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unabashedly-so · 7 months

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🌊 sailor!Elliott AU: Introduction ⛈️

Sailor!Elliott AU, inspired by Letters from the Atlantic by The Arcadian Wild...

content warning: storm exposure, near drowning, hospitalization, near death experience, depressive themes, emotional numbing

(also don't let the initial formatting fool you--this is not fanfiction. This is just a HC in a narrative format instead of the usual bullet points because I have a lot of Thoughts(TM).)

I’m being followed by the rain clouds My clothes are soaking up the pain that keeps pouring down Too much more and I may drown I’m being followed by the night sky It stole away my sight, it seems I have lost my way I need someone to be my guide...

-- "Rain Clouds" by The Arcadian Wild

You board the train for Stardew Valley, weary but eager to begin a new life on the old farm in Pelican town. The locals are friendly and lively, and when you make your way to the beach, you find an empty cabin in the sand...

When you meet Willy and ask about it, he shrugs. "It's where I stayed while Robin and I was buildin' my shop home on the pier. Now I s'pose it could be used as a shed or something..."

Your first season on the farm passes with lots of tears, sweat, and some blood, if you're the mining type. Summer only increases the sweat.

The locals forewarn of the Clockwork Storms--storm cells that always generate on Summer 13 and 26, every year, unfailingly. They warn they're usually the worst of the year and recommend you prepare accordingly and just bunker down with the rest of them.

Sure enough, Summer 13's Clockwork Storm hits with flashes bright as the sun and bangs that make the ground tremble.

Emerging on the 14th, you count yourself lucky that you only lost a few crops to the storm. On your way to Pierre's to recoup your losses, you hear some commotion from the beach. Curiosity and concern draw you to the source, and you hurry to the pier to find Willy hauling something out of his boat. A big something.

The closer you get, the thing starts to take the form of--

"He's still breathin', I think!" Willy grunts. "Come quick, help me get'm up on the deck."

You and Willy manage to get the man off the boat and onto the deck of the pier. The man's long, reddish-auburn hair is tied back in a frayed braid, and he's bare chested, his shoulders and back hot and beginning to blister from exposure. His olive green pants, once rolled at the bottom, are now ragged and torn. Willy was right--he is breathing, but it's shallow. He's gaunt and scalding hot to the touch, but alive, despite it all.

As you're assessing him, his eyes flutter open. He's dazed. It seems to take a great effort to even move his eyes. You're unsure if he's even conscious. Then his eyes land on you. There's a brief but vibrant spark, and you can't help but notice his eyes are the same verdant green that reminds you of your new home on the farm. His lips part as if to speak, but nothing comes out. His eyes flutter shut

You have the good sense to know that if this man's going to survive, he needs to be brought to the clinic--there's nothing to be done for him here. You and Willy manage to get him to the clinic where he's promptly tended to and given emergency, likely life-saving measures. After a tenuous hour or so, Harvey emerges and said that he believes the man has stabilized, but he's horribly sun poisoned and dehydrated, and that's just what he can tell on the surface. Harvey says he's working with limited resources, but he'll do everything he can to give the guy the best chance at pulling through. He encourages you to come by tomorrow and check in.

The clinic is closed for the rest of the day.

- - -

If you choose to return on the 15th, Harvey approves, and gives you the update that the man remained stable overnight, but he's still very weak and will likely wake up in a lot of pain. But he will likely wake up, Harvey reiterates with relief

- - -

If you choose to return on the 16th, Harvey approves, and says that the man seems to be recovering. He says there's brief flashes of consciousness and he seems to attend to questions, but he's still too dazed to speak. Harvey encourages you to come by again tomorrow. He anticipates he'll be well enough to interact with for brief periods of time.

- - -

If you return on the 17th, you'll walk in on Harvey assessing the man, who is now fully conscious. As predicted, he appears to be in a fair amount of pain, but Harvey is confident that it's just residual soreness and sunburns. Harvey introduces you as one of the people who helped save him.

The man takes you in with a weary gaze, one that soon softens and warms. He sounds breathless as he says, "Thank you."

The man quickly clears his throat, trying again. His voice is still weak and raspy, as he says, "Thank you... I owe you... my life." He swallows, a challenging thing. "Elliott," he manages, shakily holding his hand out.

You give your name, and reach to shake his hand. Instead, he gently draws your hand to him and kisses your knuckles with his sun-chapped lips.

Elliott winces as he lays back, visibly drained. Harvey encourages Elliott to go back to resting, and for you to return to your day. As you're leaving, you hear a weak, hoarse voice trying desperately to be heard.

"Come back..."

You turn around. Elliott has his eyes closed and is lying still. He takes another breath, then looks to you through a half-lidded gaze.

"...tomorrow?" Elliott finishes.

You nod.

- - -

If you come back on the 18th, Harvey and Elliott approve. Elliott is sitting up on the bed reading when you come in.

He looks up and greets you by name. It looks like he's been given the chance to wash up--he looks brighter, and his auburn reddish hair shines, tied back loosely at his shoulders and pulled to the side with less bandages on it. He's shirtless, skin almost as red as his hair, and you can see all the bandages across his shoulders and back.

What happened to your shirt?

(no change in approval) Elliott blinks. "It was too painful to keep taking it off and putting it back on again for bandage changes. I hope it doesn't bother you."

How are you feeling today?

(approval gain) Elliott gives a polite smile. "Moving hurts, breathing hurts… but I can do both, and for that I am thankful."

What are you reading?

(approval gain) Elliott lights up, flashing the cover. "Kind doctor Harvey was generous enough to lend me a tome from his collection. It's a collection of short stories he had left over from his undergraduate studies. Turns out we went to university around the same time, so it's been a wonderful trip down memory lane. And a relief that it wasn't one of his medical textbooks!"

ALL PATHS CONVERGE: "So… I'm guessing you're probably curious as to how I got here? Besides, of course, the part where you pulled me from death's doorstep."

From the other room, Harvey interjects, monotone, "You weren't on death's doorstep."

"Alright, then you pulled me from the speeding taxi to Death's neighborhood?" he lifts the end of the sentence, looking towards the sound of Harvey's voice for approval.

Harvey's voice comes after a pause, "Wordy, but accurate."

"We'll workshop it," Elliott calls back, then turns his attention back to you. "So, yes, I'm afraid it's not much of a story--unlucky wayfaring sailor caught in a bad storm… The Clockwork Storms, I'm told a bit too late. I've held my own against a few storms in my day, but this was… I didn't give my love the respect she deserves, and as they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. A mistake I won't make twice!"

(A perceptive farmer notices a certain flippancy about his story that seems out of place for a man who otherwise appears passionate and verbose.)

He goes on, "Oh, [name], I've been meaning to ask--did you happen to find any of my possessions or a rucksack on me when you revived me?"

You shake your head, indicating it was Willy who got to him first.

"So Willy was the one who pulled me from the sea, and you helped him get me from shore to here? Oh dear, I really was succumbed. Ah well. I'll check with him tomorrow after I get discharged. It'd be nice to have my own clothes back, among other things.

"Thanks for stopping by. It means a lot. I've been many places, and so few as full of kindness as here. I do hope to get to see you again tomorrow."

- - -

Elliott gets discharged from the hospital on the 19th. If you enter Pelican Town before 5pm, you'll encounter Elliott leaving the clinic. He looked well-kept, freshly shaven, and his clothes have been laundered. He wears his same olive green pants and a plain white shirt. He'll flag you down and ask you to help him find his way around.

Sorry, I'm too busy right now.

(no change in approval) Elliott visibly deflates, but forces a smile. "Ah, well. I... suppose I've seen myself through larger ports than this. No matter, I'll find my own way..."

(the cutscene ends with Elliott meandering towards the east side of town, murmuring about finding Willy.)

I'd be happy to!

(Elliott approves) Elliott beams. "Splendid. I knew I could rely on your kindness to see me through."

A short montage style cutscene follows where the farmer appears with Elliott in front of the different areas in Pelican Town. He's shown having a few introductions to the people around town, having a little heart bubble over his head at the library, having a very lively conversation with Robin [about building boats], and going to Pierre's to stock up on a few things. Finally, the farmer walks Elliott over the bridge to the beach.

Elliott takes in a big breath of the sea air and releases it contentedly. "Back again... lovely place, when one's conscious enough to enjoy it."

You take him over to the docks near Willy's shop, and Willy enters the scene from the ocean on his fishing boat. Willy greets you and Elliott. He addresses Elliott, "I remember you sayin' you'd had some belongings so I went back to about where I'd found ya, accountin' fer a few days drift and whatnot, and poked around a bit..."

Willy steps out of his boat and onto the docks, handing him a plank of wood with splintered edges. It has the name of his boat painted on it, but you can't make it out before he puts it under his arm as Willy then hands him a battered and torn rucksack. "Found these. Thought you might like that back. The rucksack I saw was caught on a splintered piece of, well, what's now driftwood, unfortunately."

"I can't begin to thank you enough." Elliott begins to dig through the rucksack. "Once I can get the saltwater out of my town clothes, I'll feel so much more... Hmm." He frowns. "Where's...? I know I put it in here..."

Elliott continues to search. He kneels on the dock and takes out every article of clothing, a few pens, hair ties, soaked rations, and some spare g contained in the rucksack until it is flat and empty. His demeanor begins to falter. "Uh, Willy? A book. Was there a book? Brown leather, bound across the cover with a string, papers, envelopes, writing inside? Did you find anything like that?"

Willy can tell Elliott's becoming distressed. "I... I'm 'fraid not, nothing that I seen like that. I'm sorry."

Elliott stares at the contents of the rucksack. There's an immense heaviness to his features. He kneels there in silence, hardly moving, for a several moments. Finally, he says, "I... see." His voice is low, with no affect. He slowly, numbly, puts the items back in the torn rucksack. Once they're back in, he stands, a bit unsteady. He doesn't look at you or Willy, but you can see the rims of his eyes are red.

"Sincerely, thank you, both of you... I am just... That book was... important. I... need some time alone... please, excuse me."

Elliott walks off screen and the cutscene ends.

Elliott's sprite will remain sitting on the beach, unresponsive, for the remainder of the day. When it becomes dark, he'll move to one of the towels on the beach and lay down, still unresponsive. The game is set not to rain or storm on Summer 19 or 20th.

- - -

If you return to the beach on the 20th, Elliott will still be back to sitting by the water, unresponsive. Willy will approach you, saying he talked to Robin about getting a bed for the old cabin, and that he's gonna let Elliott stay there. He says he picked the best time to stay on the beach, but it won't be that way for long. Willy asks for your help to talk to Elliott. You nod.

You and Willy approach Elliott.

Alright, that's enough moping.

(no approval change) Elliott remains unresponsive.

Hey, there's a cabin you can stay in.

(no approval change) Elliott doesn't look up, distantly shrugs.

Elliott? It's [name] and Willy. We're concerned for you.

(no approval change) Elliott meets your gaze. His eyes are dull and red rimmed. His voice is raspy as he says, "Sorry?"

ALL PATHS CONVERGE: Willy clears his throat. "Ain't right to let somebody stay out in the elements without at least offerin' refuge." Willy motions to the cabin. "Robin'll be by with a bed soon. It ain't much, but you're welcome to use it for s'long as you need."

Elliott's mouth hangs slightly open as he looks between the two of you. He swallows, starts to speak but his voice is cracked. He clears his throat and starts again. "Truly? ...Your kindness knows no bounds."

Willy offers him a hand to help him get up and Elliott takes it, slow to rise. You and Willy walk Elliott over to the cabin and Willy opens the door, letting you all in. It's musty inside, but the sunlight coming through the window gives it a warm, cozy glow.

Willy excuses himself: "Lemme go see about that bed. I reckon she may have other furniture to spare too."

Elliott is quiet for a few moments when you are both alone.

Put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

(Elliott approves) Elliott almost flinches, then like melting ice relaxes into your touch. After a moment, he looks to you and says, "Thank you, [name]. I'm... at a loss for words."

I'll go see about helping, too.

(no approval change) As you turn to leave, Elliott stops you.

ALL PATHS CONVERGE: "I apologize for my... persistent moroseness. Give me a few days, and I'll come around. I'd be happy to speak more with you then."

Elliott is inaccessible for the next 3 days and does not attend any festivals during that time.

- - -

On Summer 23, he begins his normal routine.

He'll greet the farmer the first time they interact with a tired but optimistic smile. "Good to see you again, [name]. Thank you for your understanding earlier. Things still hurt, my heart chief among them, but if grief is love with nowhere to go, it's time to turn my sails to the wind and chart a new course. First things first, I need a new boat... time to get to work!"

If you talk to him again, he'll add, "I'll be keeping myself busy rebuilding, but don't let that turn you into a stranger. Stop by any time. Some company every now and then would be nice."

(end notes: I chose not to give any reactions to when he kisses the farmer's hand in the clinic because we all know what we're here for and it's not to be mean.)

sailor!Elliott AU inventory:

Introduction | General Overworld HCs | Heart Events 1-10 | Proposal and Marriage

#stardew Valley #sdv #sdv community #sdv elliott #stardew elliott #sdv elliott x reader #elliott stardew valley #sailor!elliott au #the arcadian wild #good LORDT i thought this was just gonna be a fart in the wind #NOPE OK GUESS I'M WRITING A FUCKING COMPENDIUM #...........i mean i AM writing THAT too...... later #anyway i hope y'all enjoy because this has really been a point of joy during a very stressful time for me 💖#unabashedly posting

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that-basic-simp · 7 months

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To My Love

JQ X Fem!Reader CW: Suggestive towards the end WC: 1.2k+ A/N: Hope y'all like fluff. And excuse my terrible song writing skills.

"How do people write this? It sounds so cheesy and cliche," I looked down at her mother, who was chuckling.

"That's how things were back then. People would swoon one another with love letters and romantic acts. Date nights with roses and chocolate at the end. And to sweeten the deal, a nice night alone together."

I let out a sigh, running my hand through my mohawk, "I-I just don't want to fuck it up."

"Odessa, how long have you and Y/N been together?"

"About five years now."

"And have ya fucked up?"

"Multiple times. More than I can count," I mumbled.

"And does Y/N still love you?"

"Yes."

"Look at your hand, Odessa."

Lifting my left hand up, there sat a silver band on my ring finger.

"You two came together because you had one common thing: your love for one another. Listen, Odessa, Y/N absolutely adores ya and you know that more than anyone. And you adore 'er. Whatever ya do for her to celebrate your love, she'll love it and she'll love you. No matter what."

I smiled, nodding my head, "Thank you, Mrs. L/N."

Walking out of her old house, the house I held a lot of memories whenever we were getting to know one another. I lingered for a bit, especially by her room. I stood at the door frame, peering in to find the lone mattress on the ground. A smile ran across my face, remembering the night of the sand storm where we held one another close. Where I knew I had feelings for her. Even if she was the first one to confess, I had fallen for her that moment right there. When we were making our weapons together. I knew she was the one.

"Everything alright, Odessa?" her mother asked.

"Everything is," I said and walked out of the house, thanking her once more.

Heading back to Junkertown, I entered through the gate and walked back towards a shed only I knew about. It was well hidden and I made sure no one followed me. Reaching it, I stepped inside and closed the door, locking it. It was small, but big enough to hold me and a few things that were necessary. Kneeling onto the ground, I pulled something out from underneath the desk. It was old and dusty, which I had to rub the dust off before grabbing it. Standing up, I placed it on the desk and ran my hand along it, letting out a sigh.

"Dad," I whispered to myself. "Please help me on this one. I-It's been a while since I was able to do this. But it is necessary to ask for your help, as you were the one to teach me."

Moving my hands to where the clasps were, I flicked them open and opened up the top of the case, revealing an old acoustic guitar. I've always played electric of bass guitars, but not acoustic. The last time I played it was the night before he and my siblings died. I had never touched it after all this time, but I felt the need to open it up. The pads of my fingers lightly ran over the strings, a dull sound coming from them. Closing my eyes, a single tear slid down my face as I closed the case, locking it tightly.

Grabbing the handle, I removed it from the desk and walked out of the shed, heading back towards the office building where I would spend most of my time making sure it was up to par from when I last played it. I had to restring and tune it, but actually having it in my hands made them tremble. The memories came back and hit me like a train, making me want to put it away. But, I had to. I had to do this. Not only for myself, but for Y/N.

Blinking my eyes open, I found the spot where Odessa slept to be empty. Slowly rising, I found a little note on my bedside table along with a vase of actual roses. I smiled, my heart beating fast as I reached over and opened the note.

"Y/N,

Sorry I wasn't able to be here when you woke up. Something came up. I should be finished by the time you're awake. Hope to see you soon.

With love, Odessa."

I got up, quickly got changed, grabbed what I needed and headed towards the throne room. Reaching the building, I opened up the door and stepped inside, hearing something coming from the throne room. Closing the door, I headed up the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Odessa?"

"Come in, Y/N."

I opened the door and found a sight to behold. There were flower petals on the ground, the throne room was actually clean for once, candles everywhere, the curtains pulled together, and she was sitting on the couch that was against the right hand wall. I smiled, closing the door and locking it. Making my way over, I sat down next to her.

"Did you do all of this by yourself?"

"I did," she smiled.

"Dez, ya know ya don't have to do anythin' for me."

"I want to give you everythin'," she whispered, reaching up to cup my jaw. "You deserve everythin'."

We both smiled and she leaned down, pressing a kiss to my lips.

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you, too, Dez."

"And to show ya," she pulled away and reached behind her, grabbing an acoustic guitar by the neck of the instrument. Setting it on her lap, she let out a sigh, some tears forming in her eyes.

"Dez, ya alright?"

"I haven't played an acoustic since my father and siblings passed."

"I-I'm sorry to hear. B-But why are ya?"

"Because of this," she said, tuning it before strumming it quietly. "Just sit back and relax. And I apologize for my terrible singin' voice. I usually sing along to my metal songs."

"It's alright, Dez."

She cleared her throat and started to play the instrument, a soft and calming tune coming from it.

"To my love, with all my heart You've scared the demons away Chased every doubt from my head Held my heart in your hands tightly To where you fear dropping it

To my love, with all my soul You've shown me what love is In the harshest of places Especially a place like this But I know you You would have done it either way

To my love, with everything that is You are the one to make me feel Love in all the right and wrong places But it is a gift you bring to me As you are the gift itself

To my love, I love you."

Tears slid down my face as she finished the little song, her eyes finding mine. A smile formed on her lips as she put the guitar down, pulling me into her lap. I wrapped my arms and legs around her, crying in her shoulder as she ran her hand up and down my back.

"Shh, shh, there there, I got ya, love," she whispered in my ear.

"I love you, Odessa."

"I love you, too, Y/N. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day."

Pulling away, I grabbed what I had made her for today. Handing it to her, she smiled widely.

"Ya made this for me?"

"Of course I did."

She leaned towards me and pressed a kiss to my lips.

"Thank you, love," she said after she pulled away. "But ya know what would make today even better?"

"What?" I asked, smirking, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

And we did just that.

#junker queen #odessa dez stone #queen of junkertown #odessa stone #junkerqueen #overwatch2 #overwatch #junkerqueen x reader #junker queen x reader

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glaciertea · 4 months

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Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.18<< >>Ch.20

Notes: You reflect, you reflect on everything and nothing all at once.

Chapter 19: Entrapped Laments

Word count: 6.5K

That's it.

That's how it ends.

Grimly and anticlimactic.

You've been lying down, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, days even.

You tried not to be shocked; you should've seen this coming from a mile away, but here you are, sobbing your tear ducts dry until you wilt to become a stale zombie.

You can't even recall how you ended up in your bed in the first place. The last thing you remember was being in front of the door, allowing the dullness of damn all to consume your inner torments.

Your apartment is buried in the shadows of the night, and your eyes are glassed with endless sorrow.

Why? Why did he end it? You tried not to believe it was your fault. You trusted your instincts into thinking it was other factors.

Well, it was mostly you skewing your mind in a direction where it was something you wanted to hear, not needed. You only did it to make yourself feel better. To give yourself this distorted narrative that things are just in a rough patch, but with a little care and time, they'll go back to normal.

Well, as plainly vanilla as it could get with someone like he is.

Was.

Having to start thinking of him in the past will be a strange, unaccustomed response. To think back instead of thinking forward.

Which is funny—how many forward-looking outlooks were there? You try to remember if there was any deliberation about a probable future between you two. You certainly know you've voiced your desire to stay together, but now that you consider it, were there any times he mentioned a foreseeable life for you both?

You really tried to dig into your memory bank. There was that conversation you had about how you'd both raise kids if you were to have any, but was that more of a theoretical train of concepts? Rhetorical inclinations because of the tender and vulnerable moment shared before landing on that subject?

Would he have wanted kids with you? Every time you have… had sex, he has… had those primal urges to finish in you. It was very rare when he pulled out.

But that could mean anything. Maybe he has a fetish for nutting in his partners to stroke that massive, dumb ego. Some sense of accomplishment knowing the person he's with will allow him to go ahead and release in them because ‘he's just so hot,’ ‘our babies will look so cute,’ or ‘he would be such a good father to my future kids.’

You weren't projecting.

Did he really want a life with you? Everything that happened seemed so authentic and full of bliss. Did he really want to be with you in the first place?

Well, he was the one to make the first move, so that had to be something. Or maybe he did that because of the vulnerability shared before it.

Was anything real between you two?

Glancing over your alarm, the annoyingly lit green numbers sting your retinas as you hurriedly wipe away the pathetic tears for that man.

It's a quarter to six, and you have work in less than two hours. You thought about sneaking in some sleep. And if questioned about your fatigued state, you could make up an excuse that it was a restless night because you were so excited to come into work.

You would've won the best costume award for your zombie-like appearance.

The minute you stepped in the door and up to the counter, one could immediately see the appalling anger ready to burst just from Ronnie's gaze.

“I knew it! That fucker!”

“Ronnie, I didn't say anything. It was a long night. Couldn't sleep. It happens.”

“That has you looking like you just stepped out of a grave after many, many years?!”

“Rough nights can spring up on anyone, Ronnie. You've seen them on me before, so this isn't a first.”

She scoffed. You figured she wasn't going to buy into it. “I'm going to kill him. Where does he live? I know he works for some shitty tech corporation. Which one? Which building is it?”

She banged on the counter with her knuckles, trying to calm herself. “This fucker. I told his ass—I told his ass to not drag you down on his ship, but he did it anyway!”

Your head slightly tilted up at that. “What did you tell him?”

“I wanted to tell you about Sunday, but I held off for your sake, which I now regret doing.”

Your weary eyes peered into her choleric ones.

“He came by with the box of materials you gave him when he first came here. Asshole attempted to return them during your break, but I told him not to even think about destroying anything that was built up and that he better get his shit together.”

You felt your body want to give in. Crumple to the ground and slowly dust away until there is nothing left.

He was planning this.

He was planning on walking away, but for how long? How long was this on his mind? How long did he have that wrapped and tucked like a gift you're trying to hide from a kid before Christmas? There's a singe in your eyes as you feel them threatening to well up until you roughly dry them away.

“Did... did he say anything?”

Ronnie shook her head. “Told him we had no space, and he just swiped the box up and left without a single peep, like the bastardly coward he is.”

You didn't know what to say. What thoughts can you even conjure up after being told something like that? He came here and couldn't even face you. It didn't help that when he was visiting your job during the last week of his weird state, he only stayed for less than thirty minutes.

Not to even mention how he would stroll into your place for an hour, barely say anything, and then depart until the next evening.

You might as well have had your eyes ripped from your sockets to have not foreseen this.

“And the fact that he broke up with you knowing you had work. I swear, the nerve of some people!” Ronnie snarled and turned to her shattered and dispirited employee and friend. “I hate what he's done to you. I should've just thrown in my two cents like I always do. I should've done it. Did he at least give a reason as to why?”

Even though all he bitterly spewed was incomprehensible for you to digest, you weren't going to expose his other life, no matter how much misfortune he battered you with.

“He merely told me it would be better to go our separate ways.”

Ronnie tapped her fingernails on her tablet; the only sound was the clacking against the screen. “And?”

“And that's it. He wanted a break, and here we are.”

That answer wasn't acceptable to her. “You know it's easy for me to find him.”

“Ronnie, please don't.”

“Don't have the last name, but I can go off the first. I have a face to the name.”

You're too tired to draw your boss back down to earth. She can be very petty when a discrete occurrence permits it. And her pettiness is telling you that this was one of those times.

“It was messy. He came in, didn't sit down, and just blurted out that we needed to break up. He went on a tirade about something that didn't make sense and told me…” a knot tangled in your stomach as you rewound his comments and synthetic, devastating explanations. Your eyes were slightly sheening before you wiped them.

Ronnie was tight-lipped, patiently letting you take your time, but bearing that crazed wrath for Miguel.

“He told… he–he told me I shouldn't ex-exist.” Even just uttering those words made you want to vomit.

A fracturing crack came from below as Ronnie involuntarily smashed her screen. She was doing all in her power to not go full ballistic, her face puckering to stow it shut.

“Why I can't stand some guys. Always, always the luscious ones, isn't it?” She glared up, as she could tell how sapped and worn you were.

“I don't know what to do, Ronnie. I know it's only a guy. I shouldn't be getting this upset over him."

“No, if he was nothing but a pitiful lover, then yes, I would've said move on and much more, but this dude came into your life and was beaming these contagious rays, then randomly closed that curtain. He was the match to your firecracker, but he seemed to have gone excessive and hosed it down at full force.”

She could see the deflation with every word she snared. She hated seeing her favorite this way. “Go home and relax for the rest of the week. I'm visiting you tonight after work with comfort snacks and ‘so bad, they're good’ films. I'll also close up shop early Saturday, and I'm taking you clubbing.”

You staggered at the freely given vacation offer. Shaking your head, you began to place your bag down, taking out its contents to start working. “No, it's okay; I'll be fine. You don't have to come over or give me the days off.”

“No, you're getting the time off, whether you like it or not.” Ronnie tried to enforce it, but you wouldn't listen as you pursued your incohesive blubbering.

“And besides, the rest of the whole week? You would have to deal with Freya and Jax, and I know you can't stand them. They don't do much to help you out anyway. I just need a few pick-me-ups, that's all!” You gathered up some magazines that were randomly piled on the surface, pretending to fix and stack them.

“I can handle them myse-”

“And besides, my day off is tomorrow, so there's my rest day. And you don't have to come; I'll be okay. He's just a guy; things like this happen; it's all a part of life. Life!”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, observing your erratic shift in movements and tone.

“You know what's funny about life? Life has paths that can weave and swerve without you realizing it! There's so many ways it can go! Not just one! You may never know when things can have you on top of the fucking world before it yanks you right down to the pits of–!”

“Y/N!”

You yielded. Your chest was rising heavily, everything pounding from your head to your toes. Your items were strewn across the wooden surface, and a magazine you held was crumpled with tiny rips on the edge of the cover. You dropped the paperback and entangled your hands, digging into your scalp.

“I'm sorry, I'll–I'll pay for it.”

“It's a magazine. We have multiples of this issue.” Ronnie woefully eyed your current nature and tightly embraced you. “I'm coming over tonight with the best junk food; you will be taking this week off, and we will have a damn good time clubbing. I'm not going to sit back and have you slip and decay away. I'm not.”

You stayed muted, your lifeless eyes beginning to seep out tears. You returned the hug; albeit lackluster, it was still comforting.

You knew it'd hurt.

You knew the misery would arrange a huge, pleasant resting nest right in your gutted heart, mind, and soul, needing the full capacity of every centimeter of your being. The more you disjointedly vented to Ronnie, still trying your best to exclude the Spider-Man business, the more sketchy his excuses became to you.

Ronnie eventually sent you off; her blood pressure was skyrocketing. She felt her own heart crunch, and she wasn't even the one who received his horrible comments and arguments. She was ready to find him, tear him apart, and beat him.

It was difficult walking back, especially when passing the gardens. You made your best efforts to speedwalk by it, but that misery made sure to slam its brakes, forcing you to gaze upon a now squashed and destroyed memory. You had to choke back many more cries, refusing to garner even a lick of attention. You turned a fifteen-minute trip home into nine.

You didn't bother to change out of the clothes you were wearing when he dumped you. As you wallow in despair on your sofa, half listening to one of the albums you gifted him, your brain reeled itself into rewinding last night, no matter how hard you tried to veer away.

A physical wound won't go away the next day. Most certainly, a mental wound wouldn't pack its bag and leave when one wanted it too. For some, it can come with ease.

You thought of Ronnie, an individual who can seemingly move on from one relationship to another. If someone breaks her heart, she will twist and snatch the pain out, gladly replacing it with a new one until the pattern repeats itself. It wasn't a very… healthy coping mechanism, as you expressed your concerns about it, but right now, you envied that technique.

You envied the ones who could deal with heartbreak with such ease. That vicarious sense of seemingly disregarding the instigator as if they were just another snotty-filled tissue made you jealous.

Why must this hurt? Why can't you just let him go? You both barely dated for a year, so why was this such a difficult feat to handle? Why did he have to make every day feel so special? Was that simply the honeymoon phase? Was any of that true love or just a quick and simple fling?

Your hands found your face as you whimpered before bawling your eyes out. Your shuddering breaths filled the air as you rocked back and forth, trying to cool yourself as much as possible.

It was impossible.

It's still too fresh. Straight-out-of-the-oven fresh, that will sear one's tongue if they bite into the meal. You thought about the five stages. Denial is the first, and you certainly can feel it raging within. Then your brain had an idea. Maybe you can speed up the process.

You said it yourself with the advice you gave him when he broke down to you about all the wrongdoings in his life.

The ones you took the time to hear out and accepted them because you didn't care. You did care, but in a way where one can acknowledge that humans make mistakes. You took them with so much propriety.

You aggressively shook your head, not wanting to drive yourself down an irrational, winding mental rampage.

Does healing begin with yourself? Does it come with time? Your previous relationships eventually did, so it has to, right?

Right?

You stood up and stomped into your bedroom, knowing exactly what particular thing to grab. Scanning the room, your eyes landed on the vase with rosy, pink tulips and snowy, white daisies that sat perfectly healthy and radiant from the day he surprised you with them.

You took extra time caring for them. You wanted to see them keep their beautiful colors. You wanted to see them strive and keep that potential they had in their lovely fragrance and presence. You took every second, minute, hour, and day to make sure they knew their value and worth. You wanted to be there for them. You wanted to be there for him—them.

You wanted to be there for… them.

You hastily yanked it up, making your way back to the kitchen, and ripped them out of the vase, dumping them right into the trash bin. This was certainly a faster way to get to the second stage of grief. You were speeding up the healing process by beginning it with you.

But then you found yourself immediately pulling them back out, washing any food off them, and muttering apologies about how they didn't deserve the treatment that he caused. How they don't deserve to suffer the fate you’re going through. You tried to rearrange them neatly and prettily. It wasn't as plausible, but it was still decently okay.

You sank to the damp floor, clutching on the vase, slumped yourself on a cabinet, and stayed there. Even when the record ended, you didn't budge an inch. Not even when there was knocking at your door and a call of your name, not a speck of movement. The knocks eventually became banging, with Ronnie exclaiming it wouldn't be her first rodeo entering a locked place with only a credit card and bobby pin.

You stumbled up and wobbled to the door swiftly to prevent your irrepressible employer from having the cops gang up on her. She held up a giant fast food bag in one hand and desserts and snacks in the other. She did seek to interrogate you about the vase you held, but held off as this was a night for you to ease some burdens.

That night, you and Ronnie laughed and yelled at your TV at the ridiculousness of the films while stuffing your faces with fries and your favorite ice cream. You talked about everything under the moon, excluding him, even though he lingered in the corner of your mind. You shoved it there, but he was hidden in plain sight.

Ronnie made herself even more comfortable by spending the night, cuddling, and chatting in your bed.

“You know, I haven't been in your place in so long. I have forgotten how much stuff you got from the store.” She stroked your hair, scanning the cozy abode you had made throughout the years.

“They are interesting. And besides, it's fun digging into things from the past. Remember that one time I dressed up in clothes from those Leopard Tunes magazines?”

“My God, how could I not forget? You did look good in those camo pants.” She wanted your mind anywhere else.

Eventually, you began to quietly weep until you dozed off. It felt nice at the moment, but even with the rest of the week off, you were still alone.

You mostly slugged around your place aimlessly, letting your music override your endeavors to forget him. It wasn't easy at first, due to the fact that you purposely kept choosing the records he was supposed to have, looping them non-stop, when you finally found the strength to shove them back into his drawer.

You remember the first present you snuck into it. It was a gift card to a restaurant you discovered that made killer empanadas and other delicious cuisines. How he swung himself to the establishment and purchased a week's worth of food, as you playfully chastised him for spending it all in one day, as he munched on the fried pastry with muffled praise.

“Stop it!” You nearly snapped your own personal vinyl before carefully placing it down next to the turntable.

You prefer silence now.

The couch was your only security. Or that's what you like to tell yourself.

The only time you got up was to use the bathroom or grab another bag of fruit gummies. You didn't even realize Saturday night had rolled around when you heard the shout of your name and the thumps on the door once again. Ronnie nearly keeled over when she registered that you haven't changed out of your clothes since Tuesday (you caved in and told her the exact day) or how the ghostly stagnant space never left.

After using her work hierarchy, she had you take a nice, hot shower. She dolled you up with makeup and picked out some tight jeans and a red tank top she brought for you. She wanted to accentuate your figure, and it surely worked. She boosted you up with all sorts of compliments all the way to the club. At the moment, it was nice, but he was still there.

The entire time, you tried to have fun. You didn't want to ruin Ronnie's efforts at cheering you up, but it was difficult. The strobing lights and new-age techno music didn't exactly match your solemn mood. You tried to follow along to the tunes, but nothing came of it.

You observed the scene, eyeing your boss hitting on some guy before she pointed to the booth you sat in. You clutched your drink as they made their way over. With another man in tow.

You considered giving the ‘moving on quickly’ a chance.

It didn't help.

The two dudes were overall jerks. It started off with normal conversations asking about how you and Ronnie met, your job, and how long you've stayed in Nueva York. The basics. Then it started to snowball when every other word out of their mouths was how you and Ronnie were lucky to be “the winners,” as they skimmed over all the other “fine babes” for you two.

It only made you think of the first encounter with Miguel. How awkward he was, but still so pleasant. Well, as pleasant as one could be after being lunged up onto a bed that's less than twice his size.

Ronnie snapped you out of your daze and took a hold of your wrist, irate at the now overly befuddled guys, practically screeching about how they're being pigs and not one woman would sleep with them even if they were the last ones stranded on earth. You were just as hazy, but you took the spontaneous escape with a stride.

“The two were such bastards. Fucking lowlife degenerates!” She dipped and weaved you both out into the cool and humid bustling outside of partygoers trying to enter. “And I saw him in your eyes.”

You didn't mean to make it obvious. You didn't want to.

Ronnie offered to take you home. You slowly nodded, with no other words exchanged, and made your way to her car.

Your head was against the cold window glass the entire ride, viewing the twinkling lights as the city passed by. Ronnie spied on your deteriorating state, suggesting that she spend the night again. You deny it, thanking her for all that she's done for the past week.

“These scars will just need some time, you know?”

“Just… I'm here for you; remember that, alright?” She parked in front of your apartment building, the pitter-patter of rain plunking against the vehicle's roof.

“I know. Thanks, Ronnie. I'll see you on Monday.”

“Here, take my umbrella.”

“I'll be okay.” You opened the door, wishing her a good rest of her night and a farewell.

You went straight to your bed and laid there. Time will heal all. It has to. It must.

Days turned to hours. Minutes into seconds. Hours into days. Everything has merged into one.

You would come into work late, appearing frail and worn. You would make up for the lost time by overworking yourself to consume your brain with other insignificant images and thoughts.

You would go until you were dead exhausted, go home, sleep in, come into work, labor away, and repeat the process until you decided when you were feeling better. You have to heal. This was the only way.

You were managing. Lies.

You were fine. Lies.

Ronnie was severely worried about your mental health, but you were surviving. You were okay. Lies. Lies. Lies.

It was going smoothly. You had your routine. Nothing was going to break you from it, and nothing was going to deter you from this healing.

Then one night, right as you were ready to fall asleep, a slew of cash was randomly deposited into your account. Perplexed, you texted Ronnie, pleading that she doesn't need to boost your pay and that you'll send the money back. She was confused, more so when you told her the price, and then she was really flabbergasted.

And that's when it popped up. That's when his face appeared.

‘I’m sending you this for the bedsheets and mattress. I hope you've been doing well.’

This bastard.

You wanted to throw a fit. Nearly two weeks. You were doing so well for that long. Now he has the nerve to arbitrarily become this mindless ‘sugar daddy?’ He was arrogant and dense. You directly sent it all back, along with a message stating you don't want or need his money.

‘I've already replaced the sheets and all. I've survived before you, and I can continue on without.’ You didn't replace the mattress.

‘Right. I'm sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

You needed some fresh air. You had to get away from it all. Why? Why would he randomly text you? Especially when the first message back is him sending cash for something so fruitless as linen? Why did he mosey along, ruining these moments of alleviation? Why couldn't you hate him? That would make things much smoother. But here you are, heart drumming unevenly after seeing his name and stomping out of the building to escape from it all. From him.

Rain. How fucking cliché.

You began to wander aimlessly until you found a destination.

Why does the sky shed its lament for you? You didn't want it to pity you. You needed it to pity him. He’s the root. He's the one who put you both through this.

You released a shaky breath. Who were you fooling? Why couldn't you be angry all of a sudden? Why couldn't you scream? Kick? Anything?

The rain was masking your tears, as you couldn't tell the difference. You felt so numb. Lying and suffocating all these thoughts because you didn't know how to open up the lid.

Is this how he goes about life every day? Suffering from your own inner demons all because one can't face them? You knew you certainly couldn't, no matter how much you toiled on convincing yourself.

You continued your walk when you began the descent into that hellscape rabbit hole. You slithered back to that night, triggering everything he threw at you unanticipatedly instead of the usual waves. You hated how that endless loop occupied your mind. You tried to bluff your way through, but you knew you were trapped.

You shouldn't exist because you're not ‘part of his canon?’ You need protection? From what? Him? Others? Yourself? That whole canon debacle?

You didn't necessarily get a full answer. All those reasons he dropped didn't add up. You don't understand his Spider-Man drivel; you never could, but you withhold the judgments because that's who he is. Though he seemingly couldn't separate or differentiate the two lifestyles.

He lied to you. He lied to both of you. You contemplated if he was forced into a corner to bite that intractable bullet. You desperately craved to believe that, but from how it deteriorated, he made an unbending choice for all, the royal we.

You tried to make sense of the logic behind it, but every turn was a dead end.

You're an anomaly? You shouldn't exist?... Why were you born then?

You debated if that was existential. You concluded it was, and that was the last thing you wanted when attempting to solve a puzzle with different pieces from an overflow of different boxes. You can't make it work.

Or maybe you can, and it'll be this beautiful, monstrous amalgamation.

The rain picked up; maybe it understood something you couldn't feel. Your clothes were heavily drenched as you journeyed onward, but you didn't care. Ronnie offered that you show up during later hours for the next week or two after demanding that you participate in more self-care activities. She's sympathetic to the ones she loves and takes pride in helping them.

You don't know how long you've been going, but you came to a halting stop in front of a certain bench. You desired to venture to the gardens but didn't want to take the risk of explaining your situation to an employee or passerby about why you were soaking in your pajamas.

Yeah, your nearly seven-foot-tall now vampire ex-boyfriend dumped you, hollering how you essentially shouldn't exist and that you'll only be there to self-reflect on your true purpose in life.

Surely it wouldn't raise any concerns.

As you sat, the raindrops were sticking to your rear, dousing your already ruined bottoms. A flash of lighting and timid rumbles of thunder settled into the skies. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a feeble hug, discovering how alone you truly are in this moment. You appreciate your boss, but there's only so much she can feasibly accomplish on your self-guiding voyage.

You can't casually go into a full, unambiguous conversation with anyone. This is an inescapable burden you have to face by yourself. How you must bear that information that you were going to be the cause of the world seemingly perishing away.

How he left all that on you.

You were the reason, not him; even though he was in the relationship too, it was somehow your fault.

When a star dies, it explodes into a supernova, turns into a black hole, or can create new stars.

This one became a black hole.

He was destroying it all. He did destroy it all. You shouldn't have fallen in love; then what were his actions conveying? It doesn't make sense. If life is basically predetermined, why did he start a meaningful connection with you? Wouldn't he also effect that canon event situation? How did your existence become an inconvenience to him?

You don't belong here. You still couldn't cloak your head around that; in fact, you couldn't do it for none of it.

You were his scapegoat. How he blamed you for doing normal, everyday things. You aren't some form of destiny, and you aren't a puppeteer. You're just an individual who wanted him to be okay, to have him forget about his worries, even if it was for one measly day.

Or maybe he was right.

Maybe your relationship wasn't meant to be. It doesn't excuse him tacking all the blame on you. He was going all in as well. You sink your back on the bench, knowing you're going to catch a cold, but you didn't care.

Your eyes start to scan the scenery. The burnt orange dims from the streetlights, the pond with no animals, the shrubs with blooming flowers being pelted with water to keep them going, the trees sweeping alongside the battering rains, and...

And a familiar figure in a Spider-Man suit sitting on a bench across from you.

Miguel appeared as a child with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. A deer in headlights. The night you accidentally first saw him in that get-up.

Despite the heavy rain, you both managed to catch each other's gazes. Your heart nearly blasted out of your chest. Not even the speediest racecar could compete with how fast it was racing. You closed your eyes, then pinched your arm, breaking a bit of skin, hoping you were just dreaming, and once again overslept. But when you opened them, he was still there, visible as can be.

With a stroke of horrible luck, the rain began to let up, seemingly mocking you. You hated how clearly you could see his face now. He was gawking, his mouth agape, like he was trying to speak to you.

You wished for him to say something. You dared him to express anything with the blazing leer you directed towards him. You refused to remove your inhospitable attitude.

You wanted him to do it. You desperately wanted him to call out for you.

You're still staring. Why is he such a coward? Ronnie was right. Yet, you're one to speak if you couldn't do what you wanted him to do.

His lips move once more, but he catches them. You wouldn't know what to say or what questions to ask. Well, you did, but you didn't have the willpower to achieve it.

You doubted that you would both move. You learned that you're both very headstrong, unbending to crack, and will hold your stances. Rather, it was for something as simple as spoiling one another while the receiver tried to deny it or as big as someone who would try to wedge in between you two.

How ironic that the one who did successfully wedge in between was the one you trusted most.

You both were stuck in a staring contest as your eyes started to sting. Was it from not blinking or the tears threatening to well up because of him?

Say something. Say anything.

You could tell his talons were digging into the wooden seat; you surveyed that knee vigorously judder. You gripped onto the edge of the bench, repulsed that your own hand wanted to help soothe and rub the troubles away.

His lips were pursed firmly as the rain stopped. You could hear the grating emitting and the sweeping winds whooshing in your ears, but they were also stinging at your eyes. You fought to keep them open, your eyelids twitching uncontrollably. He wasn't moving. He was straining himself, and you knew. You wanted him to break first. You needed him to.

But you broke and shattered all over.

You yelled out and slammed your eyes shut, rubbing them fiercely. Blinking rapidly at the wet, muddy ground as you attempted to get some moisture back into them. You jerked your head up as a scowl formed on your face.

He was gone.

You hated how he continued to prove Ronnie's point over and over. He is a coward. Running at the first signs when things go downhill.

You refused to cry. You refused. You stayed seated for the next twenty minutes, until you finally opted to just go home.

When you made it back, you stormed straight into your bedroom, not even remembering how you grabbed one of his shirts, but you did. You hugged it close to your chest and fell asleep.

Unbeknownst to you, he was still there. He was there, making sure you were safe and okay. That he will still care for you even when he's not there with you.

As another week passed, you lazed on the couch swiping through online dating profiles, another attempt to rush the healing business. This was a way for you to get some control back, whatever that may have been.

It hasn't been the best of luck, especially when you jumped the ship for the first guy who swiped right on you. He wasn't that bad-looking, and the conversations you held were decent, so you decided to meet him at some restaurant downtown.

And it was a horrible time.

It didn't help that you technically didn't really get to know him. It was only enough to clear your mind after the park incident, but you regretted your poor intuition and lack of judgment due to being desperate.

He was more of a talker, which didn't seem bad at first, but he wouldn't allow you to get a single word in, and he nearly ate all the food off your plate. You couldn't remember the rest as it was a blur, but you recalled texting Ronnie to save you from it.

She rescued you after paying for your meal, and you both went to get ice cream fudge sundaes. You didn't mention him at all to her. Rambling about everything, how it was a silly date, and you'll discover a better pick.

But you didn't want to pick another. You didn't want to mindlessly search over and over because he still lingered. No matter how much you persist in trying to remove him from your thoughts, he always finds a way back.

You needed something back. Stumbling up to your feet, you slogged through the clumps of candy wrappers and bags from cheap snacks, clothes you mindlessly tossed on the floor, not even bothering to pick them up, and several empty soda cans and half-finished or barely touched water bottles.

In your room, you eyed the flowers, whose petals began to fall off. Grabbing a water bottle, you poured the liquid into the vase, gently stroking a tulip.

“It's okay. Just because I'm withering doesn't mean you have to as well.”

Satisfied with the given amount, you flopped to your knees and eyed a certain drawer you left untouched. Taking a hold of the handles, you wrenched them open and absently glared at the clothes and objects, daggers of grief and solemnity cascading on your heart and mind.

Pulling each item out one by one, you ridiculed yourself for reminiscing. Have you forgotten the words he spoke to you? What all he threw at you that night? The actions he took upon himself that led him up to those final moments?

You needed something back, and you were going to get it.

Gathering up all the records, fabrics, picture frame, and the lavender spray bottle, you marched out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, right up to the bin. You were ready to take it all back. You were prepared to sonic boom your way to a mended soul. You are ready to take back that control. You needed this.

You were ready.

Suddenly, you were back on the couch, his contents left sitting on the coffee table as your thumb hovered above his name. You were dazed as you clicked it and began typing.

‘Hey…’

Don't. Why are you doing this? You know this is wrong; you didn't want to.

‘Hey.’

Why did he respond so quickly? Don't, don't. You needed to take back that control.

‘I forgot you have a bunch of stuff still over here. Do you want to pick them up?

Stop. Stop. You know what will happen, so why are you trying to give in?

‘I will come by and grab them. And I'll drop off the key and your things.’

Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck you. You shouldn't be crying; you can't, but you couldn't stop the endless, flowing streams.

‘Okay, just text me when you're coming by so I can have them ready.’ Your eyes darted up to the table, then back down on the screen.

You remembered during your schooling days when you learned about the dark, blue parts of the ocean. If you accidentally fall into one, you get sucked into an abyss. They warn you about avoiding them by staying in the light, crystal-blue parts. But those parts have been tainted. Why would you ever want to be near a singular spot of transparency if you know that there is more out there to be discovered? Even if that small section is open and clear, what about the others that are purposely hidden?

He's still texting. The three dots have been going on for over a minute now.

You shouldn't be curious. You shouldn't care. You don't want to care. You won't care.

‘Okay, I will.’

Your phone slipped from your hands as you gripped your hair.

“Please tell me, Miguel. Please tell me your true thoughts. Please tell me you still love me; even though you never spoke those words, every action you displayed said it for you.”

You can't feel your face anymore. Was it from the tears? Or the lack of emotions?

At this point, that split second of control you audaciously acquired was snatched. Snatched away like a thief to a jewel.

What have you done? What devastation have you scorned upon yourself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

#Spotify #tales the songs weave #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv miguel #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv

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theworldtome · 4 months

Text

how much a dollar really cost?

the question is detrimental, paralyzin my thoughts

parasites in my stomach keep me with a gut feeling, y'all

gotta see how i’m chillin once i park this luxury car

hopping out feeling big as Mutombo

twenty on pump six, dirty Marcellus called me Dumbo

twenty years ago, can't forget

now i can lend him a ear or two, how to stack these residuals

tenfold, the liberal concept of what men'll do

twenty on six, he didn't hear me

indigenous African only spoke Zulu

my American tongue was leery

walked out the gas station

a homeless man with a semi-tan complexion

asked me for ten rand

stressin about dry land

deep water, powder blue skies that crack open

a piece of crack that he wanted, i knew he was smokin

he begged and pleaded

asked me to feed him twice, i didn't believe it, told him, “beat it”

contributin money just for his pipe, i couldn't see it

he said, “my son, temptation is one thing that i’ve defeated,

“listen to me, i want a single bill from you,

“nothin less, nothin more”

i told him i ain't have it and closed my door

tell me how much a dollar cost

he’s starin' at me in disbelief

my temper is buildin, he's starin at me, i grab my key

he’s starin at me, i started the car then i tried to leave

and somethin told me to keep it in park until i could see

a reason why he was mad at a stranger like i was supposed to save him

like i’m the reason he's homeless and askin me for a favor

he’s starin at me, his eyes followed me with no laser

he’s starin at me, i notice that his stare is contagious

cause now i’m starin back at him, feelin some type of disrespect

if i could throw a bat at him, it'd be aimin at his neck

i never understood someone beggin for goods

askin for handouts, takin it if they could

and this particular person just had it down pat

starin at me for the longest until he finally asked,

“have you ever opened up Exodus 14?

“a humble man is all that we ever need”

tell me how much a dollar cost

guilt trippin and feelin resentment

i never met a transient that demanded attention

they got me frustrated, indecisive and power trippin

sour emotions got me lookin at the universe different

i should distance myself, i should keep it relentless

my selfishness is what got me here, who the fuck i’m kiddin?

so imma tell you like i told the last bum, crumbs and pennies

i need all of mines, and i recognize this type of panhandlin all the time

i got better judgement, i know when n****s hustlin

keep in mind, when i was strugglin, i did compromise

now i comprehend, i smell grandpa's old medicine

reekin from your skin, moonshine and gin

n***a your babblin, your words ain't flatterin, i’m imaginin

Denzel but lookin' at O'Neal, Kazaam is sad

thrills, your gimmick is mediocre, the jig is up

i seen you from a mile away losin focus

and i’m insensitive, and i lack empathy

he looked at me and said, "your potential is bittersweet"

i looked at him and said, "every nickel is mines to keep"

he looked at me and said, "know the truth, it'll set you free,

“you’re lookin at the Messiah, the son of Jehova, the higher power,

“the choir that spoke the word, the Holy Spirit, the nerve,

“of Nazareth, and i’ll tell you just how much a dollar cost,

“the price of having a spot in heaven, embrace your loss, i am God”

i washed my hands, i said my grace, what more do you want from me?

tears of a clown, guess i’m not all what is meant to be

shades of grey will never change if i condone

turn this page, help me change, to right my wrongs

#how much a dollar cost #to pimp a butterfly #tpab #kendrick lamar #k dot #music #lyrics #long post

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safrona-shadowsun · 2 years

Text

Merely a Home

Final part of a of collaboration with @thefirstperished.

Merely a Man and a Job (Part 2)

Merely a Man and a Job (Part 1)

The remote view of the building lured Safrona’s eyes away, staring in a speechless silence for the few precious moments it took her to consolidate his words with what she was seeing. Any pretense of conduct his wife had been clinging to dripped away to leave her raw in a small collision of emotion. Tendrils of void-laced hair gained a slow, pulsing luminance in the aftermath, a more vital sign of these rare moments of soulful turbulence she could not so easily hide.

“You did this?” Safrona tried at last in a soft, tremulous reply, eyes casting back toward him with some disbelief. “Goya,” she allowed herself to breathe, to chuckle after a moment, fingers winding into the remaining hand he left her as if to ground herself. Her nails dug and pinched into his skin, desiring to cause him a playful discomfort for his deception.

“You sneakthief. Horrible. I want so much for you to take me there, to walk in, to show me what you have done. I already know I love it. And still…” Her fingernails stayed clutching, pinching as she drew his hand against her bosom where the crux of her beating conflict lay. Playful little admonishments bled into something deeper, warm and thankful, yet pained and trepidatious.

“I was very settled with the idea of not rebuilding. You are home to me. You. I was settled with this being enough. I thought this to be the parameter, you see?” Her lips perched on his fingertips as she continuously whispered her concerns. “And then you give me this with your own hands? Try to house me with more? As much as I want it, I am afraid to want it. You know the universe’s only constant is its cruelty, my love. How long before I make a home there that it will be made into a ruin too?”

—

The warmth of the moment caused a soft catch of breath in his lungs, causing a gentle chuckle to fall from his lips. “ Well, I was once an assassin an’ a thief when the time called fa’ it but I do apologize fa’ the sneakerin’. Seems a pittance of a thin’ in the grand scope of bringin’ me back from the Shadowlands, marryin’ me an’ stuff. An’ since I’m back in Azerot’, thought maybe it’s time ta’ live a simpler life; ‘ang up my blades an’ do somethin’ I was just at good at: buildin’. Did a lot of tinkerin’ back in the day an’ worked as a carpenter at a port fa’ a while, so I know my way around a ‘ammer or two.”

Tilting his head slightly to look at her, pressing his finger softly against her lips to quiet her fears, her trepidations.” Love, we are bein’s wit’ life in us; ta’ live is ta’ desire, ta’ want, ta’ need even. This isn’ the universe’s realm but one crafted by me, by ya’self an’ ya’ desire ta’ live freely. Ta’ look fa’ nothin’ but ‘ow ruin can condemn an’ destroy does nothin’ but keepin’ ya’self away from livin’, from makin’ ya’self nothin’ but a face wit’ no name.”

A pearlescent fang dug gently into his lip as his mind caused him to worry he pushed too far, causing a slight trickle of black to trail down his chin.” Wha’ I mean is tha’ I built this fa’ ya’, an’ it’s up ta’ ya’ ta’ decide if it goes ta’ ruin. Not chance, fate or whims of powa’s beyond us. Cherie, my ‘eart. If the sight of this grieves ya’ so, I’ll snuff it out wit’a a word, tear down my work brick by brick if it sets ya’ ‘eart at ease. ‘Oweva’, if there’s even a flicka’ of hopeful flame sputterin’ in ya’ soft chest; take a ‘old of it “, he whispered softly with a smile, “ like ya’ did wit’ me.”

Chest clenching as he held up the mirror to her pessimism with the flourish of his words, her own fingers moved to catch the sentiment as it trickled down his jawline. She closed her eyes as he gently lifted her from the deluge of doubt to a stabilized meaning. But it was the worship of his ending whisper that struck her the deepest, melting her with the gentle request.

Dissonant whispers grew coarse as Safrona allowed void darkness to envelop and transfer her away from the obstructing space of the counter, materializing again like a dark bloom to embrace her love fully. Her lips darted up to catch his own in a passion that breached skin and bone to engulf the soul. Still, she restrained her nature, willed herself to keep her affections mortal, sweet. The office was no place for such…impulses. She chuckled languidly, smitten as she now cast a much more approving glance to the view he provided of the newly built Sojourn.

"When you say what you do,” she cooed, “I don't think there is any choice for me but to absolutely need it."

#Warcraft rp #world of warcraft #safrona shadowsun #the first perished #writing #safwriting #collaborative work #my art #They are everything #I love them so much #The First's writing is exquisite ahh

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misguidedswagger · 2 years

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It All Ends Where It Begins [ Riff Lorton x reader]

a/n: hi. so, i don’t remember the last time it took me over two weeks to write a oneshot, but this did. i wanted it to be perfect. please enjoy this. keep in mind though, this is a doozy. you can tell from the wc.

now, for the warnings:

this is going to be extremely angsty. you may need tissues, but you may also need trigger warnings:

sensitive content warning for graphic content, death, and suicide

w/c: 7.5k

Your finger drew tiny hearts and squiggles on your boyfriend’s chest, “What do you think of the name Andy?” You pondered, tilting your head to look up at him. He smiled down at you and pulled you impossibly close into his chest,

“Well, Y/n, I love everything you do, everything you say, everything about you. I don’t deserve you...” Riff trailed off, starting to zone out at the wall. You tsked and gently grabbed his face, guiding him to look you in the eyes, “Baby, you deserve better. Now hush.” Before he could object, you spoke again, “Ah ah ah.” You placed a finger up to his lips to silence him and he only smiled, You leaned into his touch as a loving hand danced across your back, ghosting over your spine occasionally.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” He sighed, squeezing you a bit tighter. You sat up now, looking him in the eyes, “Who says we can't?” You questioned, causing him to sigh and only pull you back into his chest, “Riff...?” You tried again after a beat. He was silent except for the sounds of his breathing.

“I’m meeting with some Sharks today, at the Salt warehouse or whatever the fuck that buildin’s supposed to be.” Your heart dropped and your lungs lost every last breath left in them. “No, no, Riff, baby please don’t go.” You grabbed his hand, looking him in the eyes, “Please, baby, don’t go!” You cried, “I gotta bad feeling about tonight, please baby don’t go!” You begged, holding in your tears, “Please. Please!” You shook him slightly, a hand shooting to your stomach.

You could see his heart break in his eyes. The pieces of his broken heart disintegrated though when he saw where your hand was. He placed a hand on top of yours and sighed before speaking “I’m sorry, girly girl, but I gotta. The Jets need me, I can’t let ‘em down now. But, I’ll be done soon, just not tonight,” He held your hand and kissed it, but you got up and crossed your arms, causing him to give you a small smirk, “You mad at me, doll?”

You flipped around to face him, “Yes, Riff. I am mad!” His smile disappeared. Your arms crossed tighter, “I wanna start a family with you, baby! I don’t wanna have to worry about if your next beating is gonna be your last!” You quickly swiped at your face with the back of your hand, causing Riff to stand, and hold you close. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you so bad, I love you, okay? This’ll be my last rumble, I promise. I’ll give this all up just for you.” He kissed the top of your head before squeezing you as tight as he could.

You let out a tiny squeak and giggle, “Riff...” You giggled when he attacked your head with kisses, “You idiot, the baby!” You laughed before he backed off a bit, crouching to the same level as your stomach. “Hi there little one, how are ya? Warm ‘n cozy in there, hm?” he asked your baby, placing a hand on either side of your stomach. He placed a tiny kiss on your naval and looked up at you from his knees, a huge smile on his face. “For both of you.” He affirmed before standing up and kissing your forehead.

Riff took your hands in his and looked you in the eyes as he kissed the back of them. “C’mon,” He smiled, guiding you to the door. “Let’s go out for lunch. I heard the sky’s gonna be real pretty at our spot today.” You returned a loving smile in his direction before grabbing your picnic basket and your shoes, leading the way to your workplace, a small cafe. On the way there, you passed Doc’s and let go of Riff’s hand momentarily, “I need to ask Valentina somethin’!” You deemed before barreling into the store, causing your boyfriend to laugh and slowly follow behind you.

“Mi amor,” Valentina greeted cheerily before coming from behind the counter and placing her hands on your stomach, “¿Qué tal está el bebé?“ You raked your brain for a moment to find the word in Spanish for her, “Bien!” You remembered, causing the old woman to beam kindly at you. She was the only other person besides you and Riff who knew about all your plans, your plans to run away from this ugly city and its horrible violence, and how you dream of the day you and Riff can settle down and get married. You hummed as you turned and scanned the shelves for what you were looking for,

“Do you have any picnic blankets?” You asked, turning back to look at Valentina. She thought for a moment before pointing you towards the basement, “Sí Sí!” She nodded, “In the basement! Should be on the shelves in the back near the bed.” With a grateful nod, you made your way downstairs and began to search for the most comfy picnic blanket you could find.

While you were downstairs distracted, Riff quickly made his way over to Valentina, with a slightly annoyed face, she handed Riff what belonged to him, “Valentina, I-” She held a hand up to his face, “Do not ever say I never helped you out. Just do me a favor, and por favor hazla feliz. Make her very happy.” Riff nodded and pocketed it right on time, quickly darting over to the candy bar section as you made your way up to the cash register, placing the blanket down. You turned to Riff with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, “I found the perfect blanket!” You reached into the picnic basket and pulled out your wallet, “How much do I owe you?” You asked sweetly, counting how much you had with you.

Valentina only pushed it forward and shook her head, “It is free, happy early birthday, Y/n.” The woman smiled, patting the blanket. You jumped around the side and hugged her tenderly, “I can’t believe you remembered! It means so much...Thank you.”

Riff stood back, his hands in his pockets, his shoulder on the door frame. He watched you, a smile on his face. He mouthed “Thank you.” to Valentina and she only nodded, a smile on her face too. You were completely oblivious to the interaction and pulled away before grabbing your boyfriend’s hand. “See you soon, Valentina!” You had a huge grin on your face, very excited for your picnic with Riff.

You exited Doc’s and began to walk in the direction of Mulligan’s, the cafe where Riff loved to visit you at work. You tugged him along with you, the chime of the door’s bell causing a few heads to turn in your direction. Another big smile on your face, you walked up to the register.

“Y/n! What are you doing here on your day off?” Your coworker, Donnie, asked you before sticking a hand out to Riff. The two shook hands and both turned their attention back to you. Riff stepped a little closer to you and placed his arm around your waist, a protective fire in his eyes, causing Donnie to laugh heartily, “Slow your roll, buddy. I ain’t gonna try ‘n take ‘er from ya. I’ve got me a girl. Besides, Y/n’s like the little sister I’ve never had.” At his words, you could feel Riff relax a bit. He still kept his hand on you though and you cleared your throat, ordering. “Could I just get the house special? And a (your favorite food) please?”

Riff took the picnic blanket from your arms and flattened it across the grass, smoothing it out with his hands. You placed the picnic basket in the middle and pulled out the food you’d ordered from Mulligan’s, (your favorite food) and chicken pot pie for Riff. The two of you started to eat as you looked out at the skyline. You shuffled closer to Riff and leaned on his chest. You sat in a very comfortable silence, lost in the beauty of the midday sky. You began to daydream about what it’d be like to marry the boy you were leaning on for the thousandth time, how excited you were to meet your child, and how happy Riff made you. You thought of how much he meant to you, how you’d die for him, and how you’d love for him to be fully yours as opposed to The Jets’ as well. You remembered the first time you’d met Riff, it was at this park, years and years ago.

You were sitting alone resting your elbows on your knees as you looked at the sky, deep in thought. There was nothing wrong with what you were doing, other than the fact that you were sitting in the pouring rain. There was something so beautiful about the rain that had mystified you in the best way. It was one of the worst storms you’d seen in years, it was windy, thundering, and there was lightning.

“Hey! What’re you doing out here, angel, are you crazy?!” A voice yelled at you, barely audibly over the volume of the storm. Your head turned in the direction of the voice as you squinted to see the face of who was speaking to you. A man stood before you, shock on his face, along with blood and a black eye. He held his hand out to you, “Get up girly girl, you’s gonna get sick out here!”

You took the stranger’s hand and nodded before letting him guide you back to his place. He of course was right about one thing, you got sick. But, if you hadn't gotten sick, you may not have ever fallen for the boy. When Riff took care of you while you were ill, you got to know him very well and you fell hard for him. Then, the rest was history.

“Girly girl?” Your reverie was interrupted by the soft voice of Riff, You hummed your response as you finished eating, dusting off your hands on a tag you brought in the basket with you. “You know I love you right, more than anythin’?” He sounded nervous, which was extremely uncommon for him. You sat up immediately and cupped his cheek,

“Of course I do, baby. What’s goin’ on? Are you-” You grew increasingly worried at his words, but he interrupted you before too much time had passed. Riff leaned on his elbow and faced you, holding up his right hand he held a dainty, thin, silver band between his forefinger and thumb, “Marry me.” He said breathlessly, his voice not even above a whisper. You had never believed the saying ‘The eyes are the window to the soul’ until now, as you saw all of Riff in his eyes. You saw every element of emotion in his eyes: fear, excitement, and so much more. You couldn’t suppress the tears that spilled from your eyes as you nodded vigorously, “Yes, yes, yes!” You laughed, holding your hand out for him to slide the ring on your finger. He let out a relieved laugh and put the ring on you, holding your cheek to kiss you passionately.

“Marry me, tonight, Y/n. Just you and me. Let’s go to the church and marry ourselves, then we’ll leave this shitty place tomorrow morning. We’ll go to--” You giggled and leaned into his touch, “Pittsburgh! I’ve heard it’s a nice place to settle down.” You interrupted, causing him to smile and chuckle, “We’ll go to Pittsburgh and you, and me, and the little one are gonna be happy there. Forever, angel.” He affirmed, leaning forward and catching your lips in a gleeful kiss.

You kissed him back deeply before pulling away "When are we going?” It was difficult to hide the excitement you were feeling, and your fiancé could tell. Another laugh and he pulled you up gently, “Tonight.” He smiled, starting to pack up the picnic. You helped him put away everything, way too antsy for your own good. “I love you Riff Lorton! I love you, I love you, I love you!” Your heart and stomach wouldn’t stop flipping, you were ecstatic!

Riff grabbed you by the waist and laughed softly, resting his forehead on yours, pushing your hair behind your ear. “And I love you, Y/n L/n.” He kissed you again, lovingly. He pulled away and rested his forehead on yours once again, a hand coming to your cheek to caress it. “Come on, let’s go home so we can get ready for tonight.” He whispered, pulling away as the two of you hurriedly picked up the picnic basket, practically running home.

You two practically tripped over each other to get up, almost running to your shared home. When you made it back, you ran to your closet to find that one white dress you found years back and fell in love with. You lifted it out of your closet and you ran your hand across the fabric, an excited giggle falling from your lips. You heard the door creak open and you immediately hid the dress behind you, laughing at the confusion on Riff’s face. “It’s bad luck to see the bride or her dress before a wedding!” You explained, causing him to nod in understanding.

He raised a brow, “So, are we getting ready separately and leaving separately, then?” He queried before walking over to you, cupping your face as he looked into your eyes, trying to peer over your shoulder at the dress. You nodded and opened your mouth to speak before he flashed you a mischievous smile, “I mean, if I’m bein’ honest, baby doll, I don’t really believe in luck or anything like that. I believe whatever happens, happens.” He stated with a quirk of his brows.

His statement had caught you a little off guard, and while you were processing, he got a look at the dress and chuckled victoriously, “Gotcha!” He teased, kissing your head. All of that had happened before you had the chance to even speak and you smacked him over the chest,

“Riff!” You whined, frowning. He kissed your forehead once again and apologized before backing up a bit, “Hey, I didn’t see you in it, so technically speaking, I never saw it!” He defended, before going to his side of the closet. He picked out the one suit he had and he pulled it out before smoothing it down. He pecked your lips and grinned, “I’ll see you there, my gorgeous bride.” With a giggle and a blush, you nodded and began the process of getting ready for the best night of your life.

You processed in slowly, basking in the awestricken Riff you’d fallen in love with. He looked at you as if you were the only thing in the world, his jaw slightly ajar. It’d felt like time had slowed down for both of you, and you both felt that you couldn’t get there fast enough, but finally, you made it. Nervous giggles as if you were school children left both of your mouths as you both looked down at your hands and at the bouquet. There was one slightly wilted flower in the middle of the bouquet, and Riff laughed softly, “Couldn’t find a bouquet as perfect as you, huh?” You laughed softly, and shoved him playfully. “I think it’s perfect anyway! Nothing can ruin today.” You teased. “Look, it’s multiple colors! Just like your eyes.” You grinned, causing him to smile wide. “I love you, Y/n, but you’re making it really hard to not kiss you right now.” It was his turn to chuckle now.

Riff took the small box Valentina had given him out of his jacket pocket and took out both rings, holding up the one meant for you, “With this ring, I promise to protect you forever, Y/n. You have made my life worth living, you have made every day sunny, and beautiful just by being in it. You are the best thing to ever come into my life and I’m so lucky to have you,” He bit his lip to suppress a cry, “And to hold you, and to be able to call you mine. I love you, baby doll. Forever ‘n ever. You and our son.” He coughed out a sob, his eyes flitting down to your stomach. You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your face as he finally pushed the ring onto your hand, and you admired it for a moment before taking the ring meant for him out of the box,

“With this ring, I promise to love you until my last dying breath, and then some. Riff, you have made me feel so safe, so warm, and so incredibly loved. You have made my days worth living, and you have made every smile I’ve had more and more genuine than the last. I wouldn’t be who I am without you, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. You make my heart soar every single day, honey, and I can’t wait to leave this place and start our life together. Us and our little boy.” You sniffled, pushing the ring onto his hand. “I love you, Riff Lorton. More than you will ever know.” You smiled up at him, only smiling wider when you saw how lovingly he was looking at you.

“By the power vested in me, by me, I may now kiss my beautiful bride.” He whispered softly before pulling you in and kissing you with fervor. You kissed him back just as passionately, if not more so. Your arms found their way around his neck as his found a home around your hips. After a moment, you both pulled away before going in for another kiss. You rested your forehead against one another before the two of you started laughing softly to yourselves.

“You look gorgeous, Mrs. Lorton.” Your husband grinned from ear to ear at your new name. Your heart skipped a beat at the name and you giggled, “Why thank you, Mr. Lorton. You, however,” You hummed, pulling him a bit closer by his jacket, “Look ravishing.” A light pink dusted his cheeks as he kissed you once again before grabbing your hands, turning you towards the entrance of the church, “Are we ready to go home, gorgeous girl?” He asked softly, stars in his eyes. You nodded excitedly and started to walk hand in hand with him out of the church, ready to celebrate the beginning of your new lives. As you left the church, you delicately placed the bouquet on the stairs before running back to your new husband.

You two rushed home to avoid any of the Jets or Sharks who may be lurking around. When you finally got home, Riff picked you up and gently placed you on the wall before kissing you deeply. Your giggle fell muffled between his lips and your hands found their way tangled in his hair. Your hands then found their way under his shirt before a sharp rap on the door interrupted the two of you.

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath, looking down at his unusually formal attire. As he put you down, you pushed him in the direction of your room, “Go, go. I’ll distract whoever that is, just go change.” With a smile and a grateful peck on your lips, your husband ran into your room and began changing as you went to the door.

You opened the door and saw your visitor with his hand up once again, as if he were going to knock again. “Y/n,” Tony breathed out. He sounded nervous which was very uncharacteristic of him, which made you uneasy. You nodded and stood aside for him to enter, “Riff’s asleep, are you alright?” You watched as your husband’s ex right hand man stepped into your home, his head anxiously darting around the room. “Tony? Are you-”

“We gotta stop Riff from going to the rumble.” The words shot out of his mouth like a cannon as you moved quickly to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water. “I’ve been trying for days. If he won’t listen to me, he won’t listen to anyone.” You sighed sadly, causing Tony’s nerves to fray even more. You walked back over and handed it to him, and he thanked you for the water, “Thank yo-” His eyes fell on the ring.

Oh shit.

Riff came out with messy hair and he ran a hand through his hair to keep up with the illusion that he had just woken up, faking a yawn too. Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the matching ring on Riff’s hand and you tried to warn him, but he didn’t see your eyes in time. Riff seemed to catch on though, just a second too late.

“You...You got married?!” Tony stood from the couch, his head darting between the two of you, “And you didn’t think of tellin’ anyone?-” Riff stepped closer to you now and held you close to his side, “Evening to you too, buddy boy.” He spoke flatly, causing Tony’s eyes to scrunch up in concern, annoyance, and maybe a little hurt.

“Riff, you’ve got a wife now! That’s even more reason to call this whole thing off!” He argued, taking a step closer to your husband. Riff held a hand up to Tony’s chest and shoved him back a bit, “I gotta do what I gotta do, Ton. Can’t just turn my back on my boys like someone else did.” You and Tony both winced at Riff’s words, but you pulled on his shoulder.

“Baby, he’s right. Please. I don’t got a good feeling about tonight.” You pleaded again, a lump in your throat starting to form. You couldn’t stop the hole in your stomach, only growing now. Riff looked at you and held your face in his hands, “I promise you, Y/n, this’ll be the last one, once and for all.” He offered a small smile to you before turning back to Tony.

“I gotta bad feelin’ too, Riff. C’mon, please, I-” Riff grabbed his shirt and shoved him back a bit, “I already said it’s happenin.” A whistle sounded in the hallway and Riff turned his head towards it. “So are ya sinkin’ or are you swimmin’?” With another shove, Riff walked back into your room. You shot Tony an apologetic look before following Riff.

“Baby, I’m begging you, please don’t leave me!” You were almost crying now, “Don’t leave us.” You grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach, pleading with him. One of the first things that you fell in love with about Riff was how his eyes always told a story. And now, you could see a war raging behind his heterochromatic eyes, but clearly, he’d already made his choice.

He slipped off his cross and placed it around your neck. It hung low around his neck, so it hung a little under your chest. He kissed you deeply, “Now I have to come back to ya. You know how much I love that thing.” He kissed you again, longer this time, as if it were his own sort of goodbye. You held his face in your hands and kissed him for as long as you could before he pulled away.

You knew him. You knew he didn’t want to pull away, but he had to. You could feel it in his sluggishness, “I love you, Y/n. Always, baby doll.” He kissed your right hand, the ring being a cold reminder of what he was leaving behind. You grabbed his wrist and stopped him from moving, “Wait, wait. I got you something. I just never had time to give it to you.” You rushed over to your jewelry box and pulled out a silver chain with a pendant on it. Confused, he hunched over a bit so he could look you in the eyes as you placed it around his neck. He lifted the pendent and clicked the button on the side, watching as it slowly fell open. It was a picture of the two of you kissing, one that Tony took years ago in front of the clock tower at the park.

Riff bit his lip as he looked down at the picture, he surged forward and kissed you again. He broke away first and held it in his palm before closing his hand around it, “I love it, Y/n. Thank you, doll. I love you so much.” You couldn’t stop your bottom lip from trembling as you broke down into sobs, “Please, please baby...” You tried one last time as he held your cheek and kissed your forehead. It hurt Riff to leave you two, but it hurt him even more to say, “I promise you, I’ll come back home tonight.” Another kiss.

Another, louder, more shrill, whistle sounded in the hallway, and Riff took this as his sign that he’d been kissing you too long and that he needed to go now. Another peck as he held your face, “I love you, Y/n. I’ll see you soon.” You sniffled and nodded, “I love you more, Riff. Please be safe, my love.” Wiping your tears away as you followed behind your husband to the door. Tony looked at you remorsefully and offered you a hug, which you gratefully accepted.

“Are you going with him?” Your voice had cracked as you had asked, it being overloaded with emotion. Tony nodded before squeezing you a little tighter, then letting you go. “Take care, Y/n.” The taller boy said, offering you a comforting smile. “And you, Anton.” With another smile, he walked out of the door, following Riff. You stood in the doorway and watched the two boys walk off. As soon as they were out of sight, you walked back to your room, sitting on the bed, sobbing.

An hour had passed since the two men left your home. The sinking feeling in your stomach had only grown stronger, and you couldn’t take just sitting there anymore. You had been nervously fidgeting with Riff’s cross, sitting in his blue striped shirt on the couch. You went back to your room and opened a drawer before you slipped on a pair of pants. You had turned off all the lights in your apartment, and grabbed your keys, locking the door behind you.

As you made your way towards the warehouse, you clutched Riff’s cross, praying to whoever was listening that your husband was alright. You looked around for an entrance to the warehouse and finally found a garage door that was slightly ajar. You slipped under it and stayed in the shadows, you watched on and saw how the Sharks’ leader, Bernardo delivered a sickeningly hard punch into Tony’s face and you covered your mouth to hide your wince. Riff got involved and shoved Bernardo, and Tony grabbed him and tried to stop him. Too late though, as Bernardo stumbled into his guys and a knife skated across the floor. It seemed the leading Jet hadn’t noticed as his attention was mostly on Tony, “Tony, the hell are you doin’, you’re breakin’ my heart, man!” Riff sounded terrified, and you were too just watching it. “Riff, see, look I’m fine, okay? I’m not really hurt. So, there’s no need-”

“No...!” You whispered, watching as a Shark picked up a knife and slowly began to make his way to your husband. You ran forward and shoved him, a noise of relief leaving your mouth, but a sound of terror leaving your husband’s. You had successfully protected Riff from getting stabbed, but in his place was you. You crumbled into Riff’s arms, he was always there to catch you, so now was no different.

Riff lowered you down onto the ground, pushing hair out of your face, caressing your cheek. “Sweet girl, no, why’re you here? Why’d you do that, beautiful?” He cried out in disbelief, his tears streaming down his face quickly, not caring that everyone saw his weakness: you. You were Riff’s weakness, and now everyone knew it. Tony was the only one who knew about you, but everyone put two and two together when they saw the matching rings you and your husband wore.

“I...told you I didn’t feel right, about tonight, baby. ‘told you that, didn’t I?” You chuckled softly, caressing his cheek. He leaned into your touch, holding your hand to his cheek, on top of yours. He choked out a sob before sniffling and only looking at you, he felt a large presence around him shuffle, but his eyes never left you. He pulled the gun out from the back of his pants and fired exactly six shots into the ceiling, causing everyone to fall back and disperse. “Dies,” Riff commanded, placing the gun back in the back of his pants, “Take care of this. I gotta get her home.” Your husband didn’t wait for a reply before he picked you up and ran in the direction of your home.

You were about six blocks from your home before Riff felt your body heat start to leave, “Keep those eyes open, pretty girl. Talk to me. C’mon.” Riff begged, seeing your home in the distance, but you only shook your head. “Can’t, baby boy.” You let out meekly, your eyes barely staying open now. “We have to stop...” You trailed off, Riff’s heart shattering in his chest. His run had slowed down to a quick jog, to a brisk walk, to finally him placing you down in your spot.

Riff looked at your now pale form as he caressed your cheek. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Riff sobbed out, petting your hair. You shook your head weakly, “You shouldn’t be, Riff. You didn’t do this.” You reached your hand up to touch his face, and once more, he leaned into your hand. His sobbing had only gotten worse, as now he couldn’t feel the temperature difference between your ring and the rest of your hand. You were so cold.

“My baby, you’re so cold. You’re so fucking cold.” He rubbed your hand in order to create friction as you winced, sucking in a breath. “It’s okay, baby. I’m feelin’ fine.” You attempted to soothe your husband, causing him to cry even more. You didn’t even know if you were crying anymore, it was the last thing you were focused on. You looked up at the brunet boy who had your heart and memorized every little line on his face, every shape, and every thing on his face. You wanted it to be the last thing you ever remembered and saw.

But, now you could tell you were crying. It hurt so bad. The Shark stabbed you in your upper abdomen, and you whined out a cry. “It hurts so bad, Riffy. But, you made this birthday the best one I could've ever asked for.” You sniffled, your noises of pain making this so much harder to deal with. He was sobbing so hard now he could barely keep his eyes open, but he tried to. He needed to, he couldn’t ever forgive himself if he didn’t have a last memory of you. He sobbed out his next sentence, pulling the gun out from the back of his pants again as he rearranged himself in the position he was in earlier that day. Silently, other than the noises of his cries, he held up the gun, asking you if it was what you wanted. With a weak nod, he sniffled and nodded back.

“This wasn’t...your fault, my-my love. I love you so much, Riff Lorton. Forever...” You weakly said, your hand still on his face. Riff didn’t even have time to cock the gun before your hand fell from his face and onto your stomach, right next to the cross he’d given you.

“This wasn’t your fault.”

A more obvious lie had never been told.

“I love the name Andy.,” He gently shook Y/n, holding her face as his voice broke. His sobbing had come back at full force. He caressed his wife’s face, pushing hair out of her face. He didn’t want it to bother her, she had to be comfortable, you know? Y/n’s hand came back to the front of his mind. The pool of blood around her shirt-

Another sob ripped its way from his throat. He didn’t even realize she was wearing his shirt, his favorite one to be exact. Y/n wore that shirt whenever she was scared, whenever Riff wasn’t home, or when she just missed him. The blood surrounding the wound in her abdomen was right next to the cross. Riff almost sobbed harder, but he had started to cough from the rawness of his throat. His vision flickered in and out as his eyes were strained to the ultimate degree.

His cross next to his wife’s blood had cemented that it was all his fault. Even God was laughing at him now.

Riff’s chest rose and fell as he panted, even more angry at himself for not even being able to put her out of her misery in time. “I love you too, Y/n Lorton.” He picked up Y/n’s hand, kissing her ring finger softly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it…” He knew there was luck now, and he realized he had none, because who would believe in luck after losing everything?

Riff’s eyes fell on the gun that had been laying next to Y/n now and he picked it up, knowing he had two bullets left. When firing the six shots earlier in the warehouse, he made sure to save two, just in case. Riff devised a plan to shoot himself in the stomach where she was stabbed, and to deliver the killing shot to his temple. But, it’d hurt too much to be without her, as any length of time without Y/n had felt like a lifetime. By now, Riff had lived multiple lifetimes without her. He abandoned his plan though, placing the barrel against his temple. The gun was still warm, but it was nothing compared to the burning sensation of grief consuming Riff. It was nothing compared to what it would’ve felt like to hold Andy for the first time, nor could it ever compare to growing old with Y/n and sitting in their Pittsburgh home, watching the sun set.

He cocked the gun and longingly looked on at Y/n, he laid on his side now, on his left elbow. He held her hand with his right one, the gun propped in his left hand. “We’ll start our family in Pittsburgh, baby. Just you, me, and Andy against the world.”

Click.

Again.

Click.

Riff pulled the trigger multiple times now, a hollow clicking sound filling the space.

The gun had jammed.

Riff sat up on his knees now, his eyes never leaving her. He hurled the gun to the side, a small ‘plop’ being heard as it landed somewhere in the pond. Riff screamed louder than he ever thought possible, his hands flying to his hair as he pulled on it as hard as he could.

Diesel was the one to find the lovers whose story had ended too early. He stood behind the clock tower at the center of the park, wincing at his leader’s sobs, pleas, and scream. He gave him more time before emerging from behind the brick building. He slowly walked towards Riff and had his hands in his pockets, “Boss,” he started off quietly, more as a question to test the waters.

If his eyes were a flame, his eyes would’ve burnt a hole right through the poor girl, Diesel was sure of it. “Riff…” He tried again, but still nothing. He stepped to the side of the Leader, kneeling as he analyzed him. He saw the bloodshot eyes, tear stained cheeks, and the clenched jaw. He tentatively placed a hand on Riff’s shoulder before it was thrown off. Riff kept his eyes on her, but turned slightly towards his right hand, “Get the hell away from us. You don’t deserve to look at her.” He said coldly.

Diesel knew that Riff was hurting, but he had no idea how to disengage from Riff and not fight. “Boss, we should probably get you two home.” Riff tore his eyes away from her now and shoved him, getting up and looking down at the shorter of the two. “You got no right lookin’ at her! No fuckin’ right being here! This is our spot!” He spat angrily, his chest rising and falling at an incredibly quick pace. Diesel stood and took another step towards Riff, and Riff did the same.

Riff opened his mouth to spit more venom at Diesel, but he had nothing. He just collapsed onto his knees and looked at her again, more tears raging down his face. Diesel had crouched down now and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. “She wanted me to get away. She wanted me to leave. She talked all day about having an off feeling about today…” Riff trailed off, slightly leaning into his friend’s touch. Riff usually hated showing emotion around his guys, but now was an exception. It had to be.

“We woulda loved to get to know her, Riff. But, let me call the guys. We’ll bring her home.” Diesel patted his shoulder, checking Riff’s face for any argument. There was none. Diesel let out a whistle, and Jets made their way to the three of them. Diesel stood and let Riff sit for a moment more.

“Take her home, boys.” Diesel said softly before extending a hand to Riff. Riff didn’t take it, leading his right hand man to pull him up by his arm.

Riff didn’t sleep that night. He stayed in the same clothes, he didn’t wash his face, but he showed up. He stood at the front of his living room next to Y/n’s coffin. The casket she rested in was one that Ice had found stolen at the church. It was beautiful, it was what Y/n deserved. Everyone agreed on that.

Riff looked at the members of his gang and then back at his wife, “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” He paused, his hands folded in front of him. “My wife is dead, just because I thought I was right about everything. My son is dead, because I thought I could defy odds. And look who had to pay the price.” He walked over to her, looking down at her.

The Jets were surprised at his words, but it’d been surprise after surprise lately. First, none of them knew that Riff had even been seeing someone, except Tony. Tony kept it a secret with them for years, making sure to cover for them when he could. The Jets had even less of an idea that he was married, or that he had a child on the way. They all mourned for the girl they wished to know. She was a beautiful girl, and from the way Riff talked about her, they knew she was sweet too.

Though Riff was in a room filled with people who had his back, he’d never felt more alone in his life. While he had the Jets before he and Y/n met, he felt incredibly alone all the time, but when she came into his life, everything felt right. He had never felt alone again. Until now.

He spoke directly to her now, “I’m so sorry, baby. I should’ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have gone to the rumble. I shouldn’t have looked at your dress. I-” he inhaled sharply and couldn’t stop himself from caressing her face as he quietly weeped.

His cries only grew more intense, as did his anger as his eyes fell upon her hands.

The bouquet she was holding had a wilted flower in the middle.

“Couldn’t find a bouquet as perfect as you, huh?”

“Look, it’s multiple colors! Just like your eyes.”

“I love you, Y/n, but you’re making it really hard to not kiss you right now.”

Not even twenty four hours prior to now felt like an eternity away. Riff never wanted to forget the sound of your laugh, your voice, the way you said his name, nothing. He turned to the Jets and was seething, “Who got the flowers.” He stated his question as opposed to actually asking it.

Mouthpiece nervously piped up, “I, uh, I did.” He quipped quietly, and Riff was lifting him off the ground in a second. “Where did you find this bouquet?!” He shouted in his face, causing some of the other Jets to yank him off Mouthpiece. “O-On the stairs of the church!” He choked out, nervously panting. “Those were her flowers.” Riff spoke angrily.

He turned back to his wife, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “I love you, forever, and then some, my precious Y/n.” He held her hand, running his thumb over the band once more as he kissed it softly. Gently, he placed her hand down on her chest.

He looked at her for another moment before he stormed out of his apartment, running as fast as his legs could take him. He swiped at his eyes fervorously as he approached the area. He went inside the clock tower and climbed to the roof, looking down at his and Y/n’s spot. He clutched the locket she had given him as he stared at their spot, throwing his leg over the edge, pulling his other with it. He sat on the edge of the building staring down at the spot as if to never forget it.

He took a breath and sighed shakily, “I love you, Y/n. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, Riff fell from the tall clock tower, his eyes only on the spot he and his wife used to lay almost every day. He felt no fear anymore, only excitement to see his love once again.

A flash of white had filled his vision and he had to squint to adjust to the sudden brightness. Riff felt warmth all around him, and looked forward, seeing large wings wrap around him. “Woah…” He let out quietly, before the light had dulled a little bit. He could now see the face of the being with wings. She said nothing, and only smiled before holding him closer.

“Guess I was right about you being an angel, yeah?” Riff said happily, embracing her tightly.

And then it was overwhelmingly dark.

“Riff. Riff, wake up.”

With a start, he shot up. He wasn’t in the park anymore, but in a bed. He was shirtless now too, and he held a hand to his head. “What happened?” He asked sadly, rubbing his closed eyes.

“Did you have another bad dream, baby?” At the pet name, his eyes shot open. There Y/n was at the end of the bed, a look of concern and worry on her face as she held their son in her arms. Riff surged forward and attacked the both of them with kisses all over. She laughed softly, a sound Riff never wanted to stop hearing. “Look, Andy, looks like daddy missed you.” Y/n teased, a smile on her face.

He kissed their son on his head, and hugged them both as tight as he could, crying happy tears. With her free hand, she held Riff as close as she could. “How bad was that dream…?” She was almost scared of the answer at seeing how Riff was reacting. Y/n’s husband shook his head as he captured her lips in a kiss. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just so happy and lucky to be here with you.”

Hours had passed until someone had decided to go check the park. Tony was the one who had the idea to, knowing how much Riff had loved to go there with Y/n. He had no preparation for the sight in front of him. He saw Riff’s corpse at the bottom of the clock tower, nearby to their designated spot. Upon a closer look, Riff’s hand was clutching a necklace, a locket.

Tony clicked the button on the side and started to cry, seeing the picture he’d taken of Y/n and Riff years prior. Tony had never thought about it, but whistling for the Jets was difficult when you couldn’t stop crying.

Riff’s eyes were open, but he looked content, and knowing him, Tony knew Riff died content. Tony closed Riff’s eyes with his hand and looked away before his gaze made its way to the spot he and Y/n had loved so dearly.

He had only hoped he would reunite with his girl and their child, wherever he ended up next.

taglist:

@deatheater25 @westsidelegendary @lunamadhatter99 @mikefaistmiamor @harwerb @lyssa-enrose

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willowfolksong · 3 years

Note

hiyaaa I'm here to request (AGAIN BUT I CAN'T HELP) hope you're doing well btw! Can I have a childhoods friends to lovers with Osamu x gn!reader (bonus they like food and cooking like him).Both are oblivious to each others feelings but like everyone can see they're clearly in love nrbrneiskemen i hope it's okay as a request 🥺

it's always been you

- Osamu Miya x Reader

- SFW

a/n: helloooooo @julfdm you beautiful person!!!! ❤✨ so here's your request! I always love when you request because you have like the BEST ideas so don't even worry!!! I hope you like it as much as I loved writing it. always let me know what you think and if you need anything changed!!!! ❤

Love,

Willow ❄

Requests are open! ❄

The wedding is starting soon. You walk around the table once more, stopping behind the cake to frown at the fondant. It never looks smooth enough for you.

"Relax, it looks fine" Osamu tells you, and you only frown even harder "Ya always do this. Need to learn to lay back a little"

You snort, without taking your eyes from the cake "Says the guy that's been fretting over the buffet for the last hour"

"Not the last hour" he argues, smiling a little "Just for a couple of minutes. I had to make sure everythin' was ready"

"Well that's what I'm doing"

"By glarin' at the cake?"

Bokuto comes barreling down the door in that moment, shirt unbuttoned and jacket nowhere to be found. Atsumu's trailing behind him, as well as Hinata.

"I'm getting married today!" he screams, holding one of his hands up to high five Osamu. The younger Miya looks at you, snickering, and then humors the groom.

"We've been chasin' ya around the damn buildin' for an hour already" Atsumu whines, and he actually does sounds out of breath.

You peek from behind the cake to look at him, then at Hinata "Hey guys"

Atsumu immediately recovers, fixing his tie and smirking at you "Well, hello there. Are ya two here on a little pre-weddin' date?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what we're doin'" Osamu deadpans, rolling his eyes, and you smile, but Hinata seems to genuinely believe it.

"Oh! So you two guys are dating already? Finally!"

Silence.

Bokuto looks excited too, and even claps a few times for good measure. Atsumu laughs, weeping imaginary tears from his eyes.

"He... was being sarcastic, Shoyo" you explain, suddenly flushed for no apparent reason. You glance at Osamu, but he's busy glaring at his brother "You guys know we're just friends"

Hinata clears his throat, embarrassment all over his face "Oh... sorry, sorry"

"What, for real? I thought my wedding day could be the best opportunity for you two to finally get together!" Bokuto pipes in, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, ya would think that after seventeen years of friendship, a weddin' would set things finally in motion" Atsumu adds, and you're now wishing you could hide behind the cake until everyone left the room.

"Guys, seriously... I don't..."

"That's enough, 'Tsumu" Osamu cuts in, and you look at him, surprised at his harsh tone. Even Atsumu seems taken aback, smirk slowly morphing into a thin line "It's not fuckin' funny"

"I'm sorry, guys. Really" Hinata apologizes again, waving his hands around and trying to placate the mood "It's my fault for not getting the joke" you nod, and Osamu does too, albeit much more reluctantly and still staring at his brother. Hinata turns to Bokuto then, smiling nervously "And hey, I know you wanted to say hello to every guest and all, but we should really get going now. Your wedding is in almost half an hour and Akaashi won't forgive you if you're late"

Bokuto beams, and suddenly looks like no one else in the room matters to him, at the mention of his soon to be husband "That's right! And he won't be Akaashi for much longer tho! Although I'll still call him 'Kashi for a while..."

The three of them disappear the way they came, Atsumu lingering in the doorway, one last glance his brother way before following his friends.

You huff, scratching your chin "Well, that was a lot"

"They're always like that. I pity Sakusa" Osamu says, but he still seems mildly upset, and his joke doesn't comes off as naturally as always.

"You're okay?" you ask him, chewing on your bottom lip "Atsumu was just joking. It's not a big deal"

"He's been jokin' like that for a while now" Osamu informs you, quietly, but at your worried eyes he clears his throat and smiles softly at you "But you're right. It's not a big deal. That's just him"

Akaashi and Bokuto are in the middle of their first dance as a couple— Bokuto wildly twirling his husband around, Akaashi chuckling adoringly at his big goofball of a man— when Atsumu comes to stand beside his brother, arms behind his back.

"Good food" he says, and Osamu rolls his eyes and bumps him on the shoulder "The cake was the best part tho, sorry 'Samu. They did beat ya this time"

Osamu searches for you, quickly spotting you in one of the back tables, chatting with Tanaka Shimizu and Sugawara Koushi. You're smiling. You know your creation was a success.

He smiles too "I, for once, don't really mind"

Atsumu hums, following his gaze "Did ya tell them yet? That you're goin' to help them openin' their shop?"

"Not yet, no"

"Then when?"

Osamu tears his gaze away from you to glare at his brother "Why the rush? I'll do it when I wanna"

"I'm just makin' sure that ya don't take forever to tell them, and end up losin' the opportunity to help them. Ya know, the same way you're goin' to lose the opportunity to date them"

Osamu groans. He should have expected that. "What's wrong with ya and all those jokes lately? I'm gettin' tired of them"

"The problem here is, that I'm not even jokin'" Atsumu explains, his eyes on the crowd of people that it's sudenly taking the dance floor, now that the catchy songs are starting "You've been clearly and painfully in love with each other since we were kids and they couldn't help but come cryin' at ya when they felt bad for stupid stuff. And it's been seventeen years now, and I'm gettin' tired of waitin' for somethin' to finally happen"

Osamu feels the air leave his lungs in a rush, and quickly looks back at you to see if, by some miracle and even while being so far away, you've heard any of what Atsumu just said. As expected, you're blissfully unaware, laughing at something Shimizu is saying.

"That's not true" it's the only thing his brain can come up with.

"It is, tho" Atsumu insists "Everyone has realized by now"

"Everyone who? Who's everyone?"

"Everyone is everyone" Atsumu says, and starts counting with his fingers "Bokuto, Shoyo, Omi-Omi..."

Osamu scoffs "I honestly doubt Sakusa has anythin' to say about me bein' in love or not"

"... Akaashi, Aran, Suna, Kita" continues Atsumu, unperturbed "Our mom and our dad... and I'm pretty sure I once heard their parents talkin' about it too"

"You're lyin'"

"Wanna ask around?" at Osamu's angry silence, Atsumu only shrugs and puts his arms behind his back again "I'm tellin' ya. Everyone knows it. But ya. And them, of course"

Osamu frowns, glaring at his shoes. He's known you since the two of you were six, and you started following both him and Atsumu around the school yard. You were always there from then on, in every one of his memories. Not a single moment in his life he could recall, that didn't have you in it. Smiling. Teasing Atsumu. Making private jokes with him to tease the older Miya even more.

You were there, when he broke his ankle and had to hold someone's hand in the infirmary — Atsumu's one was covered in dirt, and he had preferred yours either way; you were there at the beginning of middle school, on their first game, cheering from the sidelines; you were there, in every walk home, every bump of his shoulder against yours while discretely trying to get closer because you always smelled so good; you were there when high school came, and everything volleyball related became more serious, and he started to have doubts.

You never doubted, and that's why he went to you first. Even before going to Atsumu. To tell you about his real dream, just like you had gone to him all those years ago, to tell him you wanted to open a small pastry shop one day.

You were there to hug him, and tell him it was okay. You were always, always there.

Osamu gulps, fixing his tie "I..."

Atsumu taps his shoulder in that moment, and when he looks up, the first thing he sees is Sugawara leading you to the dance floor "See? Exactly what I told ya. You're goin' to lose your chance"

And what if you weren't there anymore?

He finds you in one of the many balconies of the little castle Bokuto and Akaashi rented for the wedding. The view is beautiful, so near the coast, and the sun dipping below the horizon casts a glow light over the world, that makes everything appear magical.

When you look up to him, your eyes are shining "Hey, tired of the party already?"

Osamu shrugs, hands on his pocket "A little. How about ya?"

"Just wanted some fresh air"

"Tired of everyone complimentin' your masterpiece over and over?"

You chuckle, whacking him on the arm "I could never get tired of that and you know it. I'm just like you"

"Maybe we both deserve the praises"

"Maybe"

You stay silent for a moment, only watching the sun disappear and tint the sea red. Osamu clears his throat when the last ray of light is gone "I wanted to tell ya somethin', actually"

"Oh"

You turn to look at him, arms crossed over your chest, and he feels himself faltering only for a moment "Yeah... ya see... remember that thing ya told me ya wanted to do by the end of the year?"

"Finding a million dollar on the street?" you ask, and he laughs and shakes his head, glad to be able to gain some time.

"No, the other stuff. I can't help ya with that one, I'm afraid"

"The pastry shop it is then" you say, and then pause, frowning at him "Wait... help me with what?"

"I found this place" he starts, and you immediately begin to shake your head and try to take a step back, but he's quick in catching you by your elbow, laughing at your reaction "Let me finish and then ya can panic"

"Oh my god, Osamu..."

"I found this place near my shop" he continues, as faster as possible, because he knows you can bolt at any second "It's a nice place. Not too big not soo small either. Good for startin'. It needs some work but we can think about that later. It's perfect for your pastry shop"

"Osamu, I don't have the money to rent a place right now" you tell him, frantically "I'm barely paying rent with what I gain with my cakes and I just can't..."

"I already paid the first six months for ya" your mouth goes slack, and once again you try to break free from his hold. He only brings you even closer "It's done now. Not turnin' back"

"What the hell? That's too much money, Osamu! You can't just do that!"

"I already did" at your still wide eyed expresion, he sighs "Listen, Onigiri Miya is doin' great lately. You know I even been thinkin' about openin' another store. I can afford this. It's fine"

You purse your lips, look at the ground, and then back at him. You also slowly stop trying to walk away, and Osamu's hand relaxes around your wrist, bringing your arm down with him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure"

"Like really sure?"

"Yeah, really sure"

You're jumping to his arms a second later, laughing uncontrollably. He joins you, and even spins you around, taking the opportunity to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

Atsumu's words come back to him then.

"I can't believe you would do this! You're the best! I promise I'll repay you! I promise!"

He nods, setting you down but not letting you go, his arms wrapped around your waist "There's somethin' else"

"Please tell me you didn't bought me a car or something like that"

"You'll have to wait until I buy one for me first" he tells you, and you chuckle and hug him again "No, I... it's about Atsumu's jokes"

"Oh" you take a step back, his arms keeping you close to him still "About that, you don't really need to get that upset... I can talk to him if it really bothers you that much to..."

"I love ya"

You stop talking, closing your mouth in a flash. If your eyes were wide open before, now they're almost bulging out of your head.

"Osamu..."

"I love ya" he says again, more firmly this time "I've been in love with ya my whole life and I didn't realized until my stupid brother started jokin' about it, and one of our friends got married. I'm sorry" you don't say anything, completely frozen in place, and he finally lets go of you, feeling dread wash over him "It's fine if ya don't feel the same. We've been friends forever and that's not goin' to change. I just didn't want to lose my chance... of tellin' ya"

There's the sounds of a commotion inside, and Osamu takes it as an opportunity to make his exit, leaving you behind, completely rooted in place and still unable to say a word. It's best like that, he thinks, as he enters the party room once more to find Bokuto and Akaashi standing in front of a small crowd of people.

"We don't have a bouquet or anything like that!" Bokuto's saying, and someone that could probably be Konoha whistles from somewhere on the far right "But we're going to use this boutonniere, alright?" everyone cheers, and Bokuto turns to his now husband, beaming excitedly "Okay, now throw it 'Kaashi!"

Akaashi frowns, amusement dancing on his features "Why me?"

You come running through the doors in that moment too, grabbing Osamu by the arm and dragging him away, cheeks flushed and out of breath "Osamu!"

He smiles fondly at you, giving your hand a gentle pat "Ya really don't have to apologize or anythin'..."

You silence him with a kiss, and his hands go to rest on your waist without a moment to spare, as if they've been waiting for this moment their whole life. He kisses you back, and even deepens the kiss when the tip of your tongue brushes against his lower lip.

"I... love you too" you tell him, in between rapid kisses "I think I love you too and well... I did needed the stupid guy I love telling me first, and also our mutual friend getting married to know"

This time is Bokuto who whistles, and a couple of your friends even start clapping.

"Well great! Now we don't have to do all this, since we were basically going to be aiming at you!"

At everyone's collective booing, Akaashi shakes his head at his husband "You weren't really supposed to say that, Kou"

Osamu turns back to you and kisses you once more.

He wont lose anymore chances.

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boldlygowhereitsbiggerinside · 2 years

Text

Hey so I wrote about something incredibly personal, and I want to share it but don't have a good place to do so. So I'm going to do it here under the cut. Please feel free to keep on scrolling and trigger warning for depression and an attempt of suicide!

This is the true story of how I lived 🙂

The Story of How I Lived

It was Spring 2021, and I was feeling pretty depressed so Nathan (my spouse) suggested we go to the movies. We loved going to the movies so much we had that AMC movie pass that let you see three movies a week for $20.

We decided to see Chaos Walking. I was already feeling a little better just being out of the house. I handed Nathan my phone and my wallet when we were instructed to turn off all of our devices as they tended to fall out of my pockets. The movie was fairly engaging, and I was able to forget my troubles somewhat. There was a small, cute dog in the movie that reminded me of my own. I was trying to prepare myself for the dog dying some sort of tragic, but heroic, death. That is not what happens though. The villain grabs the dog and drowns it purely out of cold-blooded spite.

I'd had it. Life is awful and so is everything else. I stood up, took my phone from Nathan, and told him I'd wait for him outside. I heard someone chuckle at me as I left, but I truly didn't care at that point.

I went outside by the back exit we always take as it is closer to our car. As soon as the door closed behind me, I began a dark, dangerous spiral. I sat on the cement steps and failed to hold back tears.

I couldn't sit in the car or even drive anywhere as Nathan had the keys.

I couldn't walk far as I had a boot on my foot from a stress fracture.

I couldn't call Nathan as he always turns his phone off at the movies.

I couldn't go back in the exit as the door locks behind you.

I couldn't go back in the entrance as I didn't have my wallet and they required photo identification with our movie pass plus my ticket had already been scanned.

This was it. There was nothing left to do. It was time to die. Finally.

I didn't want to be alone, so I called my mom. I did feel a bit selfish for making her go through this with me, but what did it matter? I was going to be dead in a few minutes anyway. And she was my mom. She'd understand.

As I spoke to my mom I looked around for something to end my life with. She begged me to tell her where I was, but I honestly didn't know. I was in the back parking lot of an AMC near my house. That's all I've got. There was no one around and there was no chance she could come get me. She lived too far away. There was also no way she was going to be able to locate me and get an ambulance here in time. I spied a pointy rock and drew my finger along the edge to test its sharpness.

Not sharp enough.

A couple came out of the door, but I knew I wouldn't be fast enough to catch it so I just hid my face in shame until they'd gone. They didn't seem to notice me much at all. They certainly had no idea I was about to take my own life.

My mom continued to beg me not to do whatever it was I was planning to do. I apologized but made no effort to stop. I spied a discarded Sprite can. Now I have cut myself on a soda can on accident before. Surely that would work!

I took the rock and used it to cut open the can, revealing a sharp, jagged edge. I took a few steadying breaths. I had to make sure this worked. I would cut a long, vertical line down my left arm. None of this slitting my wrist horizontally nonsense. I wanted to bleed as much and as fast as possible. I had to make sure the cut was deep. It was probably going to hurt, but if it wasn't deep enough, I might live. And who knows what was on this nasty, old can. I definitely didn't want to live and lose my arm to infection.

As I prepared myself mentally to ignore the pain I was about to inflict, someone else came out the door. I would have to wait until they left. Can't have a random stranger stopping me now can I? It shouldn't take long though. The parking lot was obscured by the building a bit. They'd only have to walk for a few seconds until I'd be alone enough again. I'd just make sure to be quiet in case they can hear me from over there. The person stopped next to me.

It was Nathan.

Nathan whose phone was off.

I knew that he sure as hell wasn't going to just stand there while I went through with my plan. He'd either physically stop me or call an ambulance in plenty of time. I certainly didn't need or want the amount of attention that would bring. I handed him my phone in defeat, and he talked to my mom. He assured her I was safe and he'd take me to get professional help. I went willingly to what would be my third 72 hour psych hold.

It turns out that at the exact moment Nathan went to turn off his phone, I handed him mine, interrupting his automatic action and causing him to put both phones in his pocket without turning his off. Unbeknownst to me, my mom had her husband call Nathan while she kept me talking to her.

And by that total fluke, I am alive today.

#tw: depression #tw: suidice #depression #suicide #im better now

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heckpup · 4 years

Text

Hahaha I did the Ranboo thing here y’all go have some food hope you enjoy it I stayed up again. And I made art!! (It’s in the middle, where it’s actually relevant. Don’t go looking for it, let it come to you.) :D enjoy!!

(Edit: I LEARNED HOW TO DO THE KEEP READING YESSSS)

Phil does not know very much about Ranboo.

What he does know he can count on two hands.

1. Ranboo is half Enderman, half something else. (Phil doesn’t know what the other half is, but he’s not going to ask.)

2. Ranboo exhibits many Enderman-y traits, which can be expected in hybrids.

3. Ranboo has memory problems.

4. Ranboo likes being with people

5. Ranboo could probably use therapy. (as could most people on the SMP)

6. Ranboo is loyal to his friends, regardless of side.

7. Ranboo likes animals.

8. Ranboo easily succumbs to peer pressure.

9. Ranboo hates Dream.

10. Ranboo lives with Phil and Technoblade.

It’s sad, really, how little most people knew about the tall boy. Philza knew that the only people who knew more than him were Dream, maybe Tommy, and (if he wanted to push it) maybe Niki.

But, regardless, Phil knows that Ranboo likes animals! (He doesn’t think about all the pets that died in the creation of L’Crater, or the time he found Ranboo in the doghouse, surrounded by the Hound Army, crying.) So, what could be cooler than taking Ranboo to see the turtle farm!

Ranboo had loved the green aquatic animals. He had rushed over, in all his Enderman glory, to awe at the turtles. Phil watched Ranboo’s ears perk up, listening to the movement, and his long tail waved behind him. One of the turtles, a female, Phil vaguely think, walks- slides?- over to Ranboo, before looking up at him and perching herself on the fence so Ranboo would pet her head in a very un-turtle like manner. Ranboo, frankly, doesn’t think too hard about it clearly, since he’s to overjoyed at the turtles and petting her head to think about the ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s.’

The sight in front of Phil, the happy Ender-hybrid with the Antarctic Empire cloak that Techno loaned him, with the golden crown and white shirt and beaming face, makes Phil suddenly think ‘Snow Prince.’

He doesn’t know why.

But what he doesn’t know is that something in him has changed, given him the want to pull out the metaphorical-not so metaphorical- adoption papers for the fourth time.

— — —

It’s a few days later when he has the thought again. He and Techno are discussing their newest roommate and the living conditions they are in.

“So,” Techno says. “This house is gettin’ kind of small, and none of us want to put effort into expandin’. I obviously get my room, since it’s my house. You already have yourself situated ‘n the room across, but currently Ranboo is occupyin’ that one and you’re forced on the couch.”

“Do we really have to kick him out though? He’s just a kids, Tech.” Phil jokes halfheartedly. They’re planning on building a new building, maybe a new house. The problem is who’s going to live in it. Techno won’t, since this is already his house, and Ranboo shouldn’t be living alone, but Techno needs Phil to help with the voices, since they only ever change from needing blood to needing “Dadza” (Phil heard him mutter it once and he smiled) when he’s around.

So, it all comes full circle. Who’s going to live in the new house?

“Listen Tech. What if we, hear me out, we just extended the house a bit so no one has to leave.”

“But that’s work, Phil! It took me a while to finish buildin’ this house, and I’m not ready for renovatin’!”

He can see the amusement on the Piglin hybrid’s face, as they banter back and forth about the choice.

Then, with a sudden movement, Technoblade is standing up and walking over to the doorway. He pulls out a black and white figure- when did Ranboo wake up?- and sits him down at the table.

“Ranboo!” Phil says, pleasantly surprised and mildly confused. Why does Ranboo look angry and close to tears? “How long we’re you listening?”

“Longer than you’d like, I’ll bet.” Ranboo’s answer is short and snippy, and whoa, Phil can almost taste the resentment and tension in the air. Phil almost asks him what’s wrong, but Ranboo beats him to the punch.

“So, you guys are tossing me out? I’ll go pack my things then, again.” And every question Phil had is suddenly tossed out the window and replaced with a new one.

“Wha- Ranboo, what are you talkin’ about?” Techno asks in surprised shock, while Ranboo looks both like a kicked puppy and an angry cat at the same time. “We’re not gonna kick you out.”

“Oh really? Then what was all that about? ‘Do we have to to kick him out?’ Not wanting to expand the house ‘cause it takes work?” Ranboo’s tail lashes angrily around the chair.

“What? Mate, we weren’t talking about actually kicking you out! Techno and I are planning on building a smaller, one person house over where we’re moving the kennel, and we were talking about who’s going to live in it because I don’t know if you noticed, but this house is a little small.”

Phil watched as Ranboo digests what he’s said, thinks about it, pieces it all together, and suddenly, Ranboo’s much calmer. “Oh.”

Ranboo looks out of the window behind him, surveying the land that Phil had pointed out the day before. “I wouldn’t mind watching over the dogs, I think.”

Phil and Techno give each other a look. “We figured, but I didn’t want you living out there alone. I mean, you’re just a kid, mate,” Phil says, silently glad that Ranboo no longer thinks that what- they’re kicking him out? Why would they do that? Ranboo’s a great kid!

He hears Ranboo mutter about how it “wouldn’t be the first time anyway,” and suddenly he’s hit with the urge to both immediately adopt this kid and also burn whoever did that to Ranboo until they’re nothing but a small pile of ashes and then dance on them.

Philza knows a lot more about Ranboo by the time Ranboo moves into the small home by the dogs.

1. Ranboo suffers from voices like Phil’s eldest. (Is it just a hostile hybrid thing?)

2. Ranboo has abandonment and trust issues.

3. Ranboo must, at all times, be kept away from Dream.

4. Ranboo loves turtles.

5. Ranboo is now Philza’s new son. (In his heart, at least.)

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notquitetwilight · 4 years

Text

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART TWO

The Cullanos continue taking care of business in Boston. Warning: this story contains graphic violence and sexual references (no smut, just truly cursed references). Previous instalment

Esme breathed shakily as she walked hand-in-hand with her husband past brownstone after brownstone. The street was deserted; it was just the two of them and the parked cars that lined their path. Her thoughts seemed to scream louder in the silence as she mentally willed that the daughter they left behind would be safe.

“S’like Brooklyn down here,” Carlisle said absentmindedly, keeping his voice low. When she didn’t answer, he looked at her, suddenly noticing her unease. “What’s the matta, baby?”

“I think…” she trailed off, unsure. She wasn’t used to being nervous. But she couldn’t shake the image of Rosalie’s wide eyes right before she had left her in the car. They were the same shade of blue as Carlisle’s, the type that seemed cold and piercing when narrowed, but inviting enough to swim in when widened. Though she’d never have admitted it, Esme knew she was afraid. And that made her afraid.

“I’m not sure we should’ve brought her.”

He frowned. “Rosie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, our other child we were recently reunited with. Who else?”

“She wanted to come,” he said, raising a shoulder.

“So? If she said she wanted to do crack, would you let her?”

“Depends on whether or not she’d share,” he grinned.

“Carl, I’m serious,” she said, her voice cracking a little, which surprised both of them.

He squeezed her hand. “She’s a smart girl, Ezzie. She knows the drill.”

“Still, if somethin’ goes wrong—“

“It won’t.”

“If it does, I don’t…” she stopped in her tracks, feeling like she couldn’t take in air as quickly as her body needed her to. She closed her eyes as she tried to level her breathing. “If somethin’ were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d never forgive myself. Or you.”

She opened her eyes to find him looking a little wounded. “I thought this was what you wanted. Her here, with us.”

“It is,” she said, starting to walk again. “But all this is also why we gave her up in the first place, right?”

He groaned quietly. “Not this again.”

That infuriated her. She let go of his hand and made a great effort to keep the volume of her voice low in her response. “I’m sorry, is my fear for our daughter’s safety inconveniencin’ you?”

“I can’t keep doin’ this,” he said with a sigh. “Over and over, I keep tryin’ to make you happy, and over and over, I feel like I’m failin’. Because I don’t know what you want. Because you don’t know what you want.” He spoke so calmly, so matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice. She balked at him.

“What?” was all she managed.

“You want me, but you don’t want me. So I try move on. Twice. When ya do want me, I’m there in a heartbeat. You want our daughter, but you don’t want our daughter, so I give up my chance to be a dad to her. But then you do want her, but only from a distance, so we torture ourselves watchin’ other people raise her. Then you want her, fully want her, so I bring her back to us, and ever since I did you’ve been sayin’ maybe we shoulda left her as she was. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like I can’t make you happy no matta what. Maybe you were right, all those times ya said family life wasn’t for you. Ya seem a lot less happy since we became one.”

She gritted her teeth and glared up at him, ready to risk their cover in screaming at him. Yet her anger dissolved immediately upon seeing his face. He looked…sad. Truly, hopelessly sad, the type that usually only came with grief. Only she was allowed to see him this vulnerable, and only she had seen him wear this same expression just twice before: the day of his mother’s funeral, and the day they gave Rose up.

She had never considered how all of it might have looked to him, how what she said or did could be misinterpreted. She just assumed he knew where her head was at, because she always knew where his was at. But it suddenly occurred to her that she knew everything he thought because he spoke everything he thought to her. He knew her well, better than anyone else did, but he wasn’t a mind-reader. And while she believed herself to be a relatively good communicator, she knew she was nowhere near as good as him.

“There it is,” he muttered, interrupting her thoughts. He came to a halt and nodded to the dark grey brownstone a little ahead of them, the last on the street.

She frowned. “That’s...their house?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s attached to other buildin’s,” she said flatly.

“Guess that’s what silencers are for.”

He started for the Ivanov residence while rooting in one of his pockets, but she pulled at his arm. “Carl.”

He let her grip lead him to face her, but he looked at his feet, kicking the ground.

“Look at me,” she said softly. His head stayed down and his forehead remained creased.

“Baby?” she tried. He raised his head to meet her eyes then, and she couldn’t help but smile with relief. He was usually the one for terms of endearment, so the rare times she used them, she got his full attention.

“I’m not...less happy,” she started, unsure of how to explain herself.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I am sure! Give me a chance. I’m much more happy, one hundred per cent. But I’m also much more worried. And maybe that’s what looks bad. Maybe I’m not handlin’ it right, I dunno. But I’m not used to bein’ worried. I’m not used to bein’...scared. And I am, Carl. For the first time in my life, I’m fuckin’ terrified. Almost 24/7.”

The line between his eyebrows deepened. “I don’t get it,” he shook his head the slightest bit. “Why? You’ve never been the anxious type.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to say,” she gripped onto his forearms and gently shook them. “I’ve never been scared because I only had myself to worry about. And I didn’t care what happened to me, or what kinda shit I got myself into. The money and the good time was worth it. Everything was carefree and I didn’t wanna be tied down. But it got to the point where I wasn’t...happy anymore. I think that’s where the Charles thing came from. You got married for the first time and I hated it. And it was my own fault, because I said no to you, but it was only when I saw what you had without me that I realised I wanted that, too. So I married that asshole and then that went to shit. Had me kinda believin’ I wasn’t meant to have that family life. And then it was back to square one; you askin’ me to marry you, me sayin’ no, you gettin’ married to someone else and me hatin’ it again.

“But I just continued doin’ what I wanted, not carin’, until that day she walked in on us in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone the way I hated her that day. It was like, all of a sudden I realised that even though you were mine, you were officially hers on paper. She was the wife, I was the goomar. And I fuckin’ hated it and I fuckin’ hated her and I wanted it to just be fuckin’ done with already. And then she was dead and you were askin’ me to marry you again and it felt so right to finally fuckin’ say yes. And I think I started to feel a little bit like the stakes were higher after we made it official, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it is now. Not as bad as it’s been since Rosie came. We worked so hard for her to trust us, for her to want to stay with us. And now the three of us are finally together as a proper family. It might not be a ‘Brady Bunch’ scenario, but it’s us. It’s like, the last piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place, and now I’m waitin’ for it to fall apart. So you’re right, I’ve never been the anxious type. But I never had anything to lose. Now I do — I have everything to lose. And I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

He wiped away a tear she hadn’t noticed rolling down her cheek and pulled her into him. She gasped for breath after rambling for so long. “Why didn’t you say?” he mumbled against her hairline, then kissed the top of her forehead.

“I dunno. Maybe I thought you knew already. Or maybe I didn’t wanna sound stupid.” She sighed and fully leaned into him, her cheek against his chest. This way, she was facing the Ivanov house, and it registered with her that there was the tiniest sliver of light visible through a gap in one window’s heavy curtains.

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all,” he stroked the back of her head. “It’s a relief, actually. I thought maybe you were gettin’ bored of it all. Of us.”

“Never,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the house so she could lift her head to look at him. “You’re my person, forever.”

“And she’s our person, that we made,” he smiled. “Isn’t that fuckin’ crazy, when ya think about it?”

“But isn’t that— doesn’t that make you scared? I’ve seen how much you adore her. Why aren’t you worried, like me?”

“I just...trust in my gut. And my gut says none of us are dyin’ for a long, long time.”

“That’s it?” she asked without snark. She was genuinely fascinated by his complete lack of concern for their safety.

“Yeah. I have faith in us. We’re not dumb, we’re not new to this, we’re good both as individuals and as a team. And like you said, there’s more to lose now, so there’s more to fight for. Think of how unstoppable you were when you didn’t give a shit. Can you imagine anyone bein’ able to stop you now that you do?”

“Guess not,” she said, feeling a smile growing across her face. She was still worried, but she felt much better. There was a lot of sense in what he said. His words did their job in comforting her, as they often did.

“I love you,” she said, pulling at his neck to bring his face down to hers. “You always know the right thing to say.”

She kissed him then, slowly and expressively at first. But she quickly began to lose herself in it, and her fingers found themselves running through his hair. He let out a soft groan before pulling away and grinning at her.

“Later, baby. We have a job to do.” He glanced at his Rolex and his face dropped. “Shit. We’re a lil’ behind schedule. Alice’ll be waitin’.”

She nodded and pointed at the house as the two of them began walking again. “Someone’s up, too.”

He squinted at the window as they both rooted around in their pockets for their earpieces. They stopped a little short of the brownstone as they put them in.

“You ready?” he whispered, taking her hand again and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.

She nodded once more, and the two of them turned on their earpieces.

“About tiiiiiiiiiiiime,” Alice sang the second they were connected. “You’re late. By five minutes!”

“A queen is never late,” Esme said, her speaking volume lower than Carlisle’s whisper had been. “Everyone else is simply early.”

“Did Madame Mafia just quote ‘the Princess Diaries’ to me?” Alice asked with mock shock.

Carlisle tilted his head and raised his brows.

“Rose showed it to me last weekend,” Esme answered defensively. “We were...bondin’.”

He smirked and turned away from her, eyeing up the house in front of them. “Okay Alice, how’re we doin’?”

“Strangely, no guards — not on the property, anyway. That’s not like them at all. I partly wondered if they were hanging around the area and you ran into a few, because you were late, but I guess not since you’re alive and calm. As for the Ivanovs themselves, two are home: Katarina and Garrett. I have eyes everywhere except the bathrooms, so unless the rest of the family and an army of cronies are hiding in showers, this should be pretty easy.”

The words were like music to Esme’s ears. Her shoulders immediately relaxed, and she finally began to feel excited. She beamed at Carlisle, who gave her a knowing smile and mouthed “see?” in return.

“That’s what I like to hear, Al,” he said. “And you’ll be able to shut their camera system down once we’re out?”

“Of course. Once you’re out and alive, it’s gone.”

“Great. So, they’re still up?”

“Unfortunately,” Alice groaned.

“Don’t worry about us Al, that makes it more fun.”

“I wasn’t saying ‘unfortunately’ because I don’t think you can handle them. I was saying ‘unfortunately’ because over the past half hour, I’ve seen some shit. And that’s saying a lot, considering I work for you two.”

Esme and Carlisle exchanged a look, the pair of them frowning.

“What do you mean?” she asked her.

“I mean I want a raise,” Alice grumbled, causing Carlisle to break into another smile.

“Ahh...they’re in a bedroom?”

“That idea, yes. But wrong room. The living room’s where you’re heading for. Second floor. The ground floor is more like an empty hall, kinda like those malls that don’t really start ‘til you go up the escalator. There’s an elevator, but obviously that’ll make noise, so you should take the stairs.”

“That’a girl. Did you see if they’re armed?”

“As far as I can tell, no. There’s a shit tonne of guns and what appear to be Molotov cocktails in the bedrooms, so don’t give them a chance to go running. I can’t see any weapons in the living room. But I mean you guys know, the likelihood that they’ve got something concealed somewhere — either in the room or on them — is 50/50.”

“Yeah, true. Thanks. I guess that’s our cue.”

“Alrighty. Good luck! I’ll be right here in your ears the whole time.”

The pair of them readied their weapons and clinked the tip of their guns together in salute as they always did.

“Ladies first,” he smiled at her, and he let her lead the way.

Back in the car, Rosalie leaned into her headrest after checking her timer for the umpteenth time. She had set it the second the couple disappeared from view and found herself checking it every minute or so since. There was nothing else to do. She didn’t want to get distracted by her phone in case trouble was around. She couldn’t play music, because she neither wanted to attract attention nor miss anything she’d need to hear. All she could do was wait in the silence, and every second that ticked by felt like an hour.

She almost jumped out of her skin when her phone noisily vibrated on the dashboard. She grabbed it in a panic as though it was loud enough to wake the whole street, but once it was in her hand, she simply stared at it. Royce. Of course. She should’ve known her on-again off-again boyfriend would be the only person to ring her at this hour. She let it ring out, then shifted in her seat to make herself comfortable. The second she did, her phone began to vibrate again. With an eye roll, she brought it up to her ear.

She was immediately met with loud sounds that caused her to wince and pull the phone back slightly. A baseline thudded, so she knew he was out, but the sound was too distorted for her to tell if he was at a club or a party.

“Hello?” she asked, beginning to wonder whether the calls had been accidental. A muffled voice finally spoke, though it said nothing comprehensible.

“Royce, is that you? I can’t hear you,” she tried, keeping her voice low. She wasn’t going to up the volume she had maintained just because he called her from a loud place.

“ROSE!” Royce boomed from the other end of the phone, causing her to wince again. “Come...c’mere. M’over...s’funnn.”

The combination of the loud atmosphere, poor connection and slurred words made it difficult to understand.

“Royce, I don’t know what you’re saying. You know I’m not even in New York or Jersey right now, right? Remember I told you?”

“M’over...” he said again before saying something intelligible.

She was losing patience. “You’re drunk again, and I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t talk right now, okay? I’ve gotta go.”

He started shouting incoherently. The only thing she made out before hanging up on him was the word ‘bitch’.

She inhaled deeply and checked the timer again. They’d been gone seventeen minutes and 48 seconds. Esme had said to leave after the forty minute mark. She shuddered at the idea of having to drive off without them, wondering whether or not she’d be able to do so if that’s what it came to. It was hard to imagine life beyond them now, though they’d only been connected for a little over a year. She stared out the windshield, biting the inside of her cheek, and felt her phone vibrate again.

Huffing, she thrust it up against her ear. “I said I can’t talk!” she hissed.

It was dead silent. There was none of the noise of the previous call. For a split second, she wondered if she had accidentally hung up.

“Rosalie?” asked a clear, deep voice after a beat.

She paused. “Yes?” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, it is you, thank god!” Relief flooded her as she recognised the voice as Emmett’s. “I was a lil’ confused for a second there. Thought maybe I dialled the wrong number.”

“Sorry Emmett. I— I thought you were somebody else.”

“No prahblem, no prahblem.”

“Is everything okay? If you’re calling me because you couldn’t reach the lovebirds, they’re not back yet.”

“No, no,” he said. “I just wanted to check in and say hi while the two ‘a them are gone. Y’know, just makin’ sure you’re holdin’ up okay on your first big job.”

“Thanks,” she said, a little bitterly.

He must’ve picked up on her tone, because there was another pause. “Uh, sorry to bother you.”

“I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed at them for thinking I need to be checked up on. I told them I’d be fine.”

“Huh? Nobody asked me to. I just wanted to.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly, but the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“Yeah. It’s just, I remember how scared I was on my first big job.”

“I’m not scared,” she insisted, back to frowning.

“No? Then you’re a braver soul than I am. I was scared shitless.”

“Really? Carlisle never said.”

“Because he doesn’t know,” Emmett laughed. She didn’t know a sound could be so warm. “I held it together pretty well. But when all was done, he dropped me off at the corner of my block, and I waited for his car to disappear before pukin’ my damn guts up all over the sidewalk.”

She was the one laughing then. She leaned her head against the window as a silence fell over them.

“Okay, maybe I am a little worried,” she said quietly. “Time seems to be dragging by. Esme told me to leave if they’re not back within forty minutes. I obviously don’t want to have to even think about doing that.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Honestly though, I’m sure she said it as a precaution, and they’ll be back to ya in no time. You haven’t seen your parents in action. Let’s just say I’m glad I work for them, because I’d hate to be against them.”

“Thanks,” she said again, more sincerely this time.

“And it’s okay to be scared. It’s completely normal. The people who are never scared— those are the mad bastahds you gotta watch out for. Because you gotta be batshit crazy to never know fear.”

“Carlisle’s never scared,” she smiled.

“Well, there ya go, see!” Rosalie could hear the smile in his voice, too. “Case in fuckin’ point!”

She found herself laughing again. It came so easily to her when she spoke to him.

“I better get goin’, letcha get back to it.”

“Okay,” she said. “And thanks, Emmett. I think that helped.”

“No prahblem,” he said again.

“Unless Esme and Carlisle did put you up to this, in which case, no it didn’t.”

“I swear’ta gahd, Rosie, neither of them even know. I had to get your number from Alice.”

Rosie. He had picked that up from Carlisle. It was strange how much she’d come to like a nickname she initially detested.

“‘Kay. Well, thanks again.”

“You have my number now, too,” he said, sounding suddenly serious. “I’ll be right here at the other end of the phone, anytime you need me, ahrite?”

“Does that include if in twenty-or-so minutes’ time I have to decide whether or not to leave my long-lost parents for dead?”

“You betcha.”

“Great!”

He laughed. “Take care, Rosie.”

“Bye, Emmett.”

She hung up the call and resisted the urge to check the timer just yet. A new-found calmness had come over her, and she wanted to bask in it a little while longer.

“Is she beating him to death?” Carlisle whispered up at his wife as she reached the top of the stairs to the Ivanov’s second floor. Alice had been right, they ran into no extra bodies on their way in. And though she was several states away, she had disarmed the entrance’s security with ease.

“No,” Alice answered with a sigh before Esme could. “I think that might actually have made for easier viewing.”

“Don’t be such a prude,” Carlisle quietly teased.

“I’ll have you know, this isn’t your average spank session,” Alice scolded.

“Well now I’m curious,” Esme said, straining to listen. “Is this somethin’ I’m gonna wanna take note of?”

“Ugh, knowing you, probably,” came the answer in her ear.

Esme looked back to smirk at Carlisle.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Shoulda brought a pen.”

“I’ll take mental notes,” she promised.

“And if that fails, you can use the notes my therapist will have taken after I’ve word-vomited all this to her while rocking back and forth,” Alice announced.

Carlisle took his place beside Esme at the top of the stairs and slipped an arm around her waist. The long hallway ahead of them was windowless, its red and gold-patterned wallpaper interrupted by the occasional closed door. Still, it was brightly lit by the two massive chandeliers that hung from its high ceiling. To their left was the unit for the elevator. Carlisle waved at the little CCTV camera above it, prompting a laugh from Alice. Behind them was another set of stairs that led to higher floors they wouldn’t see. The Persian carpet that stretched the length of the hall floor would come in handy to muffle their footsteps.

“Up ahead, the second door on the left is the kitchen,” Alice told them. “It’s got a pass-through and an open plan door to the living room, so be careful.”

“‘Kay,” was all Esme dared to respond as Carlisle let her go. She crept forward.

The pair of them silently edged along the wall, the voices from the living room growing louder as they got closer. Esme stopped at the kitchen door and brought her pistol up to her chest. The pair of them concentrated on the voices inside.

“Alright, swap,” Katarina said. “It’s my turn to rest.”

There were two thuds, and then her voice mingled with a man’s as both began chant-like muttering. Esme couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Carlisle tapped her on the shoulder. When she looked at him, he mouthed, “praying?” with a confused frown.

She paused to listen and confirm, then nodded. He was right, though it left her no less confused. The muttering stopped, and there was some shuffling of feet. The sounds of slapping and groaning resumed, but this time they could tell Katarina was the receiver.

She nudged him and put her gun-free hand on the door handle. With his nod of approval, she slowly pushed it down and opened the door at an acute angle.

“You’re all clear here,” Alice told her, but she gave a quick glance around it anyway to get her bearings. The kitchen was reasonably small for such a big house, and it looked as though it had been home to a frat party. Mess, clutter and countless empty bottles of Absolut Vodka littered every surface. The pass-through was a few feet ahead on her left.

Tip-toeing inside, she immediately grabbed her other gun so she had one in each hand. Both of them made their way to the side of the pass-through as Garrett was saying something about Christ. They hunkered down, then crawled under it, and shimmied out of their heavyweight coats as quietly as possible.

Esme was about to rise slightly up when Carlisle touched her arm. “Only shoot if you have to,” he mouthed slowly so she’d get every word.

The two of them rose and peeped through together. Esme had been right; Garrett was sat on a chair with Katarina bent over his legs as he repeatedly slapped her backside. Still, he mumbled about “the Lord” this and “Jesus” that. Esme looked at Carlisle quizzically.

“Feel the hand of God,” Garrett suddenly half-shouted in comparison to his previous volume. “Who has the most lovin’ hand of all, Kate?”

“God, through you,” Katarina answered him.

“What the fuck is this?” Carlisle breathed, just about audible. “It’s like watchin’ Barbie get an exorcism.”

Esme pressed her lips together to contain a laugh, mentally cursing him. With Katarina’s long blonde hair and baby pink Adidas tracksuit, he wasn’t far off the mark.

“It’s called CDD,” Alice informed. “Short for ‘Christian Domestic Discipline’. The whole religion thing stumped me too when I saw them praying, because like, they’re not even the same religion, right? She’s presumably Orthodox and he’s gotta be Catholic. Anyway, I googled ‘pray spanking’ and found that. Apparently it’s a movement that started as like, a ‘women are inferior in Christian marriages and should treat their husbands like God himself’ thing, but naturally, it got turned into a kink.”

The two of them exchanged a look again and sank back down to their hunkers. Carlisle gestured out their route around the corner of the wall they were now up against and through the open plan door. He pointed to her and made a finger gun, then pointed to himself and pulled out a rope from one of his coat pockets. She nodded once and rounded the corner with her guns raised right as Garrett’s head looked in that direction.

“Don’t move,” she warned, one pistol aimed at his head and the other aimed at Katarina’s.

They both froze, his hand mid-air. Esme stalked closer as Carlisle moved behind them.

“Off the chair,” he commanded. “And putcha hands behind your head.”

They did as they were told and knelt on the ground. Carlisle patted Garrett down and began tying him while Esme came to Katarina’s side. The blonde swallowed tightly. When Carlisle was finished with Garrett, he moved onto her.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her,” Garrett said as he patted, making Esme smile. As if he’d be able to stop them with his hands and feet tied.

“Whadiya take me for?” Carlisle asked. “I don’t hurt women.”

“Mhmm,” Esme agreed, tracing the side of Katarina’s face with the tip of her pistol. “This one’s all mine.”

Garrett helplessly flopped in Esme’s direction from his place on the floor.

“Easy now,” Carlisle said, finishing up with Katarina and moving to crouch down beside him. “I said I wouldn’t hurt your girl, and you repay me by goin’ for mine?”

Garrett stared blankly ahead. Carlisle tilted his chin up with his gun to meet his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be the first time you double-crossed though, would it? There was our Kiev deal, then the small matter of you murderin’ your own pal. Lettin’ his kid grow up without a father. What kinda person does that, huh? Ya know, I might be a lotta things. But I know where my loyalties lie. And I’d never betray a friend. Even people like us have rules, and that’s one of ‘em.”

“You wanna talk about the loyalty of friends?” Katarina piped up, prompting Esme to hold her pistol against her head. “You might want to look closer to your own circle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Esme asked, her eyes narrowed.

“You haven’t wondered where the others are?” Garrett smiled. “They’re actually in your neck of the woods. Meeting with some of your buddies. Ironic really, isn’t it? You come all the way here hoping to kill Tati, only for her to be in your area.”

Alice gave a “hmm” as Carlisle’s eyes flickered to meet Esme’s, then settled back on Garrett’s face. Neither of them could tell whether or not he was trying to throw them, but both understood not to let him.

“We didn’t come here to kill Tatiana,” Esme said cooly. “Any single one ‘a yous woulda done. Instead we got two. I call that a success.”

“Do you?” Katarina cooed. “I wouldn’t be that confident ‘til all of us are dead. Especially if I had a daughter who didn’t know how to shoot.”

Carlisle felt the colour drain from his face. Esme immediately yanked Katarina down by the hair until her cheek hit the floor, then placed a knee on her back.

“What the fuck does your family know about my daughter?” She growled into her ear. “Tell me everything you know and how you know it.”

“It’s hardly a secret,” Katarina said, the words muffled against yet another Persian rug. “You’ve been paradin’ her — what’s her name, Rose or something? — paradin’ her all around New York and Jersey. Don’t tell me you didn’t think people would notice?”

“I hear she’s real pretty,” Garrett added. “And you know us bunch, we like our blondes.”

With that, Carlisle began relentlessly punching him. Garrett’s groans sounded different to how they had sounded in the hallway. Here, he was getting to know much less loving hands.

Esme pulled at Katarina’s hair again. “Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“No.”

She shifted so she could better aim for Katarina’s kneecap, then shot it. The blonde let out an agonising scream, which woke Carlisle from his blind rage just long enough to look up and spot a marble urn on the fireplace.

“Tell me who told you about my daughter.”

“Fuck you,” Katarina moaned, writhing in pain.

Carlisle got up and grabbed the urn, dumped whatever ashes were inside into the fire pit, and made his way back to Garrett.

Esme flipped Katarina over and shot her other kneecap. Another ear-piercing scream blocked out the sound of Carlisle beating Garrett with the urn.

“Tell me something. Anything about what or how you know.”

Katarina simply whimpered. Esme pressed her foot against her knee, but the scream that followed was feeble. She would soon pass out from either blood loss or pain.

“You’re not gonna tell me anything?”

Katarina barely shook her head. Esme sighed and shot her between the eyebrows.

Carlisle was sitting still and staring at Garrett when she made her way over to him. “Is he dead?”

He shrugged.

She picked up the urn from the floor and gave Garrett’s body several extra beats to be sure.

“Is now,” Alice said quietly. Neither of them laughed.

Carlisle rubbed at his temple while Esme sat back beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“They know about Rosie,” was all he said.

She nodded.

“Guess there’s no goin’ back now. Even if she wanted to, there’s no way she can go back to the life she had.”

“No,” Esme agreed.

“I get it now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

“Get what?”

“I think...I’m finally worried.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Alice awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Alice, what they said about our friends—” Carlisle started.

“I won’t say anything,” she said before he could finish. They both trusted that. If Alice was a betrayer, they’d already be dead.

“Thanks.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before standing up. Esme didn’t like seeing him so uneasy. He was her comforter, so if he needed comforting, things weren’t good. But he did need comforting, and as his person, it was her job to do so.

“Alice, could you mute us for a while?” Esme asked as she got to her feet. “And turn off the living room camera? We need a minute.”

Alice hesitated. “Alright. But watch the time, for Rose’s sake. And I’ll mute you, but don’t mute me in case I need to warn you about unexpected visitors elsewhere in the property.”

“Thanks,” Esme said.

“Okay, I can’t see or hear you now. So if you need my attention, go to another room.”

Esme tugged Carlisle’s arm. “Help me move the bodies out of this room. I want it to be just us.”

He looked at her with confusion, but did as she asked.

Rosalie stared at the numbers on her timer. Forty-eight minutes and fifty-three seconds, and still no sign of her parents. Her free hand drummed at the steering wheel the way her fingers had before they left.

“C’mon, c’mon,” she muttered at the windshield. She felt her eyes start to well up and blinked furiously.

“Fine. An hour,” she promised aloud to no one, in attempt to settle herself. “We’ll hang on ‘til it’s been an hour.”

She glanced back at the timer, but a noise made her look up again. There the pair of them were, running towards her, open coats flapping in the wind. She exhaled with relief and started the engine. The headlights lit them up as she drove forward, giving her a full view of them. Both were covered in blood splatters.

“Thank god,” she cried as each of them swung open a door and hopped in the back.

“Hey, Princess,” Carlisle greeted her as she sped off.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Esme chirped. “Thanks for waitin’. Sorry we’re late.”

Rosalie frowned. Her tone was...strange. In the rearview mirror, she found the two of them staring at each other dreamily. Then, she registered Carlisle’s messed hair, and realised it wasn’t a tough fight that had delayed them.

“You assholes!” she seethed. “Do you have any fucking idea what ran through my mind?! I thought you were dead! I thought I was gonna get myself killed waiting around for two people who’d never come, because they were dead!”

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

“That’s it? You scare me into believing you’re dead and all I get is a simple sorry?”

“You were scared for us?” Esme sounded pleased. Rosalie rolled her eyes.

“You’re right,” Carlisle added. “That was selfish. Worry isn’t a nice feelin’. And a simple sorry isn’t all you get for it. We’ll head down Fifth Ave once we’re home if you like.”

She did like the sound of that, but she didn’t want him to think she could be easily won round. “Fine,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh and Rose?” Esme asked.

“Yeah?”

“We’re teaching you to shoot.”

118 notes · View notes

pallasperilous · 4 years

Text

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.”

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.” He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.��

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade.

“So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod.

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…” and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

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reelwriter19 · 4 years

Text

A Better Man

Pairings: Erik Stevens X Black Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Implied smut, cursing

Word Count: 3241

“Sssshhh...Erik you have to stop yelling.” You pleaded with your husband as you struggled to get his oversized drunken frame through the front door.

Slurring every word, “Y/N, I DON’T CARE! These colonizers know who’s buildin’ this is!”

You shook your head and couldn’t help but smirk as Erik kicked his boots off and planted himself on the floor in the hallway like a toddler. It was LATE and you were exhausted, but you gave him a pass on this f**k boi behavior because his 35th birthday was in a few days and even though he’d never admit it, that number was messing with his head. So when the owner of the lounge called you personally to come pick him up at 1:45AM, you threw on a sweater, grabbed your keys and ran out the door.

Erik looked up from his stooper just in time to catch you undoing your bra in annoyance. “YES!!! My girls need to be free!”

“Wow…..goodnight Mr. Stevens.” Shaking your head as you walked away, he seemed to find his sea legs long enough to scurry after you, wrapping his arms around your middle and slowly creeping his hands up to ‘the girls’.

“Come on ma, let me hit. You know I sleep better after.”

His touch in this moment was making you weak, but as you turned your head to permit him a kiss, you were hit with a heavy dose of reality. Erik hadn’t drunk this heavily in a while, and the evidence of it was seeping through his pores and breath in the worst way. You turned to face him, now keeping him at arm's length.

“UGH...nigga let you hit?! I love you, but the last time we tried to have sex when you were this drunk, you fell asleep in me, during said process. Uh huh...nope, not tonight. The girls will be all yours tomorrow.”

The next morning you awoke to find Erik still fully clothed, knocked and snoring on the chaise lounge in your walk-in closet. He still smelled, but you were grateful for the fact that he wasn’t too drunk to remember how you felt about outside clothes on the bed. You kissed him on his forehead, got dressed and started making calls. You were throwing him a birthday party that night at the house. You had to confirm food drop offs with the caterers, pick up some balloons and grab one final gift to surprise him with the next day. His training made him really hard to surprise, but you knew he wouldn’t be expecting this.

You heard the shower turn off as you walked back into the house from your excursion. “Erik!” You hollered putting bags and what seemed like 100 balloons in a corner, making your way upstairs to the bedroom. “Kia and Shuri will be here in a few hours to help me set up. I’m gonna need you out of here soo…”

Your words trailed off as your ebony Adonis emerged from the bathroom, towel low on his hips, scars glistening on his chest. He knew his power over you and now you were the one intoxicated. He raised an eyebrow as he slinked over to you ever so slowly, you, still frozen, allowing him access to begin undressing you without much of a fight.

“You were sayin’ somethin’?”

“Baby...I have so much to get done for the party.”

“I remember you saying that these right here were all...mine...today.” He started to pepper kisses across your chest and conveniently dropped his towel to the floor. Every task on your list quickly faded into the background. He was the soon to be birthday boy afterall. Who were you to deny him this gift?

-------

The house was filled with laughter and music. You sat on Erik’s lap with his arm wrapped snug around your waist as he and some of his boys laughed about stories from their days at MIT. You knew the majority of the people there, Erik always kept a tight circle. But there was one guy, Malik, from his days in foster care that he recently reconnected with that hadn’t made your acquaintance. He was mostly quiet throughout the night, sometimes too quiet, but you chalked that up to how he was raised. Knowing what your husband went through, bouncing from house to house, no one really caring if he lived or died, you always had a soft spot for the people he bonded with during those years, and Malik was one of them.

T’Challa walked over to the rowdy bunch in his usual stoic way, hiding something behind his back. Nakia stood next to him, beaming from ear to ear.

“Pardon me Y/N, gentlemen, but N’Jadaka, I have something that might interest you.” He revealed a black velvet cigar box with the word “Daka” embroidered on the top in gold. It was rare to shock this man, it was even more rare for T’Challa to pull a reaction from Erik that wasn’t sarcastic or flippant.

“Yooooo, T! You wild out man!”

Turning to you as Erik stood up, “Is that a good thing?”

Before you could reply, Shuri belted out a laugh from across the room and said, “Oh brotha! That’s a VERY good thing!”

Erik hugged T’Challa, which was enough to bring a tear to your eye, as the men clamoured for access to a cigar as they walked out on the balcony to light one and commemorate the occasion.

You and Nakia locked arms and laughed at the group as they ran outside as if hiding a porno tape from their mothers.

Turning to her, “Should I ask where you got those?”

“Let’s just say, they once belonged to a very bad man with many items that needed to be confiscated for...archiving. And now they have been gifted to a better man to celebrate his life and the passage of time.”

“Riiight. Well thank you, for everything. I really appreciate you guys. He’s been so down lately. I couldn’t have done this without your help. I’m gonna go get the cake ready while they’re out there.”

Walking towards the kitchen, you noticed Shuri trying to hide behind a few other guests that were deep in conversation in the dining room. Pausing, you didn’t even have to walk her way to know what she was up to.

“Shuri! Put that drink down right now!”

“Awww, Y/N come on! I thought we were cool. I just want a taste of this good American stuff.”

“Girl, your mother will kill me! Put it down and go find the candles for the cake.”

She stomped over to you and you grabbed her in a tight hug.

“You’re no fun, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

You walked into the kitchen dancing and singing to yourself. “Tell Me” by Groove Theory was now playing through the speakers Erik insisted you guys have installed when you first brought the place. A few of the guests trickled out of the room as Erik’s friend Malik followed you in.

“Tell me if you want me to, give you all my time. I wanna make it GOOD FOR YOUUU!!!!”

You grabbed some plates and napkins from the cabinet and turned mid groove to find Malik standing a little too close. He was taller than your husband but his facial features were no comparison. Let’s be real, not many faces could compare.

“Oh my bad. I didn’t mean to scare you...I was just lookin’ for a garbage. Y’all recycle?”

“Yep, uuh, right there by the door.”

“Cool cool.” Walking over to discard his beer bottle, he turned back around and extended a hand to you. “Malik.”

Switching the plates to your left hand, you extended yours to shake his. “I know. Erik told me about you. He said you guys were like brothers growing up.”

“Yeah, that’s my dawg.” Licking his lips and taking you in a little too intensely, he continued his thought. “We always liked to share things when we were comin’ up.”

You snatched your hand back as Shuri walked in with the candles in hand, dancing to herself.

“Y/N, you have to make me a playlist of these songs for the lab!”

“I will, I promise.”

You walked towards her, grateful to your God and Bast that Shuri’s timing was so impeccable. As you handed her the other items and took the cake from the counter, Malik touched your butt and quickly left the kitchen.

Did he just grab my ASS?!

No, no, he didn’t, he couldn’t!

That nigga just grabbed by ASS!!

You stormed out of the kitchen ready to raise hell, but as soon as you did, a smiling Erik black man jogged towards you and greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You good babe?”

Hands on his chest, gazing in to his bright eyes full of happiness and peace for the first time in a while, there was no way you could ruin this night.

“Yeah, yeah sweetie I’m ok. I was just looking for the candles that’s all. You ready for your cake?”

Nestling his face in your neck as he replied, leaving a wet kiss. “As long as I can have the rest of my dessert later.”

You giggled as his facial hair grazed your skin and planted a passionate kiss on his lips. You hoped that Malik was somewhere watching, being reminded of who the hell your man was and the imminent danger his life was in if he EVER decided to touch you again.

-------

“Aight aight, enough of this terrible singing...blow out the candles man!” One of Erik’s college friends yelled, causing everyone to erupt in laughter. Erik obliged and everyone cheered. He found his way right back to you, engulfing you in his embrace from behind.

“I wanna thank y’all for coming tonight, for real. To have everyone I care about in the same room celebrating me, it’s just, yeah…...I especially wanna thank my princess, my QUEEN who pulled this off without breaking a sweat. I love you, Y/N.”

Turning to face your man, you couldn’t stop cheesing, caressing his dimpled cheeks as he pecked your lips repeatedly.

“Damn, I guess this is what happens when a nigga gets old. Got me all emotional and shit! Shuri, turn that music back up!”

-------

The house had finally cleared of most guests, finally allowing you to put your fuzzy slippers on. You were saying your final goodbyes to T’Challa, Nakia, Shuri.

“Are you sure you don’t need Shuri to help you stay and clean up?” T joked as they walked towards the door.

“Haha! No it’s ok, really. There’s not much more to do. Thank you again. You really made his night.”

“It was our pleasure, Y/N.”

“Make sure you stop by before you head back to Wakanda.”

You closed the door and the newfound silence of your apartment caused you to immediately flash back to that moment in the kitchen with Malik. You had to make sure it got dealt with, but not tonight.

You walked out on the balcony to take in the night air. The life of a hostess was not easy and fatigue was hitting you like a ton of bricks. Out of nowhere, a massive hand smacked you on the butt, scaring the crap out of you. You turned to see it was Erik and not the filth who had violated your space earlier.

“Why you so jumpy girl?”

Attempting to gather yourself quickly and avoid his gaze, you brushed past him and went back into the living room. But as always, he was hot on your heels.

“I’m not E, damn! You just...I thought you were upstairs.”

“You only call me E when you’re annoyed at something or pissed at me, so what’s up?”

“Nothing ERIK, nothing. You’re just always on your sleath shit moving around this house and I wasn’t ready. I’m just tired, baby, that’s all.” Walking towards the steps, you prayed that was enough to hold him off for a bit.

“I’m gonna go change clothes. I left the cake on the counter if you want another slice. Cuz I know you want another slice.”

Whew! Home free, at least for now. You knew your nightly routine would at least give you some time away from him to think. Of course you’d tell him, eventually, but you knew Erik’s past too well to pretend that you weren’t fearful of what he’d do. You’d never be able to erase the sound of the guy's jaw breaking because he put his hands on you at the club when you first started dating. Or the time he threatened your old boss's life and family for overworking his ‘princess’ when you started having panic attacks because of your job. You weren’t at all scared of him, but you were scared of how this news would set him back.

You emerged from the bathroom, fresh faced and wearing Erik’s shirt, to find him perched on the corner of your enormous bed, cake in hand and staring at you. You playfully walked towards him planting yourself in between his legs.

“Can I have a piece?”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll just go get my own.”

“I ate it all before I came upstairs.”

“You better be lying.”

He wasn’t budging and you could tell his patience was starting to wane.

“Fine! Since you refuse to drop this.” You hesitated, backing away from him, bracing yourself for impact, but quickly decided to go another route. You walked to the closet and grabbed a small gift wrapped box from where you kept your extra tampons. He joked with you once that he’d be willing to buy them for you, but after that, you were on your own.

“I made us reservations for tomorrow night. I was going to give this to you then, but you’re so impatient.”

You handed over the box with a huge smile on your face, the giddiness now starting to set in.

Erik looked down at the box and back towards you, rubbing your thigh slowly.

“Well, open, open!”

He chuckled, finding your sudden excitement amusing. “Oh I’m the impatient one?”

He finally opened the box and pulled out a black dog tag necklace with the word ‘Baba’ inscribed on one side and a fingerprint on the other. Erik stared at the necklace in awe. When he finally looked up, he had tears in his eyes, which always made you full on cry.

“Happy Birthday! I’m pregnant. This is your father's fingerprint. I had Nakia do some digging to…”

Before you could get another word out, Erik’s lips were attached to yours. He lifted you off your feet bridal style and placed you on the bed as if moving too fast would break you. Erik made love to you as if it were the first time. Covering every inch of your body with attention to make sure you knew how appreciative he was of the best gift he could have ever asked for.

-------

You laid on your husband's chest, tracing his scars while his fingers made lazy circles along your stomach.

“How long have you known?”

“A few weeks.”

“Damn, I must’ve really been out of it.”

You smiled because him admitting it meant he was finally back.

“E…” You sat up, gathering the sheet around yourself to face him.

“What’s up?”

“Is it hot in here? Wow, i’m sweating.” You jumped up suddenly wrapped in the sheet to go open the window. Now pacing…Erik sat up fully and gave you a minute to process whatever the hell you refused to spit out from earlier.

“Y/N, talk to me.”

“Ok, Erik, listen. Before I tell you anything, I want you to remember that you’re about to be a father. And before I needed you but now it’s your family that needs you. You hear the difference there? We’re a family. And I have a doctors appointment tomorrow afternoon so now that you know I want you to come so you can meet the doctor and get used to…”

In his usual sleath-like manor, Erik had hoped out of bed to stop you from pacing. Once you finally turned around, you were face to chest with him. He lightly grabbed your chin and raised an inquisitive brow. You took a deep breath and finally blurted it out! By the time you finished recounting the story, Erik’s jaw was locked and his body frozen. At this point, you were sitting on the edge of the bed because, exhaustion.

“....I didn’t say anything earlier because you were so happy. Baby I hadn’t heard your laugh in such a long time. I also know how close the two of you used to be. I’m so sorry.”

Hearing that brought your husband back out of his daze. He knelt in front of you making sure your eyes were locked with his.

“Y/N, listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me? You’re my whole world..” Touching your stomach, “Tonight you’ve managed to make that world even better. That nigga violated my trust and made you feel less than in your own body, in our house...f**k no.”

Erik was eerily calm. The man you knew would’ve been dressed at the part of the story with the handshake and in front of Malik’s house with you on speaker by the time you said, “...touched by ass.”

Instead, with a kiss to your forehead, he made the choice to lay back down. “It’s all good baby, let’s get some sleep.”

-------

The next day you awoke to an empty bed. You got dressed quickly and headed downstairs to find Erik in the kitchen making breakfast.

“Good morning beautiful.”

This was always one of your favorite sights. You stood behind him, wrapping him in a hug while he plated the cheese eggs and breathed him in.

“It’s your birthday Erik. I should be cooking for you.”

“Please...besides your doctor called and had to push your appointment up by an hour so eat up quick! I don’t wanna be late.”

You watched him run upstairs, still wondering who the hell this new guy was and what he did with Erik “the colonizers can kiss mine” Stevens.

He came back down, keys in hand, dog tag on next to his father's ring, sneakers and glasses on. Damn you loved when he wore those glasses. That’s probably how you got pregnant in the first place.

“You ready?”

“Yeah…” You put your plate in the dishwasher and grabbed your bag, walking towards the hallway with him.

“Baby? About our conversation last night. You’re not gonna do anything crazy are you?”

“Oh, you mean Malk?”

“Yes, Erik, that’s what I'm talking about”

“It’s already handled.”

“Erik...what did you do?! Didn’t we discuss this? FAMILY. BABY. Us NEEDING you to not get locked up or worse.”

“Relax, Y/N. I didn’t do anything personally.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief, but he wasn’t quite done. “...let’s just say no one will see him anywhere, EVER...AGAIN.”

“E! You can’t just go offing people at every whim, even if you do hire someone else to take care of it for you. That’s not what I meant.”

“Baby steps, ma. Baby steps.”

#erik stevens x reader #Erik killmonger x Reader #erik x reader #blacklove #marvel universe #reelwriter19 #oneshot #birthday #black panther

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 years

Note

Ahhh I just had an idea, so if you don’t mind me requesting a songfic, how about Nagito with the song “Are You Bored Yet?” by Wallows? It just gives off his v i b e s to me. ~ ⚜️

Oh yeah b i g vibes! ..........

What's wrong? You've been asking but I don't have an answer How come? I'm still thinking, let's pretend to fall asleep now When we get old, will we regret this? Too young to think about all that shit And stalling only goes so far when you've got a head start

“Huh? What are you doing?”

“Untying you, what does it look like?” You huffed as you cut the ropes that kept Nagito restrained in the dining hall. Once he was free, you put the knife back in your pocket and helped him up. “No way am I leaving you here all night. Kaz and the others are just being ridiculous-”

However, you were cut off when you heard him laughing, and you noticed the tears that pricked his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, [y/n]...I’m glad you’re seeing how insane they all are.” He smiled widely. “Treating me like a prisoner? When all I’ve done was try to spark a little bit of hope in everyone?”

You were quiet for a few moments, before you decided that it was too late for this kind of talk. “Yeah leaving you in this dusty place to starve is insane. C’mon, let’s get some fresh air.”

His grin never left as you took his hand, leading him out of the abandoned buildin--the very place where the party that ended with a grisly murder was held.

Fortunately, there was no one outside, as everybody seemed to have gone back to their cottages or were still exploring the new island.

Even though you didn’t understand this “hope” Nagito was obsessing over, you still loved him and wouldn’t let them treat him this way. Of course, what he did to Teruteru was sick and twisted, but he wasn’t a murderer. If nobody else believed that..then you did.

Nagito was grateful you were on his side, even if you couldn’t fully see things from his perspective. You were the break he needed from his cycle of bad luck--where everyone he was close to died horribly.

Until the day you both died, in a natural and peaceful way, there’s nothing that’ll ever make you leave him.

At least..that’s what you believed.

'Cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset But I can't help from asking, "Are you bored yet?" And if you're feeling lonely you should tell me Before this ends up as another memory Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie? Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie?

“You’re too sweet, [y/n]..letting me stay here. But..if you ever wanna leave this island, you can always use that knife on me. I don’t mind.”

“Just hush.” You frowned, before taking some drinks out of your pocket, including Blue Ram, which you knew was your boyfriend’s favorite. As you sat beside him on the bed, you handed it to him. “Enough with the “stepping stone” crap. If I wanna leave this place, it’ll be with you.”

Time after time, he struggled to grasp the fact you genuinely loved and cared for him--but he wasn’t like this when you first arrived at all. He’d never go as far as suggesting that you killed him.

Maybe it was the killing game’s pressures causing him to break down, or maybe he was just distressed over the constant cycles of bad luck he suffered all his life.

Either way, you hoped to remain the “outlier” that’ll change his ways of thinking for the better.

You opened your drink, taking a swig before looking out the cottage window, gazing at the sunset. Then you felt Nagito lean his head against your shoulder; you smiled and kissed the top of his head...only for your heart to sink at his next words.

“Are you bored yet?”

“What?” You blinked in confusion.

“If you’re bored of me..scared of me..feel lonely even when I’m clinging to you like a parasite, just tell me. I won’t mind.” He sighed. “A wonderful and shining beacon of hope like you shouldn’t force themselves to put up with this filthy human being anyway.”

Sighing, you put an arm around him. You knew what he was trying to do--distance himself because he still felt unworthy of your love, and he expected you to turn against him, too, after seeing how he acted in the trial. He was just waiting for you to say you hated him.

But you never will.

Feels like I've known you my whole life I can see right through your lies I don't know where we're going But I'd like to be by your side If you could tell me how you're feeling Maybe we'd get through this undefeated Holding on for so long

“Nagito..you’re not filthy. And I’m not forcing myself to do anything. If there’s one person here who still gives a damn about you, it’s me. That hasn’t changed since the moment we started dating, has it not?”

“..........”

“Listen.. don’t pull a stupid stunt like that again. I don’t want you throwing your life away like that in the name of “hope” or whatever..I don’t wanna lose you.” You mumbled, wrapping both arms around him now. “I know you’re scared, I know you’re tired of all the bad luck. It’s okay to tell me that. But we’re gonna get through this nightmare together, okay? You’re not gonna deal with this alone.”

In response, he just smiled and nuzzled his face against your neck. “I can’t fathom how you still find worth in someone like me, but..I’m...I-I’m happy you do..”

You could feel your skin growing damp, but you sighed softly and rubbed his back, hushing him. “You know I love you, Nagito, right?”

“Mhm, and..I-I love you and the hope shining in you.”

Cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset But I can't help from asking, "Are you bored yet?" And if you're feeling lonely you should tell me Before this ends up as another memory Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie? Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie?

#clanask #fleur anon #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 #nagito komaeda #nagito komaeda x reader #hurt/comfort

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years

Text

Baby’s First Battle

TW: Mentions of blood, guns

Peter liked being tiny. He could hide in places where no one would find him. His daddy always got worried when he couldn’t find him, but then Peter would jump out and shout “Boo!”

They would both laugh, and Daddy would pick him up and twirl him around.

But now Peter had to save his daddy. He knew that the Avengers were going someplace to look for him, and he was going to come with them! But when he tried to talk to his Auntie Nat, she told him it was too dangerous.

So did Uncle Rhodey. And Uncle Bruce. And Uncle Clint.

And Uncle Steeb. And Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam.

Everyone said he was too little and it was too dangerous.

That was something Peter didn’t like about being little. He was a big boy!

When Auntie Nat and Uncle Rhodey shouted that they found a signal, Peter grinned. This was his chance to help!

The little toddler ran to the Quinjet, hiding behind Uncle Steeb’s parachute.

The Avengers rushed in, strapping themselves to their seats and preparing to take off.

He grinned. Nobody saw him!

He was gonna save Daddy!

~~~~~

“Poor kid,” Sam said into the silence. “He’s been pretty worried.”

Natasha nodded. “Hope we’ll find Tony.”

“It’s where the signal is most strong,” Steve replied. “We’ll have a good chance of finding him. I just hope it doesn’t lead to a fight.”

Clint spoke from the front of the jet. “We're gonna hit some rough air, everybody. “Hold on.”

The airplane jolted, and Peter let out a sharp cry as he rolled out from behind the parachute.

“Peter?” Rhodey gasped. Nat jumped to her feet and carefully scooped up the four year old.

“Peter, what are you doing here?”

He grinned sheepishly. “I came t’ find Daddy! I’m a big boy, I can do it!”

“Honey, it’s too dangerous,” she murmured, bouncing him in her arms. “You could have been hurt, Peter.”

The boy pouted. “I need t’ find Daddy!”

“Peter, we’re gonna find your dad, kiddo,” Rhodey said.

“But I wanna find him!” he insisted, his eyes wide. “He’s my daddy!”

“Peter, there might be a fight, kiddo. We can’t risk you getting hurt.” Or worse.

“A fight?” he gasped. “Is Daddy gonna be okay?”

Nat smiled sadly. “I hope so, honey.”

They realized it was too late to turn back. Tony needed their help now.

The little toddler would have to come along.

~~~~~

Bruce took Peter, bouncing him on his lap, as the rest of the Avengers armed themselves.

The boy snuffled and stuck his fingers in his mouth. “Be caweful!”

The team smiled. “We will,” said Nat, ruffling his curls.

Peter smiled and curled up, resting his head against Bruce’s chest. He waved to his family as they exited the jet. “Bye!”

And then he screamed as gunshots sounded. His uncle lunged to the floor, wrapping his arms around his nephew.

“Bruce!” Nat yelled into the comms. “Are you two okay?”

“We’re good,” he answered, holding Peter close. “What’s going on out there?”

“Ambush.”

The comms went silent. Peter started crying, burying his face in Bruce’s chest. The man rubbed his back, but he wasn’t good at comforting Peter. That was Tony’s job.

“Wan’ Daddy!” the boy wailed. “I wan’ Daddy!”

The four year old shrieked as people shouted and bodies hit the floor. “Uncle B’uce!”

He looked up with teary eyes and gasped. “Uncle B’uce, you’re gween!”

Peter trembled in the corner as his uncle thrashed and grunted, his shirt ripping in half and his skin turning green. There was a tremendous roar.

The Hulk turned to Peter, breathing heavily, growling.

“Uncle B’uce?”

The monster’s eyes softened. “Baby Avenger?”

“I’m a big boy!” he cried automatically.

Hulk shook his head. “Baby.”

Peter shrieked as Hulk lifted him up, shielding him with one hand and opening the door of the Quinjet. Hulk swung his massive fist at a man dressed in black who pointed a gun at them.

“He’s got Peter!” Nat yelled. “I repeat, the Hulk has Peter!”

“‘M okay!” the toddler cried.

He closed his eyes tight as Bruce sprinted through the underbrush, occasionally stopping to swing a punch at the people dressed in black.

“Uncle B’uce, der’s a buildin’!” Peter cried. “Look!”

Hulk spun around, then charged to the crumbling warehouse. He jumped high into the hair, then smashed his way through the wall. Peter cried out as a piece of rubble scraped his temple.

“Baby Avenger okay?” the Hulk rumbled. The boy felt his head.

“Uncle B’uce, I’m b’eeding!” he cried, tears running down his cheeks.

The green monster looked horrified. “Baby Avenger! Baby Avenger needs help!”

“Peter?!”

“Daddy!” he shrieked, squirming in Hulk’s arms. “Daddy!”

“Peter!” Tony sprinted forward, his face bloodied and bruised and terrified.

“Daddy,” he sobbed as Tony scooped him up, cradling him against his chest. “Daddy!”

“Oh baby. Oh my god, your head, what happened to your head?! Oh munchkin.”

“‘M okay, Daddy,” Peter whispered as his father frantically felt for bumps on his head, wiping away his tears with a gentle thumb, obviously stricken with terror that his baby was bleeding.

“Petey, sweetheart, what are you doing here?!” Tony whispered. “Baby, it’s too dangerous, something could have happened!” He pushed away the possibilities flooding his head.

His kid’s big brown eyes looked up at him. “I wanted t’ help you, Daddy! I’s sorry!”

Tony shook his head, kissing his fragile curls. “No, little one, it’s okay, it’s okay, I know. You scared me, baby, you scared me so much.” He pressed kiss after kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“Daddy, you’re crying!”

Tony smiled (a pained smile). “I know, baby. I know, I’m okay.”

The Baby Avenger sniffed. “I’s sorry, Daddy, I just wanted t’ hewp!”

“No, no little one, it’s not your fault, shh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” Tony cooed.

“Tony!’” someone shouted. “Tony, are you alright? Do you have Peter?”

“Nat,” he sighed, cradling Peter’s head against his chest. “Nat, are we safe? Is it safe out there-”

The boy whimpered as an explosion rocked the building. Tony covered his child’s head and ducked. The Hulk, who had been surprisingly silent up until then, roared and lumbered through the gaping hole in the wall.

“We’ve gotta get Peter out of here!” the inventor shouted.

Natasha nodded. “Tony, the Quinjet’s in the woods to the south. Take this.” She handed him a pistol. He nodded.

Tony raced to the back door, making sure the coast was clear. “Petey,” he whispered, looking in his toddler’s eyes. “I need for you to be really quiet, okay, baby? Pretend you’re hiding from me, sweetheart. Just like hide and seek.”

Peter nodded seriously.

Just like hide and seek.

Peter stayed silent as people shouted and footsteps followed them.

Just like hide and seek.

He stayed quiet when branches grabbed at his face.

Just like hide and seek.

He didn’t make a sound even when his daddy ducked and rolled, Tony trying desperately to protect his baby.

Peter gasped as a door slammed shut behind them, and then they were in the dark Quinjet.

The genius immediately, frantically inspected his kid. “Oh my god, Petey, are you hurt?! Oh, your face, your bleeding! Oh Petey.”

To his horror, Peter began crying. “Oh- oh no, baby, what’s wrong?! Did you get hurt?! Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart, please.”

“Daddy- Daddy, that was scawy!” he sobbed.

“Oh Petey, I know, I know.” Tony cuddled him close. “I know, but it’s okay now, we’re okay.”

He pushed away the thoughts of how much worse this could have been.

Peter was here in his arms, a little scraped, scared, but breathing, heart beating.

His precious baby boy.

He kissed Peter’s curls firmly, rocking them both back and forth, murmuring words of comfort and love. “Shh, mimmo, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay, shh, shh.”

There was sudden shouting at the door. Tony ducked and shielded Peter, but it was unnecessary.

“Tony! You made it! Is Peter with you?” Steve gasped, panting.

He nodded, cradling his crying kid. “I got him. Where are the others?”

As if on cue, the Falcon swooped in, Nat and Clint following him. Thor limped in, supporting a pale Bruce (who had found some pants, luckily)

Natasha rushed over. “Peter? Peter, are you okay?”

Tony hadn’t taken his eyes off his kid. “He’s okay.”

Peter was curled in his lap, holding one of his dad’s arms like a big teddy bear. Tony combed his fingers through the boy’s delicate curls, humming quietly. The toddler looked tired. The excitement and the stress had clearly worn him out.

The kid snuffled quietly and shut his eyes. His father bent to kiss his tiny forehead, smiling softly. “Aww, bambino, il mio piccolo bambino.”

The team grinned as the jet took off. “Sweet dreams, Pete,” Nat whispered.

“Baby’s first battle,” said Clint, wiping away a tear.

~~~~~

/DO NOT TAG OR REBLOG AS ST*RKER/

I forgot to add the taglist, but I have to go! I’ll put it on as soon as I get back!

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