbling, it sounds like he was babbling before Seokjin even answered the call. It’s hard for Seokjin to follow most of what he’s saying. Eventually he gathers enough that Bellinger needs him to come back. Had he grabbed the wrong film? Had Katja switched them on purpose? Or lied about it still existing? That seems unlikely, but he supposes he’ll find out when he gets back to Bellinger’s mansion. He turns the car around the first chance he gets.

Bellinger’s house is quiet when he enters after he receives no answer to his knocking. But he makes it only a few feet past the foyer when the butler staggers out from a room, covered in cuts and knife still in hand. He points a finger at Seokjin.

“This is all your fault. You brought this evil here!”

And Seokjin can only watch with a horrified expression as the butler stabs the knife into one eye and then the other. Panic wells in his chest and Seokjin moves quickly through the house, finding the small theater room with ease after heading the direction that the butler had come from. There’s no one in the seats, but he sees movement in the projection booth so he heads back there.

Bellinger stands on the other side of the room, next to an empty projector. He murmurs something, though Seokjin’s unsure if he meant it for him or if he is just talking to himself. He lifts a straight razor, setting it on top of the projector like it’s a normal thing to do. He’s sweaty and winces every so often as his arm moves behind the projector. Seokjin wants to help, but he has a feeling he might be a little too late for that. And he’d prefer to not get closer and see just what Bellinger did with that straight razor.

“I’ve done some terrible things,” he gasps out. “You have to to become this rich.”

Seokjin sees a flash of the angel and realization washes over him. “You watched La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

Bellinger jerks forward, wincing at the sudden movement, but there's a wild look in his eye. He seems unphased by the jarring motion that caused him further harm, too engrossed in the need to tell Seokjin about the movie. “Yeah… I recommend it.” He shakes his head and groans. “It’s not a movie though. Just a preview. The coming attractions of the soul.”

“You said you needed help.”

“I was going to ask you to find another movie for me. But… I don’t need it anymore. I have been… inspired.” There’s a disconcerting squelch and then Bellinger flicks the projector on and a second later something red and gooey slides through the projector like a film reel. It takes Seokjin only a second to realize what it is and he covers his mouth in horror and backs out of the room as he retches. Bellinger’s wheezed laughter follows him out as he sits heavily in one of the theater chairs. He just needs a minute to collect himself. He’s never been faced with so much blood and death in person. Movies sure, but those are fake. Actors with makeup and corn syrup. People who get up and walk away after the scene is done. Not this.

He buries his face in his hands. He has no idea how long he sits there, but when he looks up, he’s horrified to realize that the film restarted. He has no idea if it was Bellinger doing it and that’s why he called him here, compelled by the film to get someone else to watch or if there’s some other force at play that started it. Taehyung’s warnings float through his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t watch this. He doesn’t want to, he wants to leave and never come back. Maybe never watch a movie again. But then there’s a scream and something makes him open his eyes. And there, projected on the screen, is Taehyung. Strapped belly down on a table as a masked man laughs and hacks at the base of Taehyung’s wings. Screen Taehyung lets out another anguished scream and Seokjin forces his eyes closed again.

He’s not going to watch. He won’t. There’s a need to do something in his chest but he can’t figure out what it is. A woman screams on screen and with a sudden, bright clarity, Seokjin knows what it is that he needs to do. He scrambles out of his seat, blindly feeling his way out of the room as best he can. Once in the relative safety of the hallway, he heads immediately towards the angel. She’s staring directly at the door when he enters, like she was expecting him. And Seokjin would be disconcerted if he hadn’t just seen his best friend and the guy who he’s maybe interested in getting his literal, actual wings cut off. Seokjin thinks that nothing could ever phase him again after this. He moves to the desk on the far wall, tearing through the drawers until he finds the shackle keys.

He approaches slowly, getting to his knees and crawling the last few feet to her. He reaches out just as slowly, but she doesn’t move an inch. He’d think she was a statue if he hadn’t seen her moving before. He undoes each of the cuffs then slides himself back to give her space.

She doesn’t move at first and when she does, it’s to look back to the door, a small smile gracing her lips. “Taehyung,” she sighs.

Seokjin jerks, turning to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, shirtless with the film reels tucked under one arm. He quickly approaches the woman, completely ignoring Seokjin’s presence. The lack of attention gives Seokjin the opportunity to see Taehyung’s back and see that the same two marks that marr her back also marr his.

The two press their foreheads together and stay like that for a long while. Seokjin begins to feel like an intruder and so he tries to quietly stand and slip out. But he only makes it to standing before Taehyung is turning towards him.

Seokjin…” His eyes are watery. “Thank you.”

Seokjin gives a jerky nod and quickly leaves. He doesn’t know what he’d say to Taehyung. He just found out that he’s actually an angel. What do you even say to that? Sorry some asshole film director mutilated you on film and someone else captured your angel… friend? Partner? Seokjin doesn’t want to think about it. They seem to know what they need now that they’re in possession of the films. He’s not needed anymore.

Seokjin tries to get back to normal life. He really does, though Taehyung’s disappearance leaves a bigger hole in his life than he would’ve thought. It’s a little heartbreaking too. He’d been seriously considering seeing if the younger would be interested in something more.

Plus he’s now lost some of the help he had at the theater. He hires someone else, a sweet kid named Jungkook and he lets him help find more current or interesting films to show alongside some older and more indie films and business steadily picks up. Yoongi questions his sudden change of heart on the films he shows and Seokjin staunchly refuses to admit that he did it in honor of Taehyung who always nagged him to get newer films in. He spends more time with other friends and tries not to think about how much he misses Taehyung.

That is, until he’s home one night and there’s a knock on his balcony door. Which is baffling because Seokjin lives on the 25th floor and it’s a fucking balcony. Cautiously, he slides open the door, jaw dropping when he sees Taehyung and you, looking full and happy and with pretty black wings folded neatly behind you both. Seokjin rubs at his eyes. There’s no way. He’s got to be dreaming.

Taehyung moves in to give Seokjin a hug but Seokjin takes a quick step back. Taehyung’s face falls slightly and you reach out to rub his arm comfortingly.

You give Seokjin a soft smile. “We wanted to come thank you.”

Seokjin flushes. “It was nothing.”

You shake your head. “No you don’t understand. It was everything. Taehyung and I were bound to that film. As long as it existed, we were trapped and broken. But you saved us.”

“Seokjin…” Taehyung’s voice sounds so small and Seokjin aches to hold him.

But he can’t. Not yet. He has to know. It’s been festering in his mind ever since Taehyung disappeared. “Did you befriend me just so I’d find your film?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he’s quick to shake his head. “No! I was your friend because I wanted to be! I was trapped here. It was so lonely without Y/n. But I found you and… I don’t know. Something just drew me to you.” Taehyung ducks his head in shame. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what I was. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy and stop being my friend.”

Seokjin’s heart breaks and before Taehyung can utter another word, Seokjin is crushing him in a hug. Taehyung lets out a watery laugh and they stay like that for a long minute before finally pulling away.

“You two should probably come in so people don’t see the wings and think I’m hiding mothman or something.”

Taehyung perks up. “Oh, we can fix that.”

And before Seokjin can ask what he means, the air around the both of you shimmers and when it clears, you’re both standing there, wingless.

Taehyung grins. “Angel powers are pretty cool, huh?”

Seokjin blinks. “Y-yeah… Uh, you can still come in though. Wings or not.”

Taehyung grins and ushers both Seokjin and you into the apartment. You all sit and an awkward silence settles on the room.

“So… Where did you disappear to?”

Taehyung grimaces and you reach over to take his hand before turning to Seokjin. “Hand to find a creative way to get home without powers so we could get the film destroyed and recover. The recovery didn’t take long. But trying to find the way home proved tricky when we didn’t have our powers to locate other angels.”

Seokjin glances at you then at Taehyung, a lump forming in his throat. “Are… you going to stick around?”

Taehyung smirks and slides closer to Seokjin. “Depends. Do we have a reason to stick around?”

Seokjin gulps. “We?”

You rise and settle on Seokjin’s other side and both your hand and Taehyung’s come to rest on Seokjin’s thighs in perfect synchrony. “We.” You confirm with a coy smile. “We’d really like to thank you properly first though.”

“Can… Can angels even do that?”

He gets two giggles in response and then both you and Taehyung are slipping from the couch to kneel before him. Seokjin wonders how much you’ve done this to be so in sync with one another. It makes him equals parts aroused and jealous. Two hands slide up his thigh, playing with the waistband of his sweats. Taehyung looks smug and you have a matching expression as you bat your eyelashes up at him, looking every inch like an innocent angel despite the hand that is dangerously close to his rapidly filling cock.

“You can say no,” you offer, when his silence continues to stretch.

“No!”

Taehyung snickers. “I told you. We already had a thing almost going. And who wouldn’t go for you.”

You nudge Taehyung playfully. “Stop that. This is about Seokjin.”

Taehyung turns back to Seokjin, grin much darker than before as his hand tightens on Seokjin’s waistband. “You’re right. So? Will you let us thank you?”

Seokjin blinks. He’s still trying to figure out how he ended up here. The two of you look far more salacious than Seokjin thinks a pair of angels should ever look. He wonders if you’re not just some demons pretending. He can’t deny that the thought of both of you doing whatever you deem as showing your thanks is intriguing. And Taehyung’s not wrong. They had been close. He just didn’t expect that to work out this way. He doesn’t think he can find a thing to complain about when he looks at how pretty you both look between his legs and eager to please.

“Hm, do you think he’s distracted by the thought of what we’ll do to him?” Your gaze slides towards Taehyung.” “Or how we look together?”

A groan rumbles in Seokjin’s chest. Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about seeing the two of you together. You both smile at the reaction and take that as consent to tug Seokjin’s pants down and off. His cock rests hard and heavy against his belly as the both of you greedily drink in the sight.

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as Taehyung presses Seokjin’s legs a little further apart so that both you and Taehyung fit between them. You make eye contact with Seokjin and wink before turning to Taehyung and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss is immediately filthy and Seokjin groans at the slick sounds coming from you both. It’s clear that you are familiar with each other, an ease that oozes from you both as you kiss. Taehyung’s hands tangle in your hair, drawing a loud moan that he’s quick to swallow.

Seokjin starts to feel a little like an intruder, but as soon as he has the thought, there’s your hand is sliding up his calf. You stop at the bend of his knee and Seokjin only has a moment to ponder what you’re doing before you’re tugging him closer until his ass is perched on the edge of the couch. He’d be a little scared at the casual display of power if it didn’t turn him on more. Not breaking contact with your kiss with Taehyung, your hand continues its path up his leg until you can wrap your hand around his cock.

Seokjin’s hips jerk into your grip and he can see the slightest edge of a smile tugging at your lips. You give him a squeeze before sliding your hand up the thick length. Seokjin wants to squeeze his eyes shut but he’s too drawn to the way you and Taehyung look together. He almost wants to bat your hand away and see what the two of you do together.

Jolting, his gaze drops to where Taehyung’s hand has joined your’s on his cock, thumb circling the head and gathering precum. Then he’s pulling his hand back and slipping his thumb between your mouths. Seokjin sees your tongue brush the pad of his thumb and then brush against Taehyung’s to share the taste of Seokjin with him. It’s unfair how erotic the two of your are together.

Seokjin just might die. Actually, maybe he’s already dead. Maybe that film actually did kill him. If this is the afterlife, he certainly can’t complain. Your hand settles at the base once again and you use your grip to tilt it closer to your and Taehyung’s mouths. You both shift closer, until your tongues brush the head of Seokjin’s cock just as much as they do against each other.

Groaning, Seokjin’s hands curl into fists where they rest on the couch, at a complete loss of what to do as the two of you seem content to torture him by making out with his dick trapped in the middle. The two of you continue like that, tongues brushing the sensitive head of his cock with every brush against each other, lips occasionally dragging with the movement.

Seokjin kind of hopes that he is dead, because he might die with how slow the two of you decide to go. He hesitates for only a moment before he’s unclenching his fists and resting his hand on each of your heads. Getting a pleased hum from you, he takes that as encouragement to push a little more and he pushes both of your heads further down his cock. Your lips barely touch Taehyung’s now that Seokjin’s cock is properly between you, girth forcing you too far apart. You work your tongue, moving lower as Taehyung moves back towards the tip.

You trace a vein until it disappears at the base of his cock, shifting then to lap at his balls. Taehyung’s tongue swirls around the head, taking his time playing with the slit before wrapping his lips around and sucking. Seokjin moans, hands tightening in both yours and Taehyung’s hair.

You let your hand closest to Taehyung trace his thigh before you’re pressing against his clothed erection. Taehyung whines, accidently sliding further down Seokjin’s cock and making himself gag. You smother your laugh against Seokjin’s thigh and Seokjin uses his grip of your hair to pull your face up.

You blink up at him with wide eyes at the sudden action and Seokjin smirks. “I don’t think that was a very nice thing to do, princess.” He gently pulls Taehyung off his cock. “What do you think, prince? Was that very nice?”

Taehyung stares up at Seokjin with wide, blown out eyes, lips plump and spit slick. He licks his lips and shakes his head and Seokjin gives him an indulgent smile and cups his cheek. Taehyung leans into his palm, eyes slipping closed. Seokjin turns back to you and the soft look melts away and you gulp.

He smirks. “Why don’t we give her a taste of her own medicine, my little prince?”

Taehyung shoots you a smug look and nods again, making Seokjin chuckle. He releases Taehyung, who shifts slightly out of the way. Seokjin grips his cock with one hand and guides you down onto it with the other. You open easily, squirming as Seokjin slowly feeds his cock into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat.

He drags you back, just as slow, before pushing you back down, cock hitting the back of your throat with more force and you gag. Taehyung’s hand finds yours, giving it a squeeze as Seokjin quickly works up a rhythm fucking your mouth. You struggle to take him, Seokjin thrusting before you have a chance to catch your breath.

Tears spring to your eyes and Seokjin chuckles. “Where’s the laughter now, hm, princess? It was so funny when Taehyungie was the one gagging on my cock.”

You whine around him and Seokjin picks up his pace, thighs flexing beneath your hands. Taehyung’s nails scratch along Seokjin’s thighs, sliding up to cup his balls and give them a tug. Seokjin moans and takes only a few more thrusts before he’s cuming in your mouth. You suck him through until he pushes you off and you sit back on your heels waiting for him to look at you.

When he does, you open your mouth to show the mouthful of cum and then you smirk and pull Taehyung back in for a messy kiss, swapping Seokjin’s cum between you both. Seokjin groans, watching the time you take to make sure every drop is cleaned from your lips.

Once you’re finished, you both crawl back onto the couch, each straddling one of his thighs. Seokjin cups each of your faces with one of his hands. Taehyung leans forward to press a soft kiss to Seokjin’s lips and when he pulls back you lean in to place a kiss of your own on his lips.

Taehyung grins when you both press your foreheads to Seokjin’s. “We’re gonna stick around for a while.”

Seokjin can’t say he minds having two angels stick around. It’s a good thing he’s got a king sized bed.

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years

Text

i need a plot for this

yall so ive been trying really hard to get back into writing and i went to a writing camp this summer. im going to post a poem that i wrote there later bc im super proud of it but right now i have something else i need help with. SO basically there was a prompt about someone finding a letter or a note. that’s the prompt. so i wrote something, really liked it BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO TAKE IT FROM HERE. my basic ideas involve the two characters meeting each other again to do SOMETHING WHICH I DONT KNOW and slowly arcane (youll see when you read the story below) thaws and falls in love with kalon and kalon has always been in love with her and its like best friends to enemies to friends to lovers ya know? ANYWAY if you dont hate me for being inactive and needy, please read this and help me.

Dear Arcane,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 10 years. Wow. I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this, you could’ve moved. You could be dead. Oh god, that’s dark. You’re not dead, someone would’ve told me, I’m sure. So that must mean that there’s a good chance you have this, but I’m not even sure if you’ll read it.

He was right, as he most often was. Arcane had not planned to read the letter from the moment she read her name on the envelope, written in a neat sort of messy handwriting that could only come from one person. The letter had been sitting at her desk for a week before memories began to drown her and she knew she had to open it.

That’s not the point though, I’m sure you’ll read this. You’ve always been a sucker for the intimacy of written letters. Maybe that’s why I wrote to you instead of calling.

Arcane closed her eyes, the pounding of the memories at the door slowly consuming her. She took a deep breath and let them in. The whispers started to fill the room, every word echoing off the walls, like her past had become a living, breathing thing in her room. How could he write her now? After all these years. Anger reared it's small head in the back of her mind. How could he be so casual as if he wasn't the boy who ripped her heart out and tore it to pieces.

Maybe it’s because I did read all the letters you wrote to me. Even after the voicemails stopped filling my phone and the emails ran dry, your letters kept coming.

She remembers writing those letters, the pen shaking in her hand as it hit the paper. She remembers wondering what you said to someone like him, a friend who left you behind. The squeeze in her chest that tightened each time he didn’t reply. The break in her heart when the last letter she ever wrote was returned to her doorstep.

If you’ve read this far without tearing my letter to pieces, then I would say this is a good start to our reunion. I’ve missed you. Your stubborn ways, always trying to keep me safe. But you always came with me wherever I went anyway. I miss your secret smile, the one you saved just for me. The treehouse we built in your yard. Do you miss that? I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I can even ask that of you.

She did miss them. But, those things that she missed were long gone. The treehouse was overgrown with vines, Arcane was sure you couldn’t even get into it anymore. She went with him on his stupid adventures because what would she do if he left and met new people? He would leave her and she would be alone. So she desperately followed him blindly, hoping it would keep him close. Arcane missed her secret smile, the genuine one she had always saved for him. He missed it. How could he miss something that he destroyed. With his one and only letter to her, he demolished any leftover love for him that hid in her heart. He couldn’t ask if Arcane wondered about him. That wasn’t fair. That night, ten years ago, was still a raw wound in her soul that she was pretty sure would never heal.

The rain was relentless that night, banging against every edge of the house, but a little girl was waiting by the door, not even flinching as the lightning and thunder clapped furiously. Arcane peeked her head above the window frame to find the mailman running through the storm, his frantic steps pounding through the floor of the house. Her eyes lit up with a hope that was slowly fading with each mail drop. She opened the door and hid the small smile that started to spread up her face with a cough.

“Hi, Dan!” Arcane’s voice gave away the excitement that was flooding her system.

“Hey, Arcane.” Dan couldn’t help the pitiful grin that he gave her. She waited by the door for him every day and each day there was no letter for her. It must be soul-crushing, he thought, waiting for a letter that never comes.

“Is there…?” Arcane was practically on her tiptoes at this point. Dan rifled through the letters, dread settling as her name wasn’t there. Again. And then there was a squeal. “Oh, Dan! I found it! I knew- I knew it- I told them!” Her sentences didn’t even come out fully as she beamed, her smile brighter than any ray of the sun.

Arcane had run into the house, a breeze following in her wake. Plopping down into the soft plush couch, she ripped open the envelope, not caring about the paper that flew everywhere in the room. A paper fluttered out, floating toward the ground. Arcane grabbed it, hands shaking, she could practically feel the sweat dripping down her face. Words were the easiest way to break someone. The letter only contained eleven words, yet they would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Stop writing me. None of it was real. You were nothing.

Eleven words. And they shattered her. Crumbling, shattering, a million pieces breaking. Sobs racked through her whole body, her chest shaking and trembling with each broken breath. She caught her face in the mirror hanging off the pale wall and didn’t recognize the girl that stared back. You were nothing. A scream tore through her, the ache of her heart so raw that even the sun seemed to cry, rain dripping onto the panes of the windows. And slowly, so very slowly, Arcane buried the ache and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart and encased them in an impenetrable cage, never to opened again.

The ache was still present now, ten years after the letter had arrived. The dullness of her buried hurt made her clench her fists around the letter that sat in her hand now, the same lopsided handwriting adorning it.

But, that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this with an actual purpose, if you can imagine that. I didn't just write to rehash our friendship.

Arcane could feel her eyes narrowing, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the inanimate piece of paper. An actual purpose? To break her heart all over again? This time she did roll her eyes, even though no one was there to see it. But, it wasn’t the fact that he wrote her after all these years or that his tone was friendly throughout that made her body freeze. It was the last line that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

In all the years that Arcane had known him, he'd never been very dependent. He often just struggled in silence and figured them out on his own. Not once, not ever, had has asked for help. But, there the sentence was inked in his slanted, loopy writing.

I need your help.

Love,

Kalon

~~everything below here is stuff that doesnt have to be a part of the story but i still liked it and where it was going (idk please give me ideas)~~

The quiet, shock of the room seemed to weigh on Arcane. She flopped back onto her bed, the soft pillows cushioning her landing. I need your help. Those few, simple words, tugged at the strings that bound her heart. He needed her. The thought was fleeting as just as quickly as it came, it left. In its spot was anger. Now he needed her? After all those years when she needed him? What did he do then? Nothing. And that’s what she was going to do now. She huffed in satisfaction, tossing the envelope to the side. Her fingers reached into her hair, massaging her head. There were too many things to think about right now. Arcane squeezed her eyes shut as memories stung her eyes in the form of tears.

“Please, don’t leave me.” Arcane had whispered, her small breaths filling the one room of the treehouse.

“I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t want to go.” Kalon’s voice broke and he looked away so Arcane couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. It was silent.

“We’ll still be best friends right?”

“Yeah.” Kalon’s reply didn’t hold much conviction, causing Arcane to look over at him, confused, glossy eyes narrowing.

“To the moon and back, Kal, remember?” She said, her tone desperate. It was a promise they made one night as they were watching some cheesy movie on the old television set. The boy had told the girl that he loved her too ‘the moon and back’. Kalon had then explained that the two characters said that so that they would never be apart. They could meet at the same moon, always and then they could go back. And then, they would never be fully apart. Arcane had liked that. So naturally, she had grabbed Kal’s face and made him promise that they would go ‘to the moon and back’ if they were ever apart. It became a goodbye for them, a way of saying ‘I’ll see you soon’.

“Yeah,” Kal had replied, a smile barely curling through his lips, “I’ll race ya there.”

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, letting her memories flow down her cheeks and into the bedsheets, but eventually she had to get up. She pulled herself up and off the bed, limbs protesting at the use. She just needed a few days is all, then she wouldn’t even remember what she was crying for. Kalon didn’t mean anything to her anymore.

thank you for reading this far, i love all of you. just throw out ideas please. or give me some advice, i would love that. whether its about my writing or the plot i would love to have tips and constructive criticism on how to get better! tagging some moots who i hope dont hate me after this below the cut:

@natashxromanovf @pad-foots @griffxnnage @voidmalfoy @flxss-bxbblxs @alwaysreading @herondalesunsetcurve THANKS YALL I LOVE YOU MORE THEN I EXPRESS AND I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT DESERVE ALL OF YOU AND YOUR LOVE

#my writing #a book?#writing a book #plot ideas #please give me some ideas #writing #original characters #and an original storyline #found letter prompt

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sarcasticfina · 3 years

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Fic Writer Tag Game

How many works do you have on AO3? 263

What’s your total AO3 word count? 4,901,188

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they? including the fandoms on FFnet, that haven't yet been moved over to ao3, that'd be a total of 37. separating the larger fandoms (marvel, dcu) into their individual parts: Thor; Arrow; Smallville; The Vampire Diaries; Glee; Captain America; Supernatural; Teen Wolf; Iron Man; Life with Derek; Firefly; Friday Night Lights; X-Men; Fantastic Four; Harry Potter; Sons of Anarchy; Girl Meets World; Batman; Daredevil; From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series; Transformers; Lost Girl; Game of Thrones; Banshee; High School Musical; The OC; One Tree Hill; CSI: New York; Degrassi; Gossip Girl; NCIS; The Unusuals; Criminal Minds; iCarly; Secret Life of the American Teenager; Twilight; and The Listener

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. and I wonder (if everything could ever feel this real forever) - darcy/bucky - Steve tells him that Darcy's harmless. Bucky imagines, on paper, Darcy is harmless. HYDRA wouldn't give her a second glance. But he does. He can barely keep his eyes off her. He's not sure he wants to. | Kudos: 5576

2. I Climbed The Tree To See The World (When The Gusts Came Around To Blow Me Down, I Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me) - darcy centric | darcy/steve - The path to self-discovery, including becoming Coulson's assistant-slash-liaison-slash-bff, Captain America's lady love, and rating fourth on the SHIELD BAMF scale, was like the yellow brick road; it was chaos and confusion around every bend. | Kudos: 3973

3. Take a little piece of my heart (and keep it for yourself) - oliver/felicity - A collection of Olicity prompts on Tumblr posted here for easier access/reading. | Kudos: 3498

4. You put your arms around me (and I'm home) - darcy/bucky - A collection of Darcy/Bucky oneshots, drabbles, and prompt fills. | Kudos: 3293

5. you (anchor me back down) - darcy/bucky - "I'll be right back." Famous last words. | Kudos: 2747

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? not all of them. i do try to keep up on them, especially on longer stories when there's been significant wait times in between chapters, or when a reader is asking a question or is unclear on something. and especially when someone writes a really indepth comment/review, i like to respond to those and talk about motivations and character growth.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I've written a number of fics that either had suicide or major character death, so i'm not sure if one outranks the other in terms of most angsty... hmm... i remember "be still and know that I'm with you (be still and know that I am here)" and "light a match, burn the world to ash (I will watch it die, and hold your hand as I fly)" both got some pretty intense reactions when they were posted. And "It's Your Song That Sets Me Free (I Sing It While I Feel I Can't Go On)" was basically just angst from beginning to end. buuuuut, i think i'll say "so you think you can tell (heaven from hell" was, only because there's a build up of everything going so right, only to pivot at the end, so it feels very bittersweet.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written? i loooooove crossovers. i find writing in the marvel fandom makes things quite easy, but also smallville. as long as i can find a common thread, i enjoy finding a way to overlap two shows. i'll say the hardest one to write was "ruby red slippers (unavailable in her size)." I'm not sure why, but i found writing each personality together just felt strange. i liked the idea behind the story, but i definitely remember feeling like i was really forcing myself to keep going, like something just didn't fit right.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? oh, definitely. you cannot please everyone, it's impossible. for the most part, hate comes and i either argue back, take the criticism for what it's worth, or just ignore it when it's baseless. i think the hate that bothered me the most was a homophobic PM someone sent me re: "you know I will adore you ('til eternity)," on FFnet. i actually went and searched it up. they've since blocked me so i can't read our whole thread back and forth. but i did put part of it on tumblr so i could rant on it a bit, so you can see that here.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? ha. yes. depending on the story, it can be really detailed or really flowery. it depends on the ship, the plot, and how graphic i feel like being. i've definitely become more comfortable over the years with my writing. that said, i think everybody likes something different. i once had a reviewer tell me a sex scene was too much, just too intense. it was a stefan/caroline story and to be fair, that entire oneshot was just them fucking, lol, but it is what it is. to each their own.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Multiple times.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! for the record, i am always happy to have my stories translated and shared. i just like having a link sent to me and to be credited.

What’s your all time favorite ship? i have a list of OTPs, because interests change and as shows come and go, my love for a ship can be shelved for a while before it pops back up at random. currently, i can't get enough of buck/eddie from 9-1-1. and, historically, chloe/oliver (smallville) and felicity/oliver (arrow) have been two of my top OTPs. but i think i'd have to go with bonnie/damon. they had all the potential and the show dropped the ball by not exploring it. at the same time, that's kind of a blessing, because i don't trust those writers to properly explore what they had without eventually destroying it for the likes of de/ena. it means a treasure trove for writing where it could have gone and all the what if's.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will? the intention is always to finish. but given how i feel about allison mack and how that impacts my feelings re: chloe sullivan, pretty much anything with her as a main character is not something i see myself returning to.

What are your writing strengths? What are your writing weaknesses? i'm putting these together because my strength is my weakness. i love to write. when i get an idea, i go all in and i will skip eating and sleeping to just write write write. but i also eventually hit a wall and i get so many ideas that i hyperfocus on one until the steam is gone and then i hyperfocus on the next one to maintain that need to keep writing, accidentally leaving the last story in the dust for entirely too long. i also have clinical depression that comes and goes, which hasn't been super great mixed with covid and isolation, so more often recently, i find myself overly exhausted and despite wanting to write, can rarely get motivated to do so. so, pre-covid, wrote so much i left entirely too many stories dangling. during covid, i've just been reading and struggling to get myself focused enough to do what i love.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i appreciate the authenticity when possible, but i've recently been reading more about how native speakers of other languages feel when a) their language is butchered by google translate, or b) it's just not genuine in terms of how bilingual speakers act or speak.

What was the first fandom you’ve written for? it was smallville, but i remember adopting it out to someone else because i wasn't going to finish it. so if you look at my ffnet, the first fandom i wrote for appears to be x-men: the movie, but i remember writing a chloe/oliver story prior to that.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? i have a lot. i mean, on ffnet, i have 576 stories, many of which were transferred over to ao3, with a lot of oneshots and drabbles getting joined together into collections. so there's a ton to pick from that span a 14-ish year timeline.

"you know I will adore you ('til eternity)" and "let me break (the walls that surround me)" hold a special place in my heart.

honestly, each story is important in its own way. there are bits and pieces of each that i love. every time i write something new it feels like my favorite. my best. and then a new idea comes along. there are scenes i've written that i loved more than the whole of what they became. lines that stand out that are almost too good to be a part of the larger picture.

one of my all time favorite passages i've written was bonnie's thoughts on damon and herself in 'if you love me (let me go)":

He is far from perfect. He is a novel of red, corrective ink. He is frayed pages and torn binding. His life, his choices, his mistakes leave lasting effects on everyone he meets.

She is a lifeboat with a hole in it. An anchor that drowns in the sea while everyone else remains steady above. She is both the calm and the storm, and while she screams that she will not be tamed, she cries. Bittersweet tears that go unnoticed and uncared about.

there are other stories, other pieces of dialogue, that i've been proud of. that make me laugh when i re-read them. that make me cry. and i love them. there are others that make me wilt and cringe and regret. it's a process. love and pride and growth, all bound together.

Tagging: @absentlyabbie, @anonymous033, and anyone else who'd like to fill this all out, haha

#fic writer tag game #long post

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dramaticsnakes · 4 years

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Late night baking - Moceit bullet point fic

Ship: Pre-relationship moceit

Summary: Patton goes to the kitchen to bake during the night when he is sad. Janus notices.

I couldn’t get this idea out of my head but I didn’t have the time or energy to write a long fic about it, nor do I think I could pull it off. Have this 1992 word bullet point fic I wrote just now though. It’s probably a bit drawn out and messy, since I only spent a few hours on it, without proof-reading it more than once, but I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

- The first time Deceit caught Morality baking late at night, it hardly mattered.

- Deceit had been unable to fall asleep, for various unimportant reasons, and had decided to get some water from the kitchen. He figured no one would notice him sneaking down there in the dead of night.

- He hadn’t expected to see Morality, mixing together ingredients, and moving around trays and bowls almost desperately. Deceit was a bit confused at the sight, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head.

- It took Patton a few moments to notice Deceit staring at him from the doorway. Deceit had barely realized it either. Patton gasped, and Deceit noticed, that his eyes were faintly red. There was a single leftover tear on Patton’s cheek, which Patton quickly wiped away.

- Patton smiled. Not an overly excited smile, but Deceit never expected that. The two weren’t on the greatest terms. Yet, the smile still seemed to hide something else. Deceit could easily tell when something was being repressed.

- Patton asked Deceit what he wanted, and Deceit decided that whatever Patton was doing wasn’t his problem. He slithered into the kitchen, filled a glass of water, and drank it. Deceit made a half-hearted sarcastic comment about how baking at that hour was definitely healthy and far from concerning. Then he walked back to his bedroom, evaluated the situation, and fell asleep after an hour or two.

- A while passed, and Deceit didn’t notice anything like that. He heard a sound from the kitchen every once in a while, but it could be anything really, and it didn’t matter. Not to him.

- It wasn’t until the night after Deceit became Janus, that he thought anything of it.

- He was already awake, his head filled with all sorts of thoughts about the things that happened during the day. Respectful eyes, a particularly large frog, and Janus was right. Finally, Thomas had uttered those words, admitting that Janus was worth listening to sometimes. It felt like a new beginning, and Janus was excited, though he wouldn’t celebrate anything just yet. One victory, Thomas listened, and one specific side listened.

- That was when Janus heard some strange noises coming from the kitchen.

- He figured he would go get a glass of water, completely unrelated to said noises.

- He was met with the sight of Patton, placing cookie trays on the counter, and mixing batter together.

- Janus asked Patton what he was doing. Patton gasped, shocked, and smiled wide. It was clearly a fake smile, Janus thought. Patton was particularly good at those, though they weren’t difficult to decipher. “Oh, hi Janus! I’m just baking some cookies for everyone.” Patton replied.

- “Are you alright?” Janus asked. Patton nodded, and Janus sent him a knowing look. Patton looked down, almost ashamed.

- Janus figured he wasn’t in a position to pry unless Patton opened up on his own accord, and Janus didn’t have anything better to do (Well, except for sleeping which proved to be a tedious task that night). He also figured, that with all the tension after the day’s events, Thomas’ mind wouldn’t be able to handle too much more distress. At first, he simply suggested that Patton should go back to sleep, but Patton shrugged apologetically. Janus sighed, and asked “Do you need any help with baking?”

- Patton was dumbfounded at the suggestion but agreed anyway.

- The two continued to bake for a couple of hours, which eventually led them to talking a bit about what Patton was feeling.

- Patton was very clearly hiding his tears at first, as he talked about how Roman was refusing to open the door to his room, and how Patton had messed everything up.

- As they waited for the cookies to finish baking in the oven, Patton whispered a quick “I am so sorry for everything, Janus.” Though Janus wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear.

- They finished the cookies and ate a few together. At the end of the night, Patton asked Janus if he was allowed to hug him. Janus wasn’t used to that but accepted.

- The two walked to their respective rooms, and life continued normally.

- Or, as normally as it could after such a chaotic day.

- In the morning, Virgil and Janus encountered one another. Virgil was angry.

- It was an unpleasant exchange to say the least.

- As Janus was trying to fall asleep the following night, he heard someone walking in the halls.

- It was Patton again, on his way to the kitchen. Janus offered to join him. Patton said that he didn’t have to, but Janus shrugged and followed anyway.

- The exchange was a bit more familiar than the previous night. There was a lot more silent communication, handing each other things at the right time, only needing a few words to understand what the other meant.

- It left more room for casual conversation. At first it was rather mundane, but after a few tense ice breakers, they started talking about why Patton was upset that day. It didn’t take a genius to know that baking at night was a sign of that.

- Patton sighed and talked about a conversation he’d had with Virgil. Virgil was not pleased to see Janus around them at all. Roman was still in his room. Patton cried more visibly, sniffling between each word. Janus offered his best words of comfort, “They’ll come around.”, “I’m sure you can all talk it out later, as you always do.” But most of all he told Patton just how important it was that Patton took care of himself. Torturing himself with guilt and fear while no one was watching wasn’t going to help anyone and would only negatively affect Thomas.

- At first it caused Patton to smile a little, which Janus responded to by stressing that the point of that wasn’t for Patton to hide his emotions, but rather to talk them out and feel them. Just like Patton had discussed with the others before. “But punishing yourself like this won’t do anyone any good.”

- That night, Patton was a lot more emotionally vulnerable, and gave a much clearer apology to Janus. He apologized for everything and stated how much he wanted to make up for it.

- Janus was happy to receive the apology. He hadn’t quite expected it.

- They ended the night with a slightly more comfortable hug than the night before.

- A few days passed. The two started interacting a few times during the day, playing board games, and watching a movie or two together.

- Janus found himself enjoying Patton’s company more and more in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t just curiosity or concern for Thomas anymore, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

- One day, Patton asked Janus if he would like to make some cupcakes with him during the day.

- Janus accepted the invitation. He watched as Patton picked the perfect frosting to decorate individual cupcakes for all the other sides. Janus observed just how much Patton knew about each of them, and their individual cupcake preferences.

- Janus was surprised when Patton asked Janus what kind of cupcake Remus preferred. He didn’t expect Patton to include him.

- “Of course, he is getting one.” Patton said, “He is one of us.”

- Janus felt something disgustingly fluttery in his stomach, as he talked about Remus’ rather unique tastes, watching Patton’s intensive expression.

- Patton was being a lot less judgemental than what Janus had become used to.

- Patton told Janus that he should just deliver Remus’ cupcake alone, since he figured Remus would feel more comfortable around Janus.

- Janus took a deep breath as he thought of the possible outcomes, and how much Patton was distancing himself from others lately. “You should come too.” Janus said.

- Patton hesitantly did so.

- Janus and Patton knocked on Remus’ door, and Patton presented the cupcake on a plate in his hands.

- The moment was almost sickly sweet. It wouldn’t be Remus’ taste at all, if Janus hadn’t insisted, they added “hippo butt extract” to the icing and shaped the cupcake in a more… vulgar way than the others.

- Remus opened the door and was confused at the sight of a nervous Patton presenting a single cupcake, while standing next to a nonchalant Janus.

- Remus also noticed that there was a slight blush and both Patton’s face and the human half of Janus’.

- After Remus asked if those two were ‘fuckbuddies’ now (an assumption Janus and Patton shut down rather quickly at the same time), Remus devoured the cupcake in one bite, swallowing it whole.

- Remus seemed happy with the cupcake, even if his first reaction was to criticize that it wasn’t pickled.

- Patton beamed, as it was the first hint of proper acceptance, he had received from anyone but Janus for several days.

- Janus’ stomach hurt in a pleasant way, as he watched Patton’s genuine smile.

- And oh.

- Oh no.

- It was those feelings, wasn’t it?

- The two delivered the cupcakes to the others. Roman opened the door and accepted the cake directly. He uttered a cold ‘thank you’ and closed the door again.

- Patton delivered the cupcake to Virgil’s room alone since Janus refused to go. It wouldn’t end well.

- Logan said he appreciated the cupcake, and that it was nice that Patton and Janus were working together. Janus wasn’t sure if there was spite hidden in those words or not.

- That night, Janus was thinking about the strange feelings he was feeling around Patton. They didn’t make any sense and they certainly weren’t helpful.

- Though the following days, Janus caught himself getting addicted to Patton’s gentle touches. Anything from a tap on the shoulder, to a hug.

- What really caught Janus off guard, was when their hands touched briefly, as they were watching a movie.

- It didn’t take that long before Patton had another bad day.

- Janus found him in the kitchen, late at night. Patton wasn’t as discreet when he went there anymore, often touching Janus’ door as he passed it before he went downstairs.

- Janus wasn’t sure what was wrong that night. Maybe it was some of the usual things.

- The two started baking, but Patton didn’t say much, even though Janus made countless discreet attempts to make him open up.

- It made Janus’ gut twist strangely to watch Patton being sad. Maybe it was the lies and the repression, though it could also be the… ugh…

- Eventually, Patton asked Janus if he was feeling alright. “I don’t know. You’ve seemed off lately.”

- Janus wasn’t sure what to say. “I’ve been fine.” And it wasn’t really a lie. ‘Fine’ could be defined in many ways, and it wasn’t that anything unpleasant was happening to Janus. Quite the opposite.

- That was when Patton sighed. “I’ve been feeling some things lately that would be really counter productive if I want to make the others forgive me.”

- Janus wasn’t sure what to reply to that. Janus placed a comforting hand on Patton’s, which made Patton blush.

- It dawned upon Janus, that he wasn’t usually the one who initiated physical contact.

- Patton took Janus’ hand, holding it gently. Janus’ heart beat faster. The night had a habit of making people more vulnerable. Letting them feel feelings more intensely, much to Janus’ dismay.

- Patton looked at their joined hands. “I know I am probably not in a position to say this…” he started.

- Janus tried to maintain his calculative persona, underneath his loud heart and the exasperating feelings in his stomach.

- “But I really care about you Janus. A lot.” Patton said.

- Janus knew that that could mean a lot of things. All of which were so much more meaningful than anything he had expected in such a short amount of time.

- “I uhm… I care about you a great deal too Patton.” Janus said.

- They finished baking, talking about some rather mundane things, but there was a new understanding between them. Neither of them were entirely sure what it was, but God, was it addicting.

#sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #fic #dramaticwriting

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stevenuniversallyreviews · 4 years

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I don’t need you to respect me, I respect me

I’m gonna miss writing about Amethyst.

As the most sisterly Crystal Gem, a firebrand in the new role of middle child after spending millennia as the baby of the group, Amethyst’s story is about growing from a wild teen to a responsible adult. Like Steven, she feels the need to prove that she’s a Crystal Gem too, but unlike Steven, she already is a Crystal Gem, so she carries a different kind of resentment as she continues to be treated like a child. It’s made even worse by her warrior instincts clashing with her small frame: she lives with the constant anxiety that she’s a mistake, a Gem who came out wrong and doesn’t belong in her family, so she comforts and distracts herself with hedonism and shapeshifting. Her problem goes beyond not feeling respected: deep down, she fears that she doesn’t deserve respect.

But she changes her mind.

“This isn’t normal.”

The Return and Jailbreak culminated the first act of Steven Universe, giving our characters subtle achievements (Amethyst and Pearl casually fuse into Opal, Greg reveals a deeper understanding of the Gems than we once thought, Beach City comes together as a community when Steven is in danger) and huge changes (Steven summons a massive shield, Garnet’s status as a fusion is confirmed, Lapis goes from prisoner to imprisoner). While not an official finale, Beta and Earthlings culminated the second act, narrowing the focus to five characters as they each reach one milestone or another: Lapis and Amethyst find a level of peace, Peridot defends her new home, Jasper succumbs to corruption, and Steven helps his friends but fails to help his enemy.

In a way, Change Your Mind culminates the third act with an even narrower focus. Sure, it gives big moments to a ton of characters (there’s fanservice galore, and we see the three Diamonds in particular take enormous steps), but we zero in on Steven in the same way the entire act has zeroed in on Steven, because this is a story about identity. It isn’t only about who he is, but who he wants to be moving forward, and fusing all the insights he’s learned from his human family, his Crystal Gem family, and his Diamond family into a song that encapsulates his growth over the course of the series.

We start in the most lifelike of the Diamond dreams, so real that Steven still sees himself as Steven rather than embodying Pink. Once again, this connection emerges from sleeping in a location where Pink once dwelled, but while he wasn’t feeling her impatience and rage in Jungle Moon, nor her hardening resolve in Can’t Go Back, nor her whimsy in Familiar, this time they share the same headspace when they’re both locked in a tower.

Considering how bombastic things get in this episode, I love how low-key this final dream remains until White Diamond interferes. We’re as lost as Steven at first, worrying about Connie and baffled at Blue’s recognizable mood but incongruous accusations, but as the truth becomes clear, he transforms into Pink off-screen without any fanfare, both in body and in mind: Steven isn’t questioning Blue’s warning about Pink Pearl, Pink Diamond is apologizing for her own behavior in Zach Callison’s voice. Still, looking down jolts him out of it, and after seeing the Crystal Gems poofed at the ball for a more definitive Steven memory, we cycle in Rose’s horror at her family launching a final attack on Earth. The rapid-fire identity shifts that follow inspired the most haunting piece of promo art for the episode, drawn by Rebecca Sugar herself, but I didn’t wanna display it without a seizure warning.

It’s excellent exposition, hitting the highlights of the Diamonds’ many wrongs and establishing Steven’s fraying sense of self in a way that’s both artful and brief; it’s important to remind younger viewers about the stakes, but Change Your Mind doesn’t pretend that anyone should be watching this episode without context, so it doesn’t prioritize thorough explanation. And despite how frightening the nightmare becomes, Steven gains a new sense of clarity after seeing the pattern laid out in front of him. The Diamonds are hurting him in the same way they hurt his mother, and if he’s going to help everyone, he needs to help himself.

When Blue Diamond returns to the tower in modern day, Steven isn’t afraid, and he isn’t alone. The first of many puns riddling the finale emerges (“Déjà Blue!”) before Connie proves why she’s the perfect partner for our hero, platonic or otherwise. He’s terrible at confronting the people that hurt him—this would require him to acknowledge he’s hurt in the first place, which he’s also terrible at—but if she was comfortable enough with confrontation to call out her best friend when he wrongs her, Blue Diamond doesn’t stand a chance. Connie comes out swinging, loading the bases with candor and sass despite Blue’s confusion over why a human even gets an opinion about this stuff, which makes Steven’s refusal to apologize hit the Diamond like a grand slam.

I love that Steven’s flat “no” takes Connie by surprise as well as Blue, because yeah, it’s uncharacteristically blunt for someone who’s spent his entire trip to Homeworld bending over backwards like he usually does to accommodate others. When he doubles down by explaining that he isn’t sorry about creating a show that celebrates queer characters whoops sorry I mean fusion, Callison makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, and this is what upsets Blue enough to inflict her tears on him. We’ll learn even more about Pink’s temper in Steven Universe Future, but the simple act of not bowing to authority makes Steven “worse than ever” in Blue’s mind: violence is more acceptable than insubordination. (Also, violence in cartoons is more acceptable than queer folks just sorta existing in cartoons, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Change Your Mind is about combating bigotry and cycles of abuse, and Blue is the obvious first test. She’s a bigot who doesn’t think she’s a bigot (compared to Yellow, who doesn’t care that she’s a bigot, and White, who’s quite proud of being a bigot). She passively perpetuates a toxic status quo (compared to Yellow, who actively perpetuates it, and White, who established it in the first place). It makes sense that she’s the first of the remaining Diamonds to change her mind, because all it takes for her to realize that something is wrong is thinking about it a little harder.

This doesn’t let her off the hook, of course: Blue’s sloth—the sin, not the animal—might not look flashy next to Yellow’s wrath or White’s pride or Pink’s envy, but she still chose to do nothing for thousands of years rather than contemplate how her actions and her society might have wronged Pink. If it was this easy for Blue to realize she was hurting Pink, it makes it that much more of an issue that it took her this long to figure it out. Unintentional bigots might be the “best” option by default, but they can be just as harmful as intentional bigots, and there’s a special sort of damage that can come from an oppressor who truly believes themselves an ally.

That said, while it’s important to acknowledge her blame (emphasized here when she only stops attacking Steven when he calls her out rather than the Diamonds in general), Blue is also a victim. She’s one of the most powerful beings on Homeworld, but she’s still trapped by White Diamond, and resorts to putting others down as a means of reclaiming a sense of that power. In the same way oppressed people often turn to sexism and racism and homophobia to make themselves feel bigger, Blue (and Yellow) reinforce White’s sweeping bigotry in the same way they echo her family-specific abuse. It’s not a good coping mechanism, in this show or in the real world, but understanding the problem is key to fixing it.

So it still feels like a victory when Blue turns, even though it should’ve happened ages ago, and even though she’s a tyrant. She isn’t just deciding to help Steven, she’s breaking out of that cycle in a way that allows for growth beyond our hero’s immediate concerns. Lisa Hannigan captures this transformation beautifully, shifting from manipulative whining about Pink’s behavior to a crushing realization that she’s the one who’s wrong. And even as she joins Steven’s side, she remains weighed down by her longstanding prejudice: Hannigan stutters as she refers to the Crystal Gems as his family, and her triumphant defense of Steven’s name to Yellow comes with the caveat that she’s still misgendering him.

But before we get to Yellow, we take a pit stop that grounds us back to Steven and Connie’s hunger. It may seem small, but this is a critical moment in establishing Steven’s humanity in a way the show has quietly done from day one: with food.

The very first scene of Steven Universe establishes our hero’s human half in a donut shop, upset about dessert. From there, the next five episodes drill in that Steven will take a unique approach to his magical Gem heritage, and they all involve food in a major way: Cookie Cats, then his father’s saying about pork chops and hot dogs, then the Cheeseburger Backpack (important enough to be the episode’s name), then the Together Breakfast (ditto), then creating a monster based on fries.

It’s not just Steven, either. The first few Connie episodes involve eating and drinking in ways that show hints of growth (worrying about trans fats, then sneaking food into movie theaters) and mark key moments in her life (sharing a juicebox, taking her parents to dinner). Lars’s development is tied with his love of baking, and on top of him and Sadie working at the Big Donut, the Frymans and the Pizzas are so tied to their food service jobs that it’s in their names. And speaking of names, we’ve got Vidalia calling her sons Sour Cream and Onion. It even extends to the Gems: Amethyst’s connection with Earth means she loves food, and Pearl’s greater distance from humanity means she can’t stomach it.

Food is fundamentally something that humans require and Gems don’t, and just like we saw in Lars’s Head, Steven’s physical body forces him to think about his own needs despite his usual focus on others. Both his humanity and his ability to stand up for himself are key to his eventual victory, and what could’ve been a generic transition between Blue and Yellow’s big scenes instead becomes a quiet Steven scene. Steven changing into his usual clothes (including his mom’s star) and Connie changing into her own outfit (including her dad’s jacket) is the perfect finishing touch before we dive back into the drama.

True to their natures, Yellow Diamond gets a starker introduction than Blue’s dream sequence: as the lights burst on, we get two shots focusing on a horrifying number of mutated Gem Shards floating around in the room, then the Crystal Gems’ thankfully intact gems in one big bubble, before panning down to the villain who caused all this pain. The menace is palpable before she even opens her mouth, but Patti LuPone’s low tone keeps the mood from boiling over just long enough that when she loses her cool, it hits like a freight train.

Blue’s passive bigotry endured because she lacked introspection, but Yellow’s active bigotry requires constantly justifying actions she knows are cruel by presenting it as a matter of superior reasoning. We’ve known from her first appearance that Yellow’s seething fury undermines her reputation for cold logic, and now more than ever the connection between her behavior and that of “sophisticated” bigots is clear. You know the type: openly, smugly hateful, but couching their hate as something derived from some deep knowledge about the subject, whether in religious convictions or whatever “science” they can scrape together to confirm their worldview.

Sure enough, even in her rage, Yellow lays down what she sees as a rational explanation for why it was okay to mistreat Pink, and why it’s okay that they themselves are mistreated: if they make exceptions for anyone, even other Diamonds, they must make exceptions for everyone, and chaos reigns. Besides the slippery slope being a fallacy, her argument is punctured by Connie’s second big retort of the night, pointing out that this extreme conclusion of Homeworld Gems living free actually sounds pretty nice. But you can’t force this type of bigot to change their mind through reason; if such a person was actually interested in logical worldviews, they wouldn’t have become a bigot in the first place. You need to change their heart.

Fortunately, emotions are Blue’s domain, so she’s just the person to help. Unfortunately, in the same way she still can’t get Steven’s pronouns right, Blue lacks experience with healthy communication, and strikes a first blow against Yellow on instinct. The ensuing brawl is brutal, switching between the massive scale of two warring titans and the smaller scale of Steven and Connie scrambling to save the Crystal Gems as Blue and Yellow unload millennia of baggage on each other. It’s so important that Blue is the physical instigator here, as it fuels Yellow’s white-hot self-righteous streak like nothing else, and it keeps the fight from being one-sided all the way through: Yellow pretty much needs to be the one dealing the final blow for the scene to stick, so it gets balanced out by Blue’s opening punch.

Blue uses her powers on Yellow, and Yellow uses her powers on Blue, but Steven’s power is talking. So just like with Blue’s conversion, Connie gets the opening words while Steven gets the finisher. When he finally gets her attention after being ignored throughout the scene, he makes Yellow listen to him by using the same food-based expression I mentioned from all the way back in Laser Light Cannon. It’d pack a bigger punch if Greg said “If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs” at literally any other point in the show, but it still does the trick.

Blue was emotionally ready to accept that Pink was suffering, but hadn’t considered the Diamonds’ role in that suffering. Yellow knew that Pink suffered thanks to the Diamonds, but suppressed her emotions to the point where she couldn’t empathize with her sister’s plight. Blue needed to be more thoughtful to change, and Yellow needed to be more in touch with her emotions to change, and thus the stage is set for the Battle of Heart and Mind against White Diamond.

Except that this isn’t the lesson of Change Your Mind. Blue and Yellow show that some bigots can be reached, which is great! But despite their differences, Steven uses the same basic strategy in both: he doesn’t let them belittle his identity, he confidently dispels their wrongheaded assumptions, and he gets help from allies instead of shouldering the burden himself. We spend the beginning of the episode seeing that in the right circumstances this approach can work, but from here we’ll see that with some bigots, it’s a non-starter.

So long as you can engage with bigots while maintaining your self-respect, it can be good work to try and help them see the light. It’s not an obligation, but if you want to change hearts and minds, Steven provides a good template for how to do it. Now the rest of the episode can focus on the bigger lesson: if someone refuses to respect your humanity when you’re steadfast and forthright, it isn’t your job to breathe in their poison, or to hold your breath until you asphyxiate waiting for change.

But more on that after the break!

I Can’t Believe We’ve Come So Far

As we reach the end of the original series, it would be criminal not to acknowledge three long-time storyboarders who are on their way out. This isn’t their final contribution to the series, as only one of Change Your Mind’s twelve credited writer/boarders didn’t go on to work on The Movie in some way (Christine Liu, whose tenure was brief but great), and Hilary Florido stayed on as a supervisor for Future. But I wanted to write the big sendoffs here, as this is the last proper “episode” that these three worked on as regular boarders. So it’s time to say goodbye to Katie Mitroff, Hilary Florido, and Jeff Liu.

First up is Katie Mitroff, who clocked two early knockouts with Alone Together and The Test alongside Florido. Mitroff’n’Florido went on to make other classics like Maximum Capacity and Joy Ride before the former teamed up with Lamar Abrams and the latter teamed up with Jesse Zuke for their next batch of episodes.

With Abrams, Mitroff deepened the lore of the show with We Need to Talk, Steven’s Birthday, Bismuth, Buddy’s Book, Three Gems and a Baby, and especially The Answer. She gave us the harrowing revelation of Back to the Moon, and the most ridiculous episode of the series, Restaurant Wars. Her final partner was Paul Villeco, finishing strong with The Trial, Back to the Kindergarten, Your Mother and Mine, Pool Hopping, What’s Your Problem?, Reunited, and Change Your Mind, 100% of which are either in my Love ‘em ranking or my Top Episodes. (Oh, sorry, spoiler alert I love Change Your Mind.)

It’s strange, because she didn’t work on any of the major episodes of Amethyst’s big arc at the end of Season 3, but Mitroff is one of my favorite Amethyst boarders: she’s the consistent thread between Maximum Capacity, Back to the Moon, and What’s Your Problem?, three cornerstones of the character. She excelled at going outside the show’s usual style, as seen in The Answer and Your Mother and Mine, and it’s no coincidence she helped animate Isn’t It Love? to bring Cotton Candy Garnet back for one last ride.

Katie Mitroff is an absolute rock star, I wish her well and you should too.

#change your mind #steven universe #su #steven universally #review

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hale-13 · 3 years

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Better Together

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 15 - Sleep Deprived

Peter has always known that he had a platonic soulmate. He grew up sharing feelings and emotions through his bond and waiting eagerly to meet his other half.

Let’s just say - meeting your hero isn’t always all its cracked up to be.

Words: 2500, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Poor Communication, Self Deprication, Canon Typical Violence

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter had always had a soulmate.

Some of his most formative memories as a child were nebulous warm feelings sent in his direction (mostly when he was sad or upset) and other emotions that he wasn’t quite old enough to comprehend. May and Ben had told him that his parents had known that he had a platonic soulmate nearly from the second he was born – Peter was never a loud baby and slept better than most newborns. The only logical explanation was his connection to someone else’s emotions that made him feel safe and loved before he was even old enough to process what those feelings were supposed to mean.

Soulmate bonds always grew stronger with time and the decrease in distance but the link connecting them was always there, growing ever stronger the longer it was in existence. May always told him that there was no better feeling than to be in contact with the other half of your soul, that the feeling was truly indescribable – warm and safe and comforting and loving and so many other things.

Peter wanted that. After losing his parents, after Skip, after the bullying and the Bite and Uncle Ben he wanted that. He wanted to feel warm and safe and protected more than he had ever wanted anything.

Meeting Tony Stark and finding out the man was his other half rocked Peter’s entire universe.

He had read the stories that were published everywhere; how magical it was supposed to be to meet the one person you were destined to be around for the rest of your life. The person who understood you sometimes better than you understood yourself.

His meeting with Tony was the opposite.

The shaking of their hands felt like pure electricity and the bond between them finally finally snapped into place, their minds linked together firmly now allowing for Peter to feel Tony’s shock and concern like they were his own before the man bricked up the link and left Peter reeling and untethered. Having Iron Man, his soulmate, revel that he knew about Peter’s wall crawling extracurriculars just served to unsettle him more and what could Peter say – he was a people pleaser. There was no way he would say no to Mr. Stark’s offer to go to Germany

Talking May into it without reveling he had found his soulmate was a completely different ordeal.

Peter had thought (hoped) that Mr. Stark maybe just needed to get used to the idea. That they would get back from Germany and he’d open the link again and try to get to know Peter. But, if anything, he had clamped down further leaving what once was a bright and vibrant part of Peter’s mind dark and lonely, the once taunt cord connecting them limp and lifeless despite Peter’s attempts to reach out.

And, yeah, maybe some of the stuff with Liz’s dad and the alien weapons had been a big attention grab but who could blame him really? It was painful to be ignored by the one person who had always been completely present through everything. After Tony had taken the suit, after he had made it abundantly clear how he felt about being Peter’s soulmate, how he felt about being in his life at all, Peter bricked his side of the connection as well. It was probably one of the most painful things he had ever done and it left him feeling more alone and empty than ever before.

He was lucky he was able to convince May that all of his moping was just about losing his internship and not about losing his soulmate. She had spent the evening with him on the couch watching crap TV and eating ice cream and had promised that he would get over it, that Stark Industries wasn’t the end all be all, that he was better than that. Peter supposed it was a good thing Tony had rejected him, he had no idea how May would take their connection if he hadn’t.

At least he was able to stop Toomes. At least he was able to save the majority of Mr. Stark’s stuff even if he destroyed the plane.

The fire from the crash was slowly starting to burn out on the beach as emergency services arrived. From his vantage on top of the Cyclone, Peter could see Happy pulling up and making his way across the shifting sand to where Toomes was attached to a pile of crates with webbing before looking around like he was trying to find something.

“Finally,” Peter thought, letting his eyes slip closed and resting his head back against the rough wooden structure behind him in exhaustion. He’d hang out here until it wasn’t so crazy and then he’d need to walk home. He’d used the very last of the webbing in his damaged shooters to restrain Toomes so swinging was out of the question but, with as bad as his shoulder was hurting, he didn’t think he’d be able to accomplish it anyway. He felt fresh tears of frustration and pain well up before he pushed them down – it didn’t matter how bad he felt, he had to do this.

His link to Tony, deadened for the past few months, lit up briefly and Peter scrunched his face as he tightened up the block on his end. It took concentration to cut ties (it was unnatural and mostly unheard of) and he must have slipped some during the fight; he needed to do better so he didn’t make Tony any more disappointed in him. A lone tear beaded up at that thought and he pushed it down. It was fine – Peter didn’t need a soulmate anyway and who was he to think he deserved Tony Stark of all people.

“Kid?” A voice, quiet, traveled up and Peter peaked over the edge of his hiding spot, pushing down the rising feeling of vertigo that made him feel unsteady.

“Hey Happy,” he said. “Sorry about the mess.”

The man looked unusually ruffled and concerned from his place on the ground, head tipped back completely to look at Peter. “Are you okay? Can you come down here?”

“Don’t have my mask,” Peter muttered, clumsily making his way down and nearly falling the last few feet when his vision tilted. Happy, arms half raised and spotting him from the bottom, barely caught him when he dropped the last couple feet.

“Jesus,” Happy said, holding Peter at arms length and surveying him with a critical eye. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Peter said with an eye roll, batting the man’s hands away so he could stand on his own. “I need to get home.”

“Yeah no,” Happy grunted, pulling Peter’s uninjured right arm over his shoulder and dragging him toward the waiting town car. “You have a date with the compound MedBay, don’t want to miss it.”

“I’m fine,” Peter protested, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. “I just need to sleep it off.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Happy said firmly, pulling open the back door and shoving Peter in. “You got a concussion?”

“What?” Peter asked, confused and listing to the side as he blinked away the spots in his vision. “Uh… probably.”

“Stay awake then,” Happy said, shutting the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. “And buckle your seatbelt, we’ve got a long drive.”

“My aunt-,” Peter tried to say before Happy interrupted him.

“Tony will handle it. Just relax for now.” Peter let out a restrained sigh and let his head fall back to rest against the seat, eyes shutting in exhaustion. “What did I just say about falling asleep?” Happy grumbled from the front seat as he pulled the car away from the curb and sped out of the city.

Peter hummed, feeling more dizzy and out of it with the movement of the car. “Not sleeping,” he muttered, “resting my eyes.”

“Yeah well rest with them open,” Happy grumbled back and Peter huffed but let them open into slits, vision unfocused as he watched the streetlights blur together through the window. He must have dozed at some point because, the next thing he knew, Peter’s door was being opened and he nearly fell out of the car – held in only by his seatbelt.

“Yikes,” Tony said, poking his head in to look Peter over with a critical eye. “You weren’t kidding Hap.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, surprised and confused, blinking his eyes against the bright lights of the garage they were parked in as they momentarily blinded him. “What? Why are you here?”

The man rolled his eyes and reached over Peter to unbuckle his seatbelt, pulling him out of the car and supporting most of his weight as Peter’s legs wobbled under him. “It’s my compound,” he pointed out, dragging Peter over to the elevator. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Sorry about your plane,” Peter said, feeling worn down and upset – it felt like physical pain to be in such close contact with his soulmate without being able to feel him through the link. It felt wrong and confusing and his side of the link felt like a live wire.

“Don’t worry about it Spiderling,” Mr. Stark said, brushing him off brusquely, the elevator doors closing on their own and the elevator car starting up without Mr. Stark pressing any buttons. “I suppose I owe you an apology for not listening about Toomes anyway. And a thank you for saving all my shit.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, feeling uncomfortable. “It’s no problem.” Tony hummed but didn’t say anything as the doors trundled open to the bustling MedBay where a nurse was waiting for them with a wheelchair that Tony gently settled Peter into.

“I’ll call your aunt and smooth everything over,” Tony told him, getting back in the elevator. “You listen to Dr. Cho and get some rest.” And with that, the doors slipped closed again, leaving Peter alone and empty, his bond just as limp and lifeless as always but feeling more lonely and lost than ever.

————————————————

“Having some difficultly sleeping?” Dr. Cho asked when she checked in on Peter. He had arrived at the compound about six hours previously and was now resting semi-comfortably on one of the MedBay beds in borrowed sweats. He had been exhausted when he arrived, was still exhausted, but between the stinging pain from his still-healing injuries and the new, cold space he couldn’t seem to get any rest.

“Just not tired I guess,” Peter said listlessly, picking at a loose thread on the sheets and not making eye contact as she looked over his vitals and adjusted the IV drip. They didn’t really have drugs that affected him as much as they had hoped so it was all a guessing game right now. So far, nothing had been able to eliminate his pain completely. Dr. Cho gave him a look that showed she didn’t believe any of his bullshit but was kind enough not to call him on it.

Truth was, Peter was tired and all he wanted to do was sleep. He hadn’t really slept well since he had lost his ‘internship’, averaging maybe three or four hours a night if he was lucky and he felt like he was going a little crazy from the sleep deprivation. He couldn’t wait to be back in his own comfortable apartment with May. Dr. Cho didn’t try to further engage him in conversation, leaving and turning the lights down a little more as she closed the door.

Peter let his head flop over to stare out the window, his vision hazy and out of focus as he tried to turn off his brain. The outside of the compound was still lit up and, despite the late hour, full of activity. There must be some serious soundproofing and light dampening though since none of it reached into Peter’s room. He sighed in frustration, he wanted to sleep.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to get some rest,” Tony said from the door, surprising Peter and making him flinch.

“Sorry,” Peter said, dropping his gaze to rest only on his sheet-covered legs. Even though their bond was bricked, Peter being awake was probably keeping Tony up. He needed to do better. Mr. Stark wanted him to be better.

“What?” The man asked, stepping further into the room and clearly waffling for a second before dropping into the chair next to Peter’s bed. “There’s nothing to be sorry for kid.”

“The link’s probably keeping you up though right?” Peter asked, eye flicking over for just a second and then back to his knees.

Tony snorted softly. “Hardly. I’m not the best at sleeping which is why I’m awake. You, however, should be recovering and its hard to do that wide awake.”

“I’ll do better,” Peter promised, tone a little sardonic. “I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think its time we talked. I wanted to wait until you had recovered but I really don’t think it can wait that long. Let me just say that I’m not disappointed in you Underoos. I’m actually really proud.”

Peter whipped his head up. “Proud?” He asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Tony told him, leaning forward in his chair. “I made a mistake taking your suit and grounding you. When I told you I wanted you to be better than me its because you’re already the best of us kid, you don’t want to stoop to my level.”

“But the link…” Peter started, his throat feeling dry and his eyes wet.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, roving over Peter’s face intently before standing and kicking off his shoes. “Scoot over.” Peter, surprised and confused (these were becoming his perpetual states of being he thought) did as he was told and stiffened up a little when Tony climbed onto the bed next to him and pulled him into a half hug and throwing open his side of their link completely. Peter gasped at the influx of emotion spilling over, frowning at the deep self-loathing and unworthiness. “I didn’t block you out because I didn’t think you were good enough; quite the opposite in fact.”

“Oh,” Peter said, relaxing his grip on his side of the bond so it opened up and sinking into his soulmates side, feeling more content that he ever had. “That’s stupid. You’re my hero. You’ve always been my hero.”

Tony sniffed and pulled Peter in tighter so his head was resting on Tony’s chest, his stuttering heartbeat steady and comforting. “Get some rest buddy,” he told Peter, running dexterous fingers through Peter’s mattered curls and pulling his head more firmly into his chest. “I think that we’ll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

So this was what May meant, Peter thought, his lips tilting up into a smile as his eyes dipped closed and his muscles relaxed. He wasn’t even out yet and he could already tell that this would be the best sleep of his life.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump15 #Prompt: Sleep Deprivation #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

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THE STORM - Part seven

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Posting new chapters on Wednesday and Friday!

Operation Whistle-blower

As the first tendrils of sunlight curled through her bedroom’s blind shades, Sarah rolled over in her bed, still unable to fall asleep. Her mind was crowded with thoughts surrounding her evening encounter. What was she going to do? The lines always grew muddy in these situations, and she still didn’t know what to think of Black Noir. If anything, their interaction only added to her confusion.

She was so tired. But nevertheless, she pulled herself into a sitting position and waited for the pounding at her temples to subside. Once it finally did, she stretched and rose from the warm bed.

And so, her morning began. Looking in the mirror, she wondered what had changed. She’d been training for these moments, preparing to execute her plan. When had she gotten so tired? When had she lost her edge? Wherever it went, she needed to find it immediately.

Sarah’s morning routine was precise, meticulous even. First, she made a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up for the day. This was followed by a morning workout, consisting of either jump-rope hiit or strength exercises. She stretched and drank her lemon water. At that point, she always took a shower and decided her look for the day. Outfit, hairstyle, and makeup. Once she was prim and proper, she would head into the kitchen and make herself pancakes, which she considered to be the best start to any morning.

Once she’d cleaned up, she’d gather her things and head out.

On the other hand, Black Noir needed no more than three hours of sleep and often found himself awake throughout the night. He’d spend his time reading, prowling the city, or watching movies. He wasn’t quite sure how it’d started, but one movie every now and then turned into one or two movies a night.

When the sun begins to rise, he starts his routine of suiting up and eating breakfast. He would then enter the combat training room Vought had built for him and that only him and the company knew about. He clocked many hours in that room, constantly training and sharpening his skills. He’d freshen up before heading out for meetings or events.

Sometimes even missions. Now those were his favorites and he often found himself craving one just to be able to let go, to use his abilities. He was a master martial artist and interrogator. He was a spy supplied with strength, durability, and knife proficiency. When they assigned a target, it always ended up classified as ‘terminated’. He never missed, he never failed.

But that morning was like any other, and he had yet another string of meetings. And so, with great composure he completed his morning routine, slipped his mask on, and left his living quarters.

He found that the only thing he might look forward to as much as a mission, was meeting the woman who had captivated his attention that fateful night at the gala. She was different from what he’d originally imagined, still radiant but imperfect. Up close, watching her while she spoke, he had noted a sadness, a maturity in her eyes he wasn’t expecting. For the first time, he was personally invested in another human being, watching over her like a guardian. She was hiding something, and he’d get to the bottom of it soon enough.

The day went by in no rush, the hours slowly dragging along. The burning in her eyes and the heaviness of her limbs were nothing when compared to the pounding in her head.

Massaging her temples, Sarah tried to focus on the task at hand.

Someone hovered over her desk, “Long day?”

Sarah hummed before granting her friend some attention. She didn’t like the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Or should I say long night?”

“Hell no, don’t start up with that,” Sarah immediately rejected the image she had conjured up at Martha’s words.

Martha merely huffed in disappointment but respected her wish to keep quiet about it at the moment. You could never really know who is watching or listening.

“All right, all right,” the blonde swept at her bangs. “Are you sure you’re up for tonight?”

Sarah immediately nodded, “Of course, we need to go over a few things.”

Martha watched her closely, “You hide it well, but you really need to slow down.”

She knew her friend meant well and was probably worried over her fatigued state, but there was no time for rest. She could sleep, but it never truly replenished her. It only kept her going.

And who could blame her for it? People who slept well weren’t constantly looking over their shoulder, afraid of being identified and murdered in cold blood. They weren’t leading a plan to take down one of the biggest, most successful pharmaceutical companies in the world. They weren’t being watched by an enhanced, murderous ninja who could tear their head off. Most of all, they didn’t fear burning up and clearing a block in their sleep.

As a little girl, she’d always sleep curled up at the center of the bed, far from the edges. Under no circumstances would she allow a limb to fall over the side. Now, she always slept with an arm hanging out, her fingers inches away from the backpack holding all the necessities to disappear at a moment’s notice. New passport, keys to a safe house, change of clothes, snack bars, lighter, knife, flashlight…

Sarah stirred herself from her thoughts, “It’s fine, I’m just not sleeping that well.”

The other woman pursed her lips.

What Martha had been referring to was their weekly night out every Friday. They would either go for dinner at a restaurant or go clubbing if they had to discuss anything in secrecy. That night, they were heading to one of their favorite clubs for dancing and plotting. A club is the perfect place to talk about sensitive information if you find the right spot inside. The loud music masks your words, and most of the people are drinking, buzzed, or completely wasted. And seeing them out together raised no suspicion because it simply looked like friends going out and having fun. Additionally, they got to dance which was always a plus in the two women’s eyes.

Martha often complained that at twenty-seven they were rapidly approaching the deadline for going to clubs, dancing events and such. She was often very dramatic about it, claiming they had to enjoy it before they got labelled as cougars. Sarah always brushed it off with a laugh, not even attempting to reason with her friend’s logic.

And while she enjoyed going to clubs or bars, that night she truly was regretting it. She slipped into a small, refined black dress and hopped into her heels. She’d already done her eye makeup and moved in front of the mirror to apply a rich, dark red lipstick. Her hair was left down, cascading over her shoulders in tight kinks and curls, a cloud of dark brown locks. She pulled her bangs to the side and took in her appearance in the mirror.

Alluring and mysterious, perfect.

Her phone vibrated from an incoming call. “Hey, I’m two minutes away, start locking doors or whatever it is that always makes you late.”

Sarah laughed and started to, indeed, shut her windows and lock the backdoor. She finally made it to the porch where she stood waiting for her friend’s Honda.

Little did she know, a certain someone was hidden on her roof, listening to her move around on the porch beneath him. Black Noir could smell the enticing perfume she’d applied and could hear the characteristic click of heels on wood. He breathed in deeply and restrained himself from jumping down.

She was lightly humming to herself, and he found the tune oddly familiar, but he couldn’t recall when he’d last heard it.

A light grey car rolled around the corner and came to a stop in front of the house.

When Sarah stepped down from the porch and onto the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but hold his breathe. Frozen in his spot, he grew hot at the elegant form-hugging dress she wore, her hips swaying from side to side. Ringlets of dark hair reached down the curve of her back. Where was she going looking like that?

As the car sped away, Black Noir took a few moments to collect himself. She’d completely clouded his mind, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. One of the things that made him so efficient was his ability to focus, always. In any situation, he selected and categorized his surroundings with an ease unlike any other man or woman. He was controlled. No distractions, ever. His outlet was killing, but even then, it was methodical.

But now he felt an underlying tension grow, right under the skin where he couldn’t reach. She was stunning, and he was sure others would think so as well. He’d gouge their eyes out. If he caught anyone catcalling, he’d rip out their tongues. Yes, that’s appropriate.

He shook his head, almost in an attempt to concentrate. Mostly, he was angry with her. Who was she meeting? He sneered at the thought of another man entering the picture.

And so, fueled by possessiveness and an unfathomable jealousy, he followed from the rooftops with an ever-watchful eye.

Having already been there multiple times, Sarah and Martha were quick to settle into their usual spot. Taking in the masses of moving bodies around her, Sarah glanced at the people within hearing range. A good rule a thumb was that if she could he hear them speak, so could they hear her.

She moved closer to her friend as Martha started, “I think this is a good time to proceed with everything. I mean, we’re only missing the codes to the lab.”

Sarah snorted, “Yeah, as well as infiltrating the lab, taking the samples and data—like the whole rest of the plan.” She mused, “Oh and don’t forget, we have to live through it and get everything to Max.”

Martha rolled her eyes, “Okay, you’re right but still…,” she took a sip of her drink, “it’s time. There’s a lot of confusion and change at Vought, it could easily be someone else.”

Sarah thought about it. “The plan is pretty solid. It has its risks, but I don’t think there’s any potential plan that doesn’t have any.”

Martha approved, “Exactly. Plus, it fits in with the timeline so we’re good.”

“Yeah….” Sarah trailed off before finally deciding, “I’ll do it next week. I get the algorithm and you crack it.”

Martha high-fived her and downed her drink. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

“To Operation Whistle-blower.”

Sarah smiled, “To Operation Whistle-blower”

After such extensive planning, it felt good to finally act, to make Vought pay. She would just need to hold it together for a little longer, focus and get the job done.

Looking over at the blonde she searched her eyes for doubt or remorse. After all, this wasn’t her battle and she’d gotten wrapped into it almost accidentally. They had met at Mallory’s house as teenagers and had been inseparable ever since. And they made a good team, always looking out for each other in the dangerous world of lies, conspiracies and death they grew up in.

Martha snapped her fingers, “You still with us?”

Laughing at her friend’s impatience, Sarah nodded and focused on the drink in front of her.

“Have you told Mallory how we’re proceeding?”

Growing serious, the brunette shook her head, “I only call at our scheduled time on Sunday. I’ll hint at it then.”

Martha leaned back in her seat, “Yeah, it would be great if she could muddy the waters even more, feed false information here and there.”

“You know she’ll help where she can, but I don’t want her involved,” Sarah repeated for the hundredth time, “She already doesn’t want me doing this, and she’s suffered enough.”

Watching her friend retreat into her thoughts, Martha made the snap decision to get up and literally force her to be present.

“Let’s dance.”

Sarah sputtered, “Well okay.” She stared wide-eyed at her friend, “That was sudden.”

“Well you know all that crap about,” she paused for emphasis, “Ces la vie”

The young brunette stood up and laughed at her friend’s antics as she was swept into the crowd.

Losing themselves to the music, they joined the mass of moving bodies, shaking hips and hands raised. The pounding music had since reached into their chest, their bodies almost vibrating to the fast tempo of the music. It was exhilarating, until Sarah’s head felt like it split open.

Martha touched her neck.

“Oh my god, Sarah what happened,” she yelled over the music.

She dragged her over to a less crowded corner and checked her over for any sign of injury. The bleeding woman could feel her agitation grow and spread throughout her body. Had someone nicked her? She looked back into the crowd, wondering who was hiding in there, waiting to finish her off. The dim lights over the sea of moving bodies concealed everything, both action and sound.

Martha found the source of her bleeding, “Oh god Sarah, it’s your ear, it’s bleeding.” Looking up with knowing eyes she placed her hands on the brunette’s shoulders, steadying her. “Look at me, we’re fine. You need to calm down.”

Sarah’s eyes were traced by thin glowing veins, and her breaths were increasingly shallow. She could feel her heartbeat at the tips of her fingers, her whole body on edge.

When Sarah looked from side to side, Martha lightly shook her to catch her attention. “Hey,” she warned.

Slowly, the net of glowing light blue retreated.

“Are we cool?”

Sarah swallowed, “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

Martha tugged on her hand and led her to the exit. They both knew she needed to go home and fully slow down—come down from her high. The moment of danger had triggered a response that she thought had long went dormant.

“It’s been a long time since I last saw you like that.”

Sarah merely wrapped her arms around her waist. After the moment of scalding hot, she was now left cold, almost shivering.

“Has it happened since last time.”

Sarah stared ahead. “Not really.”

“What do you mean ‘not really’?

The brunette kicked at a small rock on the sidewalk. “When I sleep and I remember things, I feel it. But I wake up each time.”

“Jesus, no wonder you’re not sleeping.” Martha looked over at her pensive friend, “I’m staying over tonight. It can be a sleepover like the old days.”

Sarah smiled at the thought of their wild adventures. Their sleepovers were not what people commonly thought of. There was no braiding, nail polish or barbies. It was training, sparring, and eating abnormal amounts of ice-cream.

“You’re going to rest, and I’m going to make you some tea,” Martha decided.

“So a different kind of sleepover,” Sarah pointed out.

Martha looked over, worry in her eyes. “Yeah, a different kind of sleepover.”

When she stayed silent, the blonde made a light-hearted comment, “You know we need to branch out, get out of our comfort zones so that we can grow as human beings”

At Sarah’s laugh she proceeded, “Maybe we should try braiding your hair, too.”

The brunette raked a hand through the ends of her curly hair, “Please, you don’t have what it takes.”

Laughing, Martha agreed. From behind them, someone called out.

“Hey, girls, wait up.” A stocky man with hard eyes but a blinding smile came to stand way too close for comfort, and they both took a step back.

“Can I get your numbers?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can I get one of your numbers” he asked again, but slower.

They were both getting bad vibes. Sarah sized him up, still rattled from what happened in the club.

“Yeah, we understand English, we just don’t know what you’re trying to achieve here.”

Martha interjected with a disbelieving tone, “Are you trying to get both of our numbers?”

He smirked and ran a hand through his hair, probably thinking he was cute.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get. One or both.”

Martha smiled widely, “Yeah, no, that was the worst attempt to a get a girl’s number in the history of pick-up lines.”

Sarah agreed, “We’re leaving.”

She promptly spun around but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist and shook her. She looked back at him and down at his hold, feeling the energy bubbling right under the surface.

“Come on, I know you want it, no way you weren’t dancing for attention in there.”

And for an instant she got a glimpse into his mind, pictures clouding her thoughts. Her own mind was now spun up, running a thousand miles per hour as her body grew increasingly hot. Martha attempted to catch her attention.

“Come on, let’s go, we’re leaving now.”

But Sarah stood stock still, staring at the man as he grew more and more uncomfortable. Not as bold as before, he tried to back out. When she felt a looser tension on her wrist, she twisted and grabbed onto his, pulling him close.

Her temperature surpassed what would commonly be considered a fever, and she felt the characteristic burning warmth pervading her chest, like ribbons of fire and smoke swirling though her ribcage.

The man started to feel heat on his wrist, and, confused, he tugged. Sarah never moved. And Martha was terrified, not knowing how to knock her friend out of her trance-like state of focus on the disrespectful man in front of them. She had already been on edge, and him grabbing her like that must have sent her barreling over a metaphorical cliff.

Growing scared, he tugged even harder, to no avail. She saw Jason in his features. And suddenly, her skin was so hot, he was burning. She seared the shape of her fingers onto his wrist and ignored the smell of burning skin in the air.

“Oh god, Sarah that’s enough.”

She pressed harder, and he kneeled to the floor, trying to twist out of her grasp.

“Sarah, you’ll blow our cover,” she tried, and finally pleaded, “Marianna.”

That got to her, somewhere in her mind. It shook her and distracted her from the surge of energy building up inside.

Leaning down, she whispered. “You need to learn to respect women. We’re not weak playthings, you hear?”

He nodded insistently, and she finally let him fall back onto the sidewalk, clutching onto his wrist.

Martha watched her, “Now, are we cool?”

Sarah couldn’t quite meet her eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Martha was slightly fuming, but it was worry that truly consumed her.

“You better do some jumping jacks or flap your arms to cool down, because you will not burn my leather seats.”

Once they left, the silence in the car was suffocating.

Sarah finally pierced it, “I saw what he was thinking, Martha. Not like I could in the past—just a glimpse.”

She peered out of the window into the night.

“And it was horrible.”

Up on the rooftops, Black Noir had watched the interaction with growing frustration.

Ready to make his way down to kill the man, he stopped in his tracks. Was this the secret she’d been hiding? She too was enhanced.

She wasn’t on any of Vought’s lists or indexes, which confirmed the fact that she was using a fake identity. So, if she was hiding, presumably from the company that had made her into what she is, why was she working there? So many questions, and no answers.

And why had the other woman called her Marianna? Was that her true name?

His patience was growing thin, but he decided he wouldn’t advance on her until he had a better understanding of where she stood. He found himself proud of how she’d handled the man. Disappointed that she hadn’t killed him, but proud, nonetheless. If she had simply given over her number, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. Violent thoughts danced behind his eyes but he wasn't sure he'd be able to carry them out, not on her.

He leapt down from where he was perched and followed the man without a sound.

And in the dark of night, one can only imagine what happened when he finally reached him.

-Giulia

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator

#the boys #the boys amazon #the boys tv #the boys season 2 #black noir #black noir x oc #the boys black noir #the seven #supes #Vought #fanfiction #fanfic #oc story

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devnicolee · 4 years

Text

Anniversary Blues

A/N: just some slight angst then fluff... idk, this is random but I decided my weekend needed some of our favorite Mountain King. Enjoy!

M’Baku x Reader

"Leave us!" you called out, authority reverberating throughout the throne room as you marched down the center aisle to your husband's throne. Like a hunter eyeing its prey, you only had eyes for the man sitting tall and proud at the front of the room as weeks of building frustration propelled you forward. You were so distracted that you did not really pay the rows of soldiers much attention. You tried to be understanding for over a month now. But this was the final straw. You finally had enough.

The chatter in the room ceased almost immediately as the men and women around you looked from you to her husband, waiting for the leader of the Jabari to speak. He simply looked at you with confusion. If you hadn't known him as intimately as you did, the flicker of annoyance and frustration that passed behind his brown eyes would have gone unnoticed. But you noticed and like gasoline to a fire, your anger exploded.

Once you reached the front of the throne room, you sighed deeply at the sustained presence of others in the room. You turned to find the group gathering their things at a painstakingly slow pace, not with the haste you required and demanded.

"Are you all suddenly hard of hearing? I said: Leave. Us. Now. Do not make me repeat myself again."

As the Queen of Jabariland, you were known for your gentleness, your compassion, and empathy. The calm to M'Baku's fire. In your two years of marriage, most had never even heard you raise your voice. This was uncharted territory and no one needed to hear or see anything else. They quickly scampered, scurrying from the room as if they were trying to escape a literal fire. You waited for the heavy wooden doors to slam shut behind the last person before you turned back to your husband.

"What is the meaning of this Y/N? I was in the middle of a meeting."

"I know. A meeting that was more important than our anniversary?"

M’Baku’s heart fell into his stomach. That was today. His eyes studied your body, taking note of the black skin-tight dress (his favorite) covering your shape, the makeup on your face and the small gift-wrapped box in your hand. He hung his head, guilt rushing through him, as he remembered the private chef and dinner you planned in the city to celebrate two years of marriage. Though he would never admit it to you, your anniversary had not even been on his radar before you reminded him of this dinner. And it didn't stay on it long because he quickly forgot to add it to his calendar.

"Y/N… I am sorry. Today has been hec-"

You raised your hand to silence him. His excuses had long grown tiresome, you were not interested in them anymore. "Is everyday not hectic for a chief? That does not excuse broken promises, M'Baku. You are a man of your word, are you not? That is certainly one of the reasons I married you... because you are trustworthy and reliable. So, you are going to need to do a whole hell of a lot better than that." You were not angry that your husband was busy, there was no leader on Earth that was not burdened with too much. And since rejoining Wakanda, your already overflowing workloads had only grown larger. But this was not an ordinary evening, he was not just missing dinner in your private quarters or movie night. It was your anniversary, your night to celebrate your love and commitment to one another, your night to make each other a priority.

"I am sorry, Y/N. I will make it up to you, I promise."

"'You'll make it up to me?' How? When? It is not like you are ever home," you retorted. Your eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as you tried to stop tears of anger from falling before you took a deep breath and continued. "We barely see each other. I fall asleep alone almost every night. I wake up alone every morning. I eat alone, I am basically alone in this marriage. When will you carve out time in your busy schedule to make it up to me? I mean... I just asked you for one night." Your voice trailed off as your anger dissipated and hurt seeped in.

"I am trying to run an entire tribe, Y/N!" M'Baku said defensively, frustration taking over as his pride could not tolerate an attack from his own wife. " I can't always be with you! And it is unfair for you to be angry at me every time I have to prioritize our people."

You almost considered just turning on your heels and walking out the door as you listened to him. You knew exactly what moment you were approaching in this argument, his voice steadily rising to the point where he simply shuts down and refuses to listen or see reason any longer. You let out a deep sigh, trying to calm yourself before attempting to explain your position again.

"I am not asking for always M’Baku! I mean Hanuman! At this point, I am not even asking for sometimes. Merely occasionally. It is not about one dinner. It is about you being emotionally and physically unavailable for over a month. I understand you are running a tribe but lately, it seems like you do not have time for me at all."

For the most part, you had enjoyed a union of marital bliss for the last two years. No real issues, no real arguments. Your marriage and the foundation of your marriage were seemingly solid and unshakable. But something shifted in the last month. Your husband stopped being your husband and he became your coworker. Your marriage stopped being a marriage. It was as if someone extinguished a fire and robbed you of all the intimacy you required to survive. If it did not pertain to a council meeting or tribal business, M'Baku carved out no time to talk to you, much less spend time with you. You had not gotten married to be lonelier than you were before.

You could justify the late nights, missed dates, lack of intimacy to a point... He gave you many excuses but you made them for him as well. You tried your best to bury your frustration and disappointment, pretending like rarely seeing your spouse did not bother you. Because you did understand he served a higher purpose, his responsibility to your people was too important. But, last week, everything changed for you. You started viewing his absence differently, examining whether he actually had time for you or the little ones he desperately wanted. How could you be a successful couple... successful parents if you existed as co-workers and not as husband and wife?

"I cannot ignore my responsibilities to be with you every second Y/N! You knew that when we got married." The bark and anger of a scorned chief now fully coloring his words.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I am simply asking you to remember you have a wife, other obligations outside of these four walls," she argued, gesturing around his throne room. "When was the last time you asked me how I was doing or asked me something unrelated to being chieftess?" you listed. "You claim to want a family but how? When you barely have time for me?"

"That is enough!" He yelled, his fist banging loudly on the arm of his throne as his hubris and exhaustion made him unwilling to continue listening to his wife's very valid criticisms of his behavior. "I said I was sorry Y/N! I will not apologize again. The Jabari are my obligation first and foremost. We can discuss this later in the Golden City when you have calmed down and can see reason."

You scoffed, knowing there would be no later. Tomorrow morning, you were both supposed to head down the mountains for meetings and King T'Challa's birthday party. You saw the jam-packed agenda the Queen planned for the week; there would be little time to breath, let alone have private conversations.

"No! Go by yourself!" Your mind conjuring up the only consequence you could think of.

He immediately shook his head, almost scoffing at your assertion. "Absolutely not. First, your presence is required as chieftess. And second, I am not leaving you here alone for a week."

"It would not be any different than the last month. I will not go down the mountains to smile and put on the show of the happy chieftess when I am everything but happy. You want to be alone? Fine. Enjoy doing your job alone." You turned on your heels to leave him, ignoring the rage painted on his face. However, before you took a step, you whipped back around.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Happy anniversary Lord M’Baku," you stated stiffly, voice void of the love and adoration it usually held for him. You tossed the box at him before you walked out, leaving him alone.

***

You sighed as the masseuse kneaded your tense shoulders and pounded into your back. You preferred M’Baku’s massages… his gentle touches melting away all the tension you housed in your muscles. Usually those massages turned into less medicinal activities, which made you crave them even more. You missed that, especially now, after being deprived of his soft, sensual touches for a month now. But this was a fine alternative for when your stress levels ran too high. The tranquility and meditation was short lived when the shrill sound of your beads, a recent gift from the Wakandan Princess, rang out loudly. You lifted your head to see who was calling before slumping back down angrily.

I should have known who it was.

Three days had passed since your argument in the throne room, three days since you had spoken to your husband. You ignored his 50 calls a day, they were nonstop and incessant. You knew it was not rational to be this angry over one missed dinner but you stood firm in your position. You refused to speak to him unless he was calling to apologize and promise to change his behavior. Any other conversation was useless

The ringing continued, leaving you frustrated. It was over. Whatever relaxation you hoped to get from this would not be achieved with him bothering you. You politely asked the masseuse to finish up. When she was done, you covered yourself in a thick navy blue robe before calling out to Amari, who stood on the other side of the door.

"I think I would like to go to the market to do some shopping. Can you prepare the carriage?" you asked when he poked his head into your bedroom door.

"Are you sure, my lady? There is supposed to be a storm tonight. Lord M'Baku told us to ensure you were safe while you were alone."

You cut your eyes, "My husband does not dictate my movements around my kingdom. This is as much my dominion as his. We will make it back well before the storm. So please, prepare the carriage," you responded coolly.

"Yes, ma’am," he answered, retreating to make preparations.

Less than 20 minutes later, you were off on the winding roads down the mountain for much needed retail therapy. You knew you would find no real comfort or answers in the racks of clothes but it was the only thing to keep your mind off your very real problems at home. But you figured it was a necessary trip either way, you would need new clothes in a few months anyway.

***

"Lord M’Baku, I was sad to hear Lady Y/N was not able to attend," Nakia offered as she and M'Baku shared an embrace at the entrance of the banquet hall.

"W-well yes, she was sad that she could not attend either. However, she was under the weather and we both felt travel was not in her best interest," he lied, fidgeting with the cuff links on his suit. He was not a fan of lying but admitting to his King that he upset his wife so much that she refused to come did not seem like a better option.

"Understood. We are happy one of you was able to make it and perhaps we can all get together soon for dinner. The next time you both can make it down the mountains?" T’Challa offered, as he took Nakia's hand again. M'Baku caught the subtle motion with the corner of his eye and a tinge of sadness blossomed inside as he tried to make it through the night without his partner in crime.

"Y-Yes, that is a great idea. Happy Birthday again, King T'Challa. Will you excuse me?" He saluted his king and queen before finding his seat. He was not in the entertaining mood, nor had he been in the socializing mood any moment since his arrival. He had not really realized how much he relayed on you to survive these hellish events until you weren't there. You made every meeting and event more tolerable, you knew exactly what to say or do, how to charm the right people. His fingers picked at his beads as he contemplated stepping out onto the balcony and calling you. He knew you would likely not answer, like the other 100 times that day. But he needed the silent treatment to end. He missed his wife.

It only took the length of the ride down the mountains for him to see the error of his ways. Your words echoed in his head every night and free moment since the blow up in the throne room. He wasn't listening then, but he heard the words loud and clear now. He had been absent and unavailable. He could see the path littered with broken promises and miscommunication that led you both to this exact moment. It was entirely his fault. He could always count on you, you never missed a beat, never failed to be present for him. And he was unable to be that for you. He spent most of last night brainstorming ways to make it up to you immediately and ideas to balance his schedule to make more time for you in the future.

His desperation to go back home showed through the Jabari King's sulkiness the entire evening, only engaging in conversations directed at him with short responses. His internal debate on whether to call you raged on as he listened to the leader of the mining tribe drone on and on about something uninspiring. He feigned interest in her story until his head guard raced up to him.

"We need to return to the mountains. There has been an accident!" He kept his voice low, as to not attract too much attention, but he failed to limit the frenzy, urgency and fear coloring his words.

Confusion clouded his eyes as he looked up at Dakarai, trying to understand what accident could warrant interrupting an official ball. No one paid the two Jabari any mind as they mingled and danced among themselves. "What kind of accident? Surely the warriors and Lady Y/N can handle it?"

"No! Lady Y/N was in an accident," he stressed. "In her carriage, it hit ice coming up the mountain. She is hurt, the healers are tending to her."

Dakarai was unable to conclude his thought; M'Baku was out of his seat and racing toward T'Challa the nanosecond he heard your name. He resisted the carnal instinct to strangle his guard for wasting precious time and not leading with the critical information first. He caught T'Challa's attention with ease, the King abandoning his conversation immediately at the site of M'Baku's face. M'Baku didn't take a breath as he explained the situation and excused himself from the remainder of the week.

"Take the Royal Talon. Ayo can have you there in under 20 minutes. Ayo," he motioned for the Dora soldier who arrived at his side in seconds. "We are praying for her. Update us when you can."

M'Baku nodded and shared a salute before he marched quickly behind Ayo. They were loaded in the Talon and zooming toward the snow-capped mountains of Jabariland within five minutes. He paced up and down the small ship, praying silently for her health as it zoomed toward home.

***

M'Baku ignored any and everyone he passed as he ran through the Lodge to your private quarters. He threw the heavy double doors of his bedroom to find you in bed, chatting with his private healer. The healer was replacing a bandage on your head gently when M'Baku approached him. You were listening to the healer tell a story about his daughter while patiently staring around the room. You wanted this examination to end so badly, you were exhausted and just wanted to rest.

However, your face lit up when M’Baku walked into the room. You felt bad, the clear anxiety etched in his eyes. You both connected eyes and you offered him a small smile, mainly to reassure him that you were indeed ok. You were in pain, sure, but given the state of the carriage when the guard helped you out, you were just thankful everyone walked away.

“Lord M’Baku, I am glad you were able to get here so quickly. Lady Y/N is going to be fine. No need to worry,” the doctor prefaced quickly, getting the important information out of the way. “The head wound was pretty bad, which caused a bit of panic. But otherwise, all the injuries will heal with time. And the baby is doing just fine as well, Glory to Hanuman. A strong heartbeat.” He turned to address you, “You are certainly lucky, Lady Y/N. The damage could have been significantly worse.”

M’Baku let out a deep sigh of relief, he was so elated to hear that you were indeed alright that he almost missed his last statement. “T-thank you. Th- wait. The baby?” He turned from the doctor to you, waiting for confirmation. If you weren’t so tired, you would have hit yourself in the face for forgetting to tell him not to mention the baby.

“Surprise?” you offered quietly, with a tentative smile on your face.

The healer’s eyes widened and he bowed his head, “A-ah… M-My apologies, Chief M’Baku. Lady Y/N found out last week. I assumed you knew.”

M’Baku smiled politely, mainly to assuage the man’s obvious guilt at spilling his wife’s secret. Of course now, your anger the other night made so much more sense. He, not only missed your anniversary, he ruined what would have been a life-changing surprise. “No need to apologize. S-she had not gotten the chance to tell me. B-but thank you. Could we have some alone time please?”

He bowed to both of you before quickly exiting, leaving the two of you alone.

“You are supposed to be in the Golden City,” you smiled softly, as you pushed yourself up into a seated position.

“Well, the well-being of my queen is my top priority, my only priority. When you are in trouble, I come running.” He walked up to you and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

You grimaced silently but held on to him as tightly as you could with one arm in a sling. While you would have loved different circumstances, you hadn’t been in his arms in so long. Your body filled with warmth like he was hot chocolate on a cold day. He shifted and pulled you so you were curled up in his lap, your face buried in the nape of his neck. You stayed like that for a few minutes before he leaned back to look at you. His finger lifted your chin as he examined the bruise growing darker on your cheekbone.

“None of it is that bad,” you promised. “It is my own fault. Amari warned me not to stay out too late, that a storm was heading through. I lost track of time because… I-I didn’t want to come back here and be alone. I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers played in his beard as you spoke. You had every intention of making him sweat originally but now that he was here? You just wanted to be close to him. “I thought we would make it back in time. Thankfully no one was seriously injured. I am sorry, it was reckless of me.”

M’Baku shook his head, “Don’t apologize to me my love, this is all my fault. You were right, I have not been the present or attentive husband you need. I get so wrapped up in the tribe and obsessing over every little detail, I lose sight of the bigger picture. I couldn’t last 2 days without you. I am in love with you and I know I can’t do this job… this life without you. You were right, my head hasn’t been here with you and certainly not enough to start our family. I am just sorry it took so long for me to see that. Can you forgive me?”

Part of you was hesitant to forgive him so quickly. After all, actions did speak louder than words and recognizing your faults did not mean his behavior was going to change. You picked at your nail beds as you responded, “I will always forgive you, my King. I-I j-j-just need to know you are there, you know? I thought about it and I shouldn’t have waited until it built up to say something. If we are upset or disappointed, we are supposed to speak up… talk. And I didn’t do that. I am sorry too.”

Silence fell over you both for a few moments before you spoke up, “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out by the way. I had this cute onesie and everything. That was the gift I threw at you.”

M’Baku’s loud laugh rang out through the bedroom, “I don’t care how I found out. You have made me the happiest man in the world, Y/N. I swear on my life, that you and our child are my first priority, now and always.”

“I will hold you to that,” you giggled as he peppered your face with soft kisses. He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom. He sat you down and filled the oversized bathtub with your favorite bubble bath and hot water.

“How about this? After the bath, we can pick a movie to watch tonight and a few more for tomorrow?”

You paused as you tried, pathetically, to strip off your clothes with only one arm. He turned and chuckled before helping you. “What do you mean tomorrow? You still have meetings in the Golden City?”

“No I do not. T’Challa will understand. I am all yours. I told you, you are my priority.”

“I like the sound of that.” M’Baku helped you into the tub and slid in behind you. You laid against his hard chest, your eyes lulling closed as his finger traced patterns into your stomach. His lips placed soft kisses on your neck.

“I love you… more than anything,” he said quietly.

“I love you more.”

Tags: @muse-of-mbaku @jellybean531 @destinio1 @skysynclair19 @ashanti-notthesinger @gloriousgam3r @archivistofwakanda @leahnicole1219 @mygirlrenee @dramaqueeenamby

#black panther #Black Writers #black panther fanfiction #black panther imagines #m'baku x reader #m'baku imagine #m'baku x oc

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