#not saying abled people don’t deserve places to rest but like it’d be nice if there was some left for us

[disableddyke]

disabled people don’t have places to sit/rest in public >> disability activists advocate for public seating >> on rare occasion it gets approved >> abled people take advantage and use up all the seating >> abled people refuse to give up seating for disabled people who advocated for it & need it most >> disabled people still have no place to rest and remain isolated from general public. rinse & repeat

[eyelessfaces]

wine stain

llewyn davis x reader

hi I started writing this in october but never actually finished it and I thought it was kinda good when I reread it but I hated the plot so I changed it. anyways I hope you like it! also please note that this is my first time writing detailed smut in ages and I'm very insecure about it so please be indulgent :(

summary: life isn't fair to llewyn, but the man isn't quick to give up. an audition in chicago might change his life forever, and it does, but not the way he expected it to.

warnings: smut (minors dni!!), unprotected piv, oral sex, language (they swear a lot), alcohol consumption, smoking. mentions of pregnancy and abortion, one tiny joke about it. I am pro-choice and I don't want to offend anyone so if it bothers you just don't read this ffs.

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers, mutual pinning, llewyn is insecure asf and believes he doesn't deserve anything good, fucking oblivious idiots in love

word count: 5.7k (this is the longest thing I've ever written.)

Hot smoke escapes Llewyn’s cup of coffee, subtly mixing with the intoxicating smoke of the cigarette he holds between his fingers. You watch as the smoke goes up in the air, disappearing at the same level of his crumpled shirt collar. You desperately want to get up and fix it. You look away from it and sigh before talking.

“Spill the beans. I know this isn’t a casual cafe meeting. Or what Jean would call our ‘definitely not dates’ or whatever.” you say sinking into your chair, crossing your arms. “What do you want. Need. Same thing” you ask, watching him blow out his smoke as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“There’s no good answer is there?” he chuckles, licking his lips awkwardly when he sees that you’re not reacting to his poor attempt at a joke. “I need money.” he continues, lowering his voice. He leans forward and looks at you sternly. “Listen I hate asking you for this, but if I could do otherwise I wou-”

"Seriously? You’re still not getting anything?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

His face relaxes, and he contorts it to a frown again.

“Believe me I’ve harassed Mel, it’s a miracle he’s not kicking me out. Only real money I get is from the gigs and saying it’s not enough is an understatement.” he huffs out, looking around the barely crowded cafe. “Please. I really need it. I’ll make it up to ya.” he pleads, looking back at you.

You roll your eyes when you think about the extra hours you’ll have to do to be able to pay your rent, but it’s Llewyn, and you care about him, so it’s…

 “...Fine.” 

Llewyn nods, weakly smiling at you.

“Thank you baby. Thank you” he nods fervently, thankful. “I would also need a place to crash at tonight…” he whispers with a sour face, knowing that it may be too much to ask you at once. 

You chuckle and give him a wave of your hand. “Whatever. But you’re taking me out once you have enough money” you say tilting your head forward, pointing at him.

“Sure thing.” he smiles. “Thank you dove.” 

You send him a quick smile before hiding it with your cup of coffee.

A thought occurs and you lick your lips in reflection as you put the cup down on its saucer.

“Abortion?” you ask abruptly, and he looks back at you with a startled face.

“What?”

“Is that why you need money? Again?” you clarify.

His confused face relaxes and he chuckles with a frown.

“It’s nice of you to assume I’m getting laid.” he chuckles, scratching the end of his cigarette in the ashtray.

You shrug. “I don’t know. You’re a hot talented musician after all” you say with a smirk, elbow planted on the table and chin resting on your palm. “Makes everyone faint”

He snorts. “Come on. Not when the hot talented musician is homeless and a dick” he pinches his lips in a skeptic smile.

“Yeah well that’s just you. And I don’t see anything wrong here” you smile, and Llewyn clears his throat.

“Well Jean told me it’d be a favor to people if I never fucked anyone ever again so I’m taking advice” he affirms, eyebrows raised as he brings his own cup of coffee to his mouth.

“Jean’s a bitch” you spit, crossing your arms and leaning back into your chair.

He chuckles and smiles.

“That’s no news.” he smiles. “Hum... The reason I need money is because I need to go to Chicago for an audition.”

“Chicago?” you ask, startled that he needs to go so far away.

“Yeah. Chicago.” he affirms, and looks through the window. It’s pouring and the wet road reflects the light of one small ray of sunshine passing through the clouds. 

“You’re fucking kidding me” you scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s an audition with that Bud Grossman guy” you sigh, slowly shaking your head.

Llewyn doesn’t answer and just looks back at you with a small pinched smile. You sigh. “When is it?”

“I’d need to leave tomorrow. It’s a pretty long ride” he affirms sinking in the back of his chair.

“No shit” you chuckle before taking another sip of your coffee. “It’s a whole ass trip.”

He nods and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table. You grab it before he can and he’s on the verge of calling you out for it but you speak before he can.

“You just finished smoking one. You smoke too much. Slow down.” you advise him putting down your cup of coffee, and he instantly rolls his eyes.

“Oh please.” he huffs. “Come on” he pleads, frowning.

You put the pack in your coat pocket and he sighs before laying further against the back of his chair.

His look darts to the window again. Few people are passing by and the rare ones that do are all protected by an umbrella and a raincoat. He’s just glad he’s crashing at your place tonight and not roaming around the whole city to look for a place to stay in this weather. 

“You’re gonna kill this.”

“Mh?” he asks absent-mindedly, still looking outside.

“Your audition. You’re so talented Llewyn. The trip is worth it” your words make him look back at you immediately, a small gap forming between his lips.

He wants to tell you that you don’t need to do that for him. That you don’t need to be so positive because he somehow always ends up fucking everything up. He really does. But at the same time he doesn’t think he’s ever felt his heart beat so fast.

“My first groupie!” he exclaims, unsure of how to respond wholeheartedly, instead using sarcasm as it’s what he does best. “Here it is.”

“Fuck you you asshole” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I'm just messing with you” he scoffs. “Thank you for believing in me. You’re amazing” he nods and smiles. “You’re probably the only one that believes in me anyways.”

You weakly smile back at him. God you just wished this would work out for him. It’s all you ever wanted for him, truly.

“Can I get my cigarettes back now ?” he asks with a grin.

You roll your eyes and huff out a laugh before throwing the pack of cigarettes at him.

—

You gasp as you feel two arms wrap around your waist. You close your eyes with a sigh once your brain processes everything, and the corners of your mouth turn upwards.

“You scared me you moron. Nice shower?" you ask, still looking at the cooking pot in front of you.

Llewyn smiles as he nuzzles your hair.

“You have no idea. Probably the best shower I’ve had in ages” he affirms, his thumb caressing your clothed stomach. The gesture makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly brush the thought off. You can’t think of him that way. “What you cookin’?” the question tears you out of your thoughts.

“Franks and beans. It’s a good thing you were able to come out of this bathroom, we’re eating soon.” you announce, stirring in the pot with the spatula.

“Awesome” he groans. “Thank you for letting me stay here tonight. The hell would I do without you” he sighs, and leans to quickly kiss your cheek.

You close your eyes and smile once again.

“Come on, go set the table. It’s ready soon” you affirm as you throw your chin towards the table. 

“‘kay chief” he throws as he opens the cabinet where you keep your plates.

You eat while drinking some wine and end the evening watching The Seventh Seal, your head quickly ending up resting over Llewyn’s shoulder. You can feel yourself drift off to sleep as the end credits appear, and get up from the couch before you actually pass out on it and on Llewyn.

“Imma head to bed” you mumble sleepily, grabbing one of your plaids to hand it to Llewyn. “Goodnight” you tiredly say as he takes the plaid before you turn around to leave for your bedroom.

“Hey. I’ll probably be gone by the morning.” he declares as he gets up from the couch, leaving the plaid hanging on the armrest. “So I’ll just say it now. Thank you for the money and the food.” he says as he walks up to you, hands buried in his slacks pockets. “And the couch, and for everything you’re doing for me in general. I really appreciate it. I love you.” 

You endearingly smile at him, reaching to gently stroke his wrist with your thumb.

“Good luck. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you”

—

When you come back home from work later than usual because of traffic three days later, Llewyn is curled up on your couch, asleep. 

Your apartment is bathed in darkness and you watch his sleeping figure as you take off your shoes and coat before walking to him, kneeling next to him by the couch.

You reach to turn on the lamp on the side table next to your couch, looking back at him and finally being able to see his peaceful state. You smile to yourself as soft snores escape his slightly agape mouth and his usual grumpy expression is long gone, and you kinda feel like a creep for watching him sleep but truthfully he looks like an angel and you feel bad for having to wake him up. 

You gently thread your fingers through his raven curls, softly calling his name, and he slowly opens his eyes, hazily sitting up and rubbing his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck” he curses under his breath. “Shit I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch. Sorry”

“That’s okay” you reassure him, smoothing your hand along his forearm. “How was Chicago?” you ask him softly, and he suddenly chuckles and shakes his head.

“Shitty.” he declares. “Useless.”

The blank that fills the air in your apartment is overwhelming. You get up from your knees and sit next to him on the couch, propping your elbow onto the back of the couch, your hand holding your head. “I’m sorry” you pinch your lips in an empathetic smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yeah. I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anyways” he smiles tiredly as he looks up at you.

“If you wanna talk about it I’m all ears, and if you don’t that’s okay, you don’t have to.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes again. “It’s just… It was all for nothing.” he huffs out. “All I do to try to make it work is always for nothing at the end.” You swear you hear your heart crack at that moment. “Grossman advised me to get back with Mike when I told him I used to have a partner.” he scoffs.

You chuckle and shake your head in dismay. “Well that’s gonna be complicated” you say as you raise your eyebrows. “What a fucking moron” you mumble as you get up from your couch, going to the kitchen.

“I don’t wanna defend him but he couldn’t know” he declares as he follows you, leaning his side against the wall as you grab two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“I’m not exclusively talking about that. He’s a fucking moron for rejecting you” you say as you turn back to him, handing him the glass. He takes it and shrugs and you sigh as you fill it. “How many copies of your record would I have to buy to make you rich?”

He laughs before taking a sip of the wine, and he raises his eyebrows in amusement.

“You ending up homeless in your turn isn’t the point sweetheart” he says as he watches you pouring yourself some wine before leaving the bottle on the counter.

“I just want you to be okay.” the words weakly escape your mouth as you walk back to your living room, and his eyes light up at your words. God, if only you knew how much it meant to him that you wanted him to be okay, if only you knew how much you meant to him.

“Don’t worry about me angel. I’ll just go back to merchant marines” he sighs as he sits down on your couch.

You look down at him with empathetic eyes and take a sip from your glass before putting it down on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay” you tell him sitting down next to him, mostly trying to convince yourself. Truth is you rely a lot on how he feels.

He hums absent-mindedly, gaze lost in the void of your living room and leans to put his glass down too before shifting to face you and taking your hand in his. 

You look down at his hand, slowly and softly tracing his skin with your thumb.

“Llewyn” you whisper looking back at him, pushing away the curls falling over his face, threading your hand through the unruly dark curls.

He sighs softly as he looks up and down between your eyes and lips before his hands frame your face as his lips press over yours with more force than he had expected, like his eagerness to kiss you took over him. 

He’s not sure of his action and he’s fully convinced he has, once more, fucked another thing up like he always does as he doesn’t feel you moving, until he feels your hands join at his neck to bring him closer, deepening the kiss as you hum against his lips and as your tongues meet. 

It’s all the both of you had always been wishing for; diluting this unspoken tension between you, finally acting upon it. 

You shift to straddle his lap and he groans into your mouth as he pulls you closer by your hips, savoring every second of that kiss as if you’re going to slip through his fingers once you pull away, as if you’re going to regret all of this once it’s over. 

You know there is no reality where you could ever regret this; you had fantasized of doing this for ages and it’s even better than you had imagined this before; the wine somehow tastes better when it’s on his tongue, and you can feel the faint taste of cigarette in his warm breath as his broad hands run up and down your body, his body heat radiating against you.

You unconsciously hump against him as you want to get even closer, and a moan escapes your mouth, the friction against him deliciously relieving the growing ache between your legs.

“Fuck, Llewyn” you gasp against his mouth as you look down at your clothed crotches, evidently feeling his erection twitching under you even through the layers of clothes.

“Sorry baby” he whispers as his mouth chases yours, his gaze on you drunk and wanting. “Can’t really help it” the chuckle he lets out changes into a gasp when your hand shifts to palm him through his pants.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” you ask teasingly, a grin adorning your face as you leave his lap to kneel at his feet. He looks down at you speechless as you fiddle with his belt. “I know a way to make you feel better about all of this” He’s dreaming. This can’t be real.

“Sure but angel you– wh– you don’t have to–” he babbles as you’re working on freeing him of his confined space.

“I want to” you declare as you take his cock out, and fuck he’s hard and he’s huge and the heat pooling at your belly is becoming more and more pronounced. “If it’s okay” you look up at him, raising your eyebrows awaiting approval.

“Of course it is but we can– you don’t have to– oh shit” his pleas die on his tongue as you take him in your mouth, softly sucking his head as your hand strokes him. “Oh fuck” he groans, his head hitting the back of your couch.

This is a dream, it all happened so fast and there’s no way it’s real, he’s having another one of those dreams with you he’s so ashamed of, you never woke him up from his accidental nap on your couch, he’s still sleeping and this is not actually happening. 

Coming back to reality will be hard because fuck this feels so good and he’ll probably have to lock himself in your bathroom to actually get some relief once he wakes up.

He is confirmed of the realness of the situation when you grip the side of his thigh as if to tell him look at me while you softly lick the underside of him, shifting to trace every vein along his length, pre cum dripping from the head to coat your tongue.

“Is this okay?” you ask pulling away, the tip of your fingers still gently skimming his throbbing cock. He laughs at your question.

“Baby fuck–” he bucks into your hand after you swipe your thumb over his swollen tip. “Yes of course it’s okay” he chuckles as his hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing your cheekbone. “It’s more than okay” he declares as he looks down at you with lustful, dark half lidded eyes.

“Good” you smile up at him before sinking down and taking him fully at once without warning.

The moan that escapes his mouth is sinful and it makes you clench, and the light tug after his fingers shift to grip your hair goes straight to your cunt. 

You take him as deeply as you can, going up and down, tongue swirling around him from time to time. His head falls back against your couch once again, and he squeezes his eyes shut as his grip on your hair tightens.

“Holy shit dove– I don’t think I’m gonna last long” he manages to breathe out between whimpers, tightening his free hand into a fist to prevent himself from cumming right then and there into your mouth.

Then you pull away and he groans.

“What the fuck?” he asks startled as you get up, leaving him twitching and wanting, the feeling of his approaching orgasm slowly fading away.

“Jeez stop being so impatient” you taunt as you start unbuttoning your trousers, and his expression is priceless once he realizes what you have in mind.

“Oh–” you teasingly smile at him and slide your trousers down your legs. “Baby it’s not that I don’t want to but I don’t have any condoms and I can pull out but you know how cursed I am with all of this and–”

“I’m clean and on birth control it’s okay Llewyn” you cut him off of his tirade as you step out of the trousers at your ankles, throwing them to the side. “If you don’t want to do that it’s okay, I can finish you off by–”

You’re cut off when he grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer to the couch he’s sitting on, and you know he’s in for the ride – quite literally – when his thumbs hook into the hem of your underwear to slide them down your legs. He does the same, fully taking off his slacks and underwear and throwing them over the armchair across your couch.

He looks up at you like you’re a goddess, and even though his dick is aching and begging for release he takes his sweet time gazing at you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You softly smile at him, brushing back the raven curls falling over his forehead, and giggles escape from your mouth when he unexpectedly drags you so you can straddle his lap.

He kisses all along your jawline, beard softly tickling your skin as he lavishes your neck next, his hands roaming along your curves, his right hand stopping between your thighs, two of his fingers gathering the slick of your folds.

“Shit– you’re fucking dripping” he breathes out against your neck, making you whimper at his touch. “Did you get that wet just from blowing me?” he teases, and you tug at the curls on the back of his head before reconnecting your lips to his, feeling him smirk against them.

Llewyn groans in your mouth as you wrap your fingers around his cock and slowly pump it, and he knows for sure that the gasp you let out when you slowly but easily sink down on his length will be engraved in his mind.

“Holy shit” you pant, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder once you’re fully seated on his throbbing length.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand anchored at your hip and the other one softly trailing up your bare back underneath your shirt.

“Yeah” you breathe out, frantically nodding against him as your arms wrap around his neck, and you slowly start rocking your hips. The little whimpers he lets out are music to your ears, and the way he softly gasps your name has you clenching around him.

“Fuck angel you’re so fucking tight” Llewyn hisses, leaving a trail of kisses along your neck as you thrust down on him, finally finding a steady pace that leaves the both of you sweating and panting, clinging to each other. “Taking me so fucking well” he grunts against the exposed skin of your neck, the roughness of his beard tickling the sensitive area. Tugging on his hair so he can look back at you, his hips jerk up, and you pull him in for a hungry kiss. 

Of course he would like you pulling on his hair.

Happy with the reaction it elicited from him and the information you just got, your hands are gripping on his curls as you roll your hips against him. He practically fucks his tongue into your mouth, and you almost choke into the kiss when his thumb meets and massages your clit in small circles.

You gasp his name, and his hand that was stroking your back earlier is now tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear as he drinks in the sight of you using him for your pleasure. 

“Wanna make you cum first” his voice is rough and deep with lust, and the way you bite on your lower lip as you slightly flutter around him because of his words seem to encourage him; his grip against your hips becomes more and more firm and controlling, his pelvis thrusting up into you with a force that you hadn’t expected from him, his movements meeting yours and making you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Fucking hell Llewyn” it comes out as a sigh, but if the walls of your apartment weren’t so thin you would have at least screamed it.

You know he won’t have much work to do as you can already feel yourself nearing your climax; it’s all starting to become too much, but the good kind of too much. 

You gasp in surprise when Llewyn manhandles you with the force you ignored he still had from his merchant marines days and knocks over one of the glasses of wine on the coffee table, the liquid pouring all over the surface and dripping down onto your wooden floor. 

“Shit Llewyn” you gasp, pushing your nails deeper into his arms. 

It’s honestly a miracle you managed not to fall and you back landed on the couch correctly.

The mission isn’t a complete success, but you’re too caught up in the moment to stop because of some stupid wine so you just manage to tell him “Fuck it just keep going” while wrapping your legs around his waist so he keeps going, even more fervently.

You’re now laying on your couch, Llewyn hovering over you and hitting deeper spots inside of you, each movement faster than the previous one; the wet sounds between your legs are lewd and get even filthier each time he pounds into you. 

He’s close. You can see it, you can feel it by the way his thrusts stutter slightly. 

His head tilts down to where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside of you, bringing his hand to you clit again.

“Fuck are you gonna cum for me baby?” he asks, his voice dripping with lust and desire as he toys and rubs circles over your aching clit.

You whimper and hiss and cry his name as you get lost in the feeling of his fingers and his hips ramming further into you, all the tension in your body morphing into waves of pleasure as you reach your climax, fluttering around him and cumming in silent gasps.

Llewyn is quick to follow you as your orgasm was all he was waiting for to finally let himself go; his movements become sloppier and his hips start to stutter, his eyes finally rolling to the back of his head and his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stills, his cock spurting his cum deep inside of you. 

He grunts, and your head falls back into the couch as you feel drained of all your energy. Llewyn curses under his breath as he rests his forehead against your shoulder, panting, before pulling out and collapsing on top of you, his head resting against your chest. 

You both catch your breaths, staying here for a while with your fingers softly running through his hair before you start blissfully laughing, all the tension and seriousness of the situation fading away. 

He rests his head to the side, facing the scenery of the knocked over glasses still swaying over your coffee table. “Fucking hell your floor” he gasps before looking up at you, realizing the mess you have made with the wine.

“I’ll just put a rug over the stain I guess” you sigh. “It was worth it” you chuckle and lean down to kiss him. “I’m glad you didn’t take advice from Jean after all”

“What?” he asks, still dizzy from his climax.

“Not fucking anyone ever again, remember?” you ask and he laughs, getting up and walking to where he left his clothes to get dressed again.

“Yeah, well you better be consistent on your birth control because apparently my spermatozoids are warriors, and I wouldn’t want Jean to make a point” he chuckles as he slides into his slacks.

“We should be fine” you mutter while sitting up, reaching to pick your underwear from the floor. “I’ll call you if I need an abortion” you joke, standing up to put your underwear back on. “Ugh fuck” you whine picking up your trousers, seeing the wine stain covering it.

“I’ll help you clean and I’ll just… go” he mutters, scratching his forehead.

“Why do you wanna go” you ask absent-mindedly, walking to the kitchen to try to save your trousers from the wine stain.

“I don’t know” he declares following you into the kitchen before standing against your counter, hands gripping the edge of it. You look at him and he looks absent, livid, almost sick, and it is too much just for it to be his post-orgasm haze. 

You frown, and when you realize why he might want to leave your heart breaks a little.

“Did I do or say something wrong?” you ask. Maybe the abortion joke was too much, maybe you got fooled and he was just horny and needed to let it out of his system and regretted it now. “Llewyn do you…” you fully turn towards him, searching for your words. “Do you think this was a mistake?” you ask looking back at him, letting the garment rest in the sink. “Us sleeping together?”

“Me? No” he scoffs. The tension hangs in the air as you’re waiting for him to elaborate. “I figured you would”

You sigh and take a step closer to him.

“Llewyn no… Why would I?” you chuckle, almost offended at the thought.

“I don’t know. Nothing I do is ever good so why would this be any different?” he shrugs, closing his belt.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and shaking your head.

“No. You’re a fucking idiot.” you mutter under your breath.

“I know.” he replies quickly, not wasting one second. He walks back to your living room, gathering his stuff to go, really wanting to avoid having a fight with you, and preparing to leave like he had planned to.

“I don’t mean it like that. You wanna know why you’re a fucking idiot?” you ask rhetorically, following him closely. “You think you’re not good enough for everything you do in life when truth is, you’re just really unlucky.” you declare, “And you act like a jerk because you’re scared of actually succeeding in something.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Well surely you’re right about that too” he scoffs, pulling out his cigarette pack from his pocket.

“Don’t smoke inside of my apartment” you hiss. 

“I told you, I’m leaving.” he almost immediately snaps, putting the cigarette in his shirt pocket, taking his guitar case and his box of things, his coat thrown over it.

You sigh and put a hand over your forehead, and watch as he passes in front of you to go to your entry. 

It is now or never, or else it will never be the same. Tonight you had taken a step forward, but by taking this step forward you had also taken two steps backwards, and if you didn’t try to save this now it would never be saved.

“Llewyn” you call, and something breaks inside him at the sound of your voice. You had never called his name so weakly, so pleadingly.

He turns and finally looks at you, establishing eye contact for more than five seconds for the first time since your sexual encounter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“I fucked this up too, didn’t I” he mutters, and you pinch your lips as it is your turn to shake your head as you step closer to him.

“No. No you didn’t.”

He looks down at the stuff he’s carrying and sighs.

“I don’t really wanna go.” he declares softly.

“Then stay,” you nod. “Please. I don’t want you to go.” you say as you take a step forward, taking the box from his hands. “If you leave I would need to run after you in just my shirt and underwear, and frankly I don’t want to do that” you smile slightly as you put his stuff down on the floor.

He laughs and puts the rest of his belongings on the floor too, and when he looks back at you he notices you’re still looking down on the floor, gaze lost in your thoughts.

“Honey is there–”

“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?” you cut him off, looking back at him. 

“No. Of course not. I’d do it again.” he declares. “I mean if–”

“I get it. Don’t worry” you chuckle. 

A small silence fills the room before you get an idea.

“Hey, follow me” you say as you tilt your head. You cross your small apartment, Llewyn following you closely, grabbing your wrist as you push your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart I’d love to but I don’t think I can go again– I mean not right now”

“I’m not bringing you here to have sex again” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips as you see his face relaxing and his hold on your wrist loosening up. You sit on the edge of your bed, and he watches you from a distance, leaning against the doorframe. “Come here” you call, patting the spot right beside you. Llewyn hesitantly sits beside you, and his gaze shifts to your face when you grab his hand.

“This could be your bed, if you wanted it to be.” The sound of your voice rings in his ears. “You wouldn’t have to sleep on my couch again. Or any other couch.” you declare, brushing back his unkempt hair, and he looks at the bed behind him as if to contemplate what he could have. 

He looks back at you, and he knows that he knows his answer. He doesn’t hesitate for one second on what he would rather have, because if he could be by your side forever, he would be. But something inside of him is not sure if you want him to be by your side forever.

He nods. He nods and he licks his lips in reflection, and he looks back at the bed before looking back at you again. “I don’t want this to be exclusively sexual” he declares, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Me neither” you smile, a wide smile that makes his heart sink. You grab his face and kiss him, and he savors this kiss like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. But if kissing you was the last thing he’d do, he would be satisfied with that.

You pull away from his lips and lay down on the bed, and his hand rests against your bare thigh while he looks at you. And he looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

He lays down next to you with a grunt, facing the ceiling, and you prop yourself against your elbow to face him.

“I’ll just ask you one thing” you declare, firmly looking at him.

“Mh?” he hums, looking at you.

You lick your lips and let your fingers trail along the side of his face. 

“Stop thinking you don’t deserve anything good.” you whisper, and his face shifts so he can kiss the tip of your fingers.

“Eh, I’ll try,” he smirks, shrugging. You shake your head and lean down to kiss him again, but he hovers over you and pins you down before you have the chance to do it.

You laugh and he kisses you, hungrily, and shifts down to leave a trail of kisses to your neck and collarbone as a defeated sigh escapes your mouth.

“Okay so I’ll give you time to work on the imposter syndrome. But now we can only have sex if you promise me you won’t hate yourself after we’re done”

He pulls away from your skin, and looks up at you. 

“I can do that.”

You spend a long night offering Llewyn your bed, the uncleaned stain of wine on your floor long forgotten.

But at least years later, when you’re engaged to Llewyn and packing to move out somewhere bigger and the time comes when you have to remove the rug, it reminds you of that specific night, and you can’t help the fluttering feeling of the butterflies in your stomach, accompanied right away by a tiny kick. The very first one.

—

comments and reblogs are always appreciated!!

inside llewyn davis taglist: @apollo-enthusiast @scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @beccabecs521

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Rejected, or simply unexpected? Aka debunking self-sabotaging Wei Wuxian takes, part three

People have talked a bit about this before, but fanon!Wei Wuxian has a peculiar habit of not accepting any help from others. This happens in every single scenario — even when he knows the person offering it is capable, even when it comes at no cost to them, even when not accepting said help would actually hurt other people under his care. This ties into his low self-esteem, low self-worth, believing he’s nothing but a burden to others, believing he doesn’t deserve anything… all of which is decidedly not true for Wei Wuxian in canon. But that point of view is very common in fandom circles, and it plays into a perception that Wei Wuxian doesn’t just find it hard to accept help – he doesn’t believe he deserves nice things in general.

Before we fully get into that, I think there’s one quote that encapsulates Wei Wuxian’s attitude towards help very well:

He wasn’t scared of falling. All these years, he’d fallen many times. But falling on the ground still hurt, after all. If someone was there to catch him, it’d be more than wonderful.

- Chapter 87, EXR translation

This is from the scene where Wei Wuxian climbs the tree at Lotus Pier, and is struck by a sudden urge to fall and see if Lan Wangji will catch him, so admittedly, there are a lot of emotions surrounding Lan Wangji himself that could possibly affect this. That's actually quite likely, considering how flustered he gets every time Lan Wangji does something romantic for him ("you can't say things like that, Lan Zhan! "). But I think this moment echoes what’s true throughout the book – Wei Wuxian may not expect help, but when it’s offered, he’ll take it gladly. He doesn’t he sees himself unworthy of it.

And there are a lot more moments where this pattern is repeated. He doesn’t insist on letting Lan Wangji rest the whole time in the Xuanwu’s cave despite being injured, he doesn’t feel conflicted when accepting help from Wen Ning and Wen Qing when they’re sheltering him from the rest of the Wens or when the Golden Core transfer is taking place, he doesn’t reject or feel guilty that Lan Wangji decides to stay with him after his identity is revealed! He asks if he’s sure he wants to help him, but after he confirms that he never feels horrible of that Lan Wangji made the wrong choice! Again, he didn't expect that help, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to feel bad about getting it – quite the opposite.

It’s not just accepting help, either. Particularly with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t just accept help, he actively asks for it at times (while giving the opportunity to turn it down), and that’s completely fine with him! And this isn’t with small things either, in one of these instances he’s straight up asking Lan Wangji to possibly risk his life with him at the Second Siege of the Burial Mounds:

Suddenly, Wei WuXian spoke up, “HanGuang-Jun!” Lan WangJi turned around to look at him. Wei WuXian took in a breath, “I want to do something.” The eyes of the others were led over by the conversation as well. Wei WuXian, “Will you do it with me?” Lan WangJi gazed at him. He answered, firm and articulate, “I will.” (...) Wei WuXian, “Later, when the second wave of corpses breaks in, I’m going to lead them towards the blood pool, and HanGuang-Jun will be responsible for killing them. Here,” he patted his chest, “is a target. They won’t pay any attention to you all. Don’t engage in battle, just run outside as fast as you can.”

- Chapter 82, EXR

(Though Wei Wuxian is undoubtedly confident in his and Lan Wangji’s abilities here, there is genuine danger, and it’s the corpses of the Wen Remnants that allow them to not be harmed, something he couldn’t have predicted. And I do believe he would have been able to judge the danger of the situation correctly – this wave of corpses is “bigger than the last”, and it took many more people than just Lan Wangji to fight off the smaller, previous one. Additionally, the aim here is to get everyone else out safely, not necessarily to just kill all the corpses.)

Again, there is no guilt here! And no hesitation in that, either – yes, he takes a breath before telling Lan Wangji, but because the breath is before “I want to do something” and not “will you do it with me?”, it’s safe to assume that it’s a slight pause before committing himself to putting himself in mortal danger, not because it’s hard for him to ask Lan Wangji to help him. 

And yes, this is all with Lan Wangji, so you could say this is a special case because of the feelings he has towards him. I disagree, however, because there’s nothing in the rest of the novel to suggest this is the case, and he has accepted help from Wen Ning and Wen Qing, who he hardly knew at the time, with no problem. But the reason I bring this up is that so many of these Wei-Wuxian-is-hesitant-to-accept-help include Wei Wuxian being hesitant to accept help from Lan Wangji too, which is not only a problem because that’s not at all the case in the novel (see above), but also because it’s so contradictory to Wangxian as a relationship. It’s a relationship so immensely built on trust, on that being so mutual that there don’t have to be ‘thank you’s or ‘sorry’s between them, on believing and trusting in the abilities of both the other person and themselves, and simply in the other person and themselves – that having Wei Wuxian not willing to accept any help or feeling like a burden or anything in that vein, completely breaks that apart.

–– 

Now we’ve established that Wei Wuxian has no problem accepting help, let’s look at the two main examples people usually cite as him rejecting it. I don’t think there’s any need to mention the aftermath of Nightless City, because Wei Wuxian there is extremely traumatised and not even fully conscious.

Firstly, there are the 'examples' people talk about most — saving the Wen remnants alone, and not telling anyone about his Golden Core being gone.

Saving the Wen remnants is a curious example, because there isn't actually a moment when he rejects help, or stops himself from asking for it. The closest you can get is when he is tells Jiang Cheng to tell the world he's defected from the Jiang sect. But let’s take a closer look at that scene:

Jiang Cheng, “You burn this corpse right now and return to them all these leftovers of the Wen Sect. That’s the only way to make the subject die!” As he spoke, he raised his sword again, preparing to attack. However, Wei WuXian clenched his wrist, “Are you joking?! If we return Wen Qing and the others to them, they’d meet nothing but a dead end!”

(...)

 A while later, Jiang Cheng spoke, “Wei WuXian, have you still not realized what the situation at hand is like? Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

Wei WuXian, “There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.” Jiang Cheng’s face twisted. Wei WuXian, “Just let go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei WuXian does, it’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect.”

- Chapter 73, EXR

That’s not rejecting help, because help was only being if he handed in the Wen Remnants and left them to die. That’s protecting innocents – something we know Wei WuXian very often does do.

And conditional though it was, this is the only semblance of help that was even offered! The Jins and Nies certainly aren’t going to offer anything, the Lans aren’t going to make a move, and the only person who really defends him (Mianmian) does it when he’s not even there. Lan WangJi eventually decides to stand by him, but by then it’s much too late, and Wei WuXian never gets a chance to consciously accept permanent help from him here either – though it’s important to note that he had absolutely no problem with Lan WangJi helping him when he visited him in Yiling. You can’t reject help if none’s offered!

Hiding his Golden Core, meanwhile is even easier to find a likelier explanation to, because the reason is given to us! Wei Wuxian states outright that the reason he didn’t tell Jiang Cheng about the transfer was that he didn’t want him to react how he eventually did when finding out in canon. And if we want to ask why he didn’t tell him some other way and lie about the circumstances... they’re in the middle of a war right now. Not having a Golden Core is an extremely big weakness that people could and would exploit if the information somehow got out, which wouldn’t be impossible – is Wei Wuxian really going to risk that when he can hide it instead? Even after the war ends, it’s the same situation. Wei Wuxian is not stupid in any sense of the word, he’s entirely the opposite. He knows he’s in a socially vunerable position, he knows people have very negative opinions of him because of his use of guidao, he knows any ‘respect’ they show towards him is due to fear. He also knows there are people like Jin Guangshan who’d probably like to use that power for themselves (situation with the Yin Tiger Tally, anyone?), and very much not for good, so he’s not letting that happen. Telling anyone about his Core being gone and risking the information getting out means people can and would exploit that information and take advantage of it, so there’s an extremely good reason for not doing so, that does not have any connection to the act of accepting help. And in addition to that, the loss of his core is painful to dwell on – he admits that in his thoughts at the Guanyin Temple. Why force yourself to talk about it when there’s the opportunity to just... not? And if we’re talking post-timeskip, that information is pretty much irrelevant to anything going on, so there’d be no reason to bring that up at all.

So I think it’s safe to say that in both these situations, the act of accepting or rejecting help isn’t really a factor – or at least not one large enough to consider.

(And if anyone has any other situations where it seems Wei Wuxian is rejecting help and there’s not a clear alternate explanation as to why, please reblog or send me an ask with your thoughts. The whole point of analysis is discussion!)

––

So at last, let’s get to the underlying ‘issue’ – that Wei WuXian, apparently, doesn’t believe he des

Since this is a belief and not a reactionary trait, it’s a bit harder to find anything directly proving or disproving it. However, we can infer from the way he acts that this is not the case. Take a look at what he does in canon:

He frequently flirts friendlily with others, almost always as a way to get something for himself , whether it’s loquats, medicinal perfume pouches, or something else (I say almost always because Lan Wangji exists, of course)*.

He frequently takes things from the stalls around Lotus Pier, which he’s allowed to do... because the money is paid by Yunmeng Jiang instead. He knows this, and he knows he’s allowed to, and does he ever feel guilt? No! Quite the opposite, actually:

Wei WuXian took a bite, “Back then, I didn’t even have to pay when I ate at the dock. I grabbed whatever I wanted, ate whatever I wanted; ran after I grabbed, walked as I ate. A month later, the vendor would get the reimbursement from Uncle Jiang.”

Chapter 86, EXR

He takes Lan Wangji’s money and uses it to buy things for himself on more than one occasion – and the first few times it isn’t even given to him, he just takes it!

In addition to this, in his early childhood he always used to give a “genuine smile that showed how happy he was” whenever somebody gave him a bun or something else to eat, according to a comment by MXTX . None of those point to him not believing he should have nice things, he takes them for himself all the time! And just like when he’s offered help, he’s happy when they’re offered to him!

Now, there is a period people could use in an argument against this, and that’s when Wei Wuxian first arrives at Lotus Pier, so let’s talk about that. Because yes, he is shy, he is very hesitant. And that could easily be interpreted as young Wei WuXian struggling to accept the he’s been given. But in the same comment, MXTX actually talked a bit about that period of his life, and this is what she said:

“Then at Lotus Pier, for the first month, he daren’t use too much water for a bath. He wouldn’t dare to eat too much, afraid that he’d be too expensive for JFM. Then afterwards…

He completely let go and went wild.”

To me, that sounds more of a case where he’s scared he’ll get thrown out of Lotus Pier if he’s too difficult for Jiang Fengmian, and so acts in a way to prevent that happening. And when he’s confident it won’t happen? He stops doing that, and starts acting like... well, himself. It’s an emotionally driven tactic, not a case of feeling unable to accept the nice things that are happening (and adjusting to an entirely new place with entirely new people must have played a role in it, too).

I think the confusion here comes from “believing good things/help/etc are deserved” being mixed up with “expecting good things/help/etc to be given”. Wei WuXian doesn’t expect nice things, or at least nice things given freely and unprompted – and really, why would he? But that does not mean he has trouble accepting them, and it does not mean he believes himself unworthy of them. There are no self-esteem issues at work here, it’s simply him expecting what was a pattern from the entirety of his childhood.

--

Finally, I want to speculate a bit about what Wei Wuxian’s attitude towards help actually is, and why it is that way. Because there was a quote that stood out to me recently, when reading through the Cloud Recesses arc for this meta, and that’s Wei Wuxian’s reaction when Nie Huaisang offers to copy his lines for him:

Nie HuaiSang quickly spoke, “I’ll copy for you! I’ll copy for you!” Wei WuXian, “No good person does favours for others out of the blue. Tell me, what do you want me to do?”

He defaults to seeing help of any sort as an exchange: people may offer help, but they won’t give it freely. And that's treated as a simple fact of life, not tied to any self-based issues, because that’s simply the way things have always been for him – he’s never been freely given help with no strings attached. Even when he’s taken off the streets by Jiang Fengmian, a close friend of both his parents whose life was saved by one of them, that means he’s indebted to Yunmeng Jiang, it can’t exist as a kind action in and of itself. 

And the sad thing is that, most of the time, he’s right. He was right in this scenario, he’s right about how things are in the cultivation world at large, because the world of MDZS isn’t a nice place, and it’s definitely not nice to the so-called “son of a servant”.

That’s why I specified not expecting help given freely and unprompted. Because he isn’t especially surprised at help, with strings attached – to an exchange of favours. Even flirting with people for loquats has the same roots: he gives them his charms and flattering words and a smile, and they give him what he asked for in return.

And that’s why he’s so surprised and happy when people like Lan Wangji offer that kind of help to him, where nothing is expected in return – where he’ll simply be caught if he falls, with nothing else tied to it. That’s one of the reasons he’s so happy in a relationship with him, because there are no ‘pleases’ and ‘thank-you’s and exchanges. 

Wei Wuxian likes being helped, he likes being pampered and treated well – there’s no element of “I don’t deserve this” in there. He just simply hasn’t been given enough chances to expect it.

[cambria-writes]

I haven’t been writing for over two years and I’ve been spending the most of the past 72 hours working on this and like two other fics so like. Please be nice. Also I only proofread this like, maybe twice, so if there are still any mistakes or typos, please let me know! I’m almost done with the next chapter, so if we’re all lucky I’ll be able to post it next week. I figure that a weekly upload schedule should probably be feasible for me. Guess we’ll see! pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: PG13 for now, each chapter rated individually warnings: there will be hella spoilers for S4, lots of swearing, guns, minor injury and blood, drugs (just weed my dudes), alcohol, reader deserves her own warning actually, use of canadian english is also its own warning word count: 3,323

Previous Next Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

March 20th, 1986

It’s annoying, having to wait like this.

Your leg is bouncing under the table and you can’t help but absently pick at the table’s flaking paint. You’d est up to meet after you were off work, which more or less coincided with when he got out of class. Which was apparently a bit earlier than you’d anticipated; you’ve been killing time at this stupid picnic table in the woods for almost half an hour now.

You’re about to cut your losses and prepare an apology call when something catches your eye, further off in the woods. It’s not like it’s eerily quiet; if you pay attention, you can hear squirrel scrambling up trees and birds flying around. But there’s something about that vague almost-shape you saw in the woods... You feel the hairs at the back of your neck rise. That’s probably a bad sign, right? You should probably leave. I should definitely leave.

“Sorry for keeping you wai–”

You shriek and clean fall off the bench with how fast you turn around.

“Fucking shit Ed! God damn warn a girl, holy shit!” You scream, catching your breath and brushing leaves off of you when you stand. “You scared the living hell out of me!”

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender and takes a few steps back. “Woah there, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

The genuine concern makes you groan and you drop yourself back onto the bench you’d fallen from. When asked, you were going to lie and say your shifts are work were just getting a bit aggravating, but it was a bit harder to justify being that jumpy.

“Dude, I don’t know. I’ve just been having these nightmares for a while and it’s been freaking me out,” you explain, putting your arms up on the table and resting your head on them. “I’ve been getting shit for sleep and it’s like I’m seeing things.”

“I’m pretty sure drugs are gonna make that worse, not better,” Eddie says slowly, leaning forward on the table after placing his box down. “You wanna, like... talk about it?”

You scoff and turn your head away. There was no way you were going to try and even begin to describe the fucked up shit that’s been playing in Technicolor in your brain the past few weeks. Nevermind the stuff you’re pretty sure was a dream but aren’t entirely convinced about.

Like that time you spotted Harrington and fucking Robin Buckley, of all people, in a movie theater together. Looking and acting absolutely blitzed out. That has to have been some kind of hallucination, because as soon as the movie was over you couldn’t see them anywhere.

Or that time a few years ago when Will Byers went missing and those kids–his friends, probably?–took to the streets like a band of thieves, looking for all the world like they were heading straight for the lab. No one else ever mentioned them or even gave any indication they’d seen a group of prepubescent boys taking up a whole street with their bikes and an ungodly time of night. So you just kind of assume you’d... dreamt it up, or something.

You’ve had weirder dreams.

“I appreciate the offer to be my impromptu therapist, Munson, but I think it’d just make me feel worse,” you eventually answer, sitting back up and running your hands down your face. “I just need whatever you’ve got that can knock me out. Shit you gave me last time barely got me to sleep like, an hour.”

Eddie audibly winces and crosses his arm.

“I hate to say it, but you might be better off with beer.”

You groan theatrically and let your head slam back down on the table. Slam it a few more times for good measure. Eddie hastily shoves his hand under your forehead.

“Hey there, woah, woah! Knock that out!”

“You’re shitting me right? I can’t do this anymore, Ed, I feel like I’ve actively gone insane,” you whine, bringing your hands up to the back of your neck. “You’re my best bet, no way I can see a doctor for this. I’ll get locked up or worse.”

There’s silence for a bit, before you hear the closure for Eddie’s box pop open. You sigh in relief and raise your head, pulling the hair out of your face. He’s not taking anything out, though; he’s putting something back in before closing the box again.

“Wait no, come on–” you start, but Eddie interrupts you with a hand help up.

“Ah, give me a second, I’m getting there,” he says, shoving his other hand in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. The small bag of weed he pulls out looks thoroughly and profoundly unremarkable.

“Dude I literally just said–”

“Have you always been this impatient, woman? Relax, this is from my,” Eddie pauses to clear his throat and leans forward with a grin. “Personal stash. Should be strong enough for you.”

“Are you saying you’ve been selling me baby’s first drugs until now?” You ask, crossing your arms. Eddie places a hand to his chest in mock offense and scoffs.

“I’m shocked and offended you would ever think so lowly of me. I thought we were cool!” You can’t help but at least chuckle at that and put your hands up in defeat.

“No, you’re totally right, my bad. I know you would only provide me with the finest wares. I had a moment of weakness, beg your forgiveness.”

Content with your playing along and the accompanying apology, Eddie pulls out a grinder from the box, rolling papers from a back pocket and gets to rolling. When he doesn’t immediately make a move to start a conversation, you decide to drown out the buzzing in your head yourself.

“How’s the Hellfire campaign going? Aren’t you having the party come up against a lich?” Eddie smirks and nods.

“Yeah, Vecna. They still have no idea though, they all still think he’s just a myth. I can’t wait to see their stupid faces when I tell ‘em he’s still alive when I tell them.”

“They’ll riot, I hope you know,” you laugh lightly, putting your chin in your hand on the table. You’d only sat in on one or two sessions, back when Eddie had been the youngest member of Hellfire. But if the theatrics and hysterics of those sessions were anything to go by, these guys got very emotionally attached to their games and characters.

“They can riot all they want, they’re gonna have to let the dice to the talking for them,” Eddie says, carefully rolling the ground bud into its paper. You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself when you hear it.

The distant but unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock chiming.

“Ed,” you first say, apparently too quietly for him to hear. “Eddie. Hey, Munson,” you say, faster, tapping your hand on the table to catch his attention. Your eyes, meanwhile, are scanning the pathway you’d both come down for any movement. “Tell me you heard that.”

Eddie freezes and slowly brings his hands down to the table. When he doesn’t move or say anything, you turn back to him. His expression is... upsetting

“Dude no, don’t look at me like that,” you plead, leg bouncing under the table again.

“Depends what you heard,” he replies slowly, bringing the joint back up to his lips so he can seal it.

“I-I don’t know, like the chime of a grandfather clock? That thing they do every hour?”

Eddie shakes his head as he twists the end of the joint before putting it down on the table between you.

“I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think this is gonna help you. You’re kind of starting to freak me out a bit, and that’s saying something.” Even the attempt at humour can’t really take the edge in his voice you refuse to acknowledge is a hint of fear.

“I’ll take my chances,” you mutter, reaching for the rolled joint with one hand and pulling a zippo lighter from your jacket pocket with the other. Thanks to Eddie’s rolling, it doesn’t take long to light up, and you can take your first actual drag almost right away. Your head already feels clearer by the time you take your second hit.

“Jesus slow down, you’re gonna suffocate,” Eddie cautions, reaching a hand out but not quite reaching you.

“If it knocks me out it knocks me out my guy,” you reply smoothly, blowing the smoke in his direction. You take a third, smaller hit before passing the joint over.

You can’t tell if it’s the weed that made it stop or if it stopped all on its own, but you’re relieved to find you can’t hear the stupid clock chiming anymore.

“...look,” you start, absently picking at the threads of a hole in your pants. “It’s not because I don’t trust you–”

“Hey, no, I get it,” Eddie says, cutting you off, passing you the joint back after a second hit. “No one wants to confide in the town freak, totally–”

It’s your turn to cut him off when you stand and reach over the table to slap him over the head.

“I told you to stop saying that shit, Munson!” You drop back down heavily onto the bench and take what’s maybe a bit too big of a hit from the joint before passing it back over. “I know I’m like, always the first person to say that if you think everyone else is the problem then you’re probably the problem but,” you take a second to cough lightly and clear your throat before continuing. “In this instance I think it’s perfectly justified to say that literally everyone’s an asshole to you for no damn reason.”

“It’s not for no reason,” Eddie replies lightly, and a bit too easily. “I run a cult, my dad’s in jail, I live in the bad part of town–”

“Yeah and none of that is your fault!” You frustratedly stomp at the ground under the table. “Come on! You don’t even actually run a cult. God forbid kids have fun doing shit, right? Jesus christ, don’t take that shit on for yourself!”

The joint burns between Eddie’s fingers and he just... sits there, staring at you like you’ve just confessed to murder.

“What. Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m right!”

“Well, sure, I know that,” he replies, leaning back a little bit and taking another hit from the joint. “I’m just wondering what’s gotten into you that you’re this...” He gestures at you with both hands. “Whatever this is you are right now.”

“Whatever this is?“ you scoff, crossing your arms. ”Upset? Pissed off?“

“I was going for ‘slightly more unhinged than usual’ but that–yeah that works too.”

You twist your tongue against your teeth. You could probably talk... a little bit, right? You can probably spin it as just a weird run of the mill nightmare thing. Which just happens to involve people you happen to have seen around town when no one else did.

“It’s just...” you start, and when Eddie passes you the rest of the joint back, he leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. “I’ve been having nightmares about people dying, man,” you whisper, taking the last hit from the joint before stubbing it out underneath the table.

“Like, people you know people? Or just random dream people?”

“People I know people,” you confirm, resting your head against the table gently, this time. “There’s–man, I really don’t know if I should be telling you this,” you groan, bringing your hands up over your head. “There’s like, your whole Hellfire club there dude. I saw Steve Harrington get like, half eaten alive once, that was fucking miserable.” You take a second to breathe. Thankfully, all Eddie does is fold his hands on the table and let his head rest on them.

“Are Harrington and that Henderson kid close at all?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think much about it. Eddie sits up straight and leave his palms face down on the table. When you look up, he’s got a brow raised at you.

“I guess? When I first picked him up, Henderson couldn’t shut up about him,” Eddie say, exhaling sharply like he’d found something funny. “Still doesn’t shut up about him actua... hey, are you good?”

No, you’re in fact very not good. There’s no way, right? There’s no way that what you saw was real, right? There’s no way there’s a weird blip in the spacetime continuum that let you see Dustin Henderson freaking out over a very bloodied and injured Steve Harrington?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” You say weakly, turning around and away from the table to put your head between your legs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mutters in a panic, and you can hear him trip over himself trying to get around the table do you. “You need a ride home? I can drop you off at the corner or something, you really don’t look too good.”

You wave him off to shut him up for a second, a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to control your breathing. Thinking about this kind of shit on an empty stomach and with a severe sleep deficiency wasn’t the greatest idea.

“I’ll be fine,” you eventually say, though a bit too quietly and not very convincingly. You try again. “I’m good. I just need to sleep.”

“Come on,” Eddie says, waving at you to get up. “I’ll take you home.”

You agree, with burning eyes and lungs that feel too small. You let Eddie help you into his van and close the door behind you. He does you the courtesy of keeping the volume low on whatever radio station he’d had one, and even if it’s not exactly warm out, lets you keep the passenger window down.

“You can drop me in front of my place,” you say, once you’re a few streets away. “My brother plays dungeons and dragons too, so they’re pretty acutely aware it’s not a satanic, baby-sacrificing cult.”

“You sure?” He asks, glancing over at you and gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. Your attempt at humour clearly didn’t work. “I don’t want to–”

“Just shut up and take me home, damn.”

Eddie still stops three houses away. You notice that he doesn’t leave until you’ve unlocked the door and turned around to wave him off. You think you see him nod before he pulls a u-turn and drives off.

Blessedly, no one’s home yet; your parents are still both up in Canada for some business trip your father needed to do, and your brother likely skipped town to go see his girlfriend for the weekend. Which gives you free access to your dad’s beer stash, entirely obviously hidden in the mini fridge in the basement, behind the old couch your mom’s been promising to reupholster soon.

You still close and lock your bedroom door just in case, after making sure the back and front doors were both locked, chained and deadbolted.

You’re half asleep in bed, trying very hard not to think about the nightmares that have been showing up with undesirably increasing frequency, when you feel it happening. A weird kind of pull that makes you feel weightless for a second, makes your stomach feel like it just up in your throat.

When you open your eyes, everything is dark and thick vines are covering your bedroom window from the outside.

“Shit, no, no no no,” you mutter in a panic, jumping out of bed and running to the window. What you can see through the vines is exactly what you’ve come to expect from this place. Ash falling from the sky, ominous red lightning in the distance. And a damp, cloying cold that makes you feel like you’ll never feel warmth again.

Swearing under your breath, you run down the stairs, through the kitchen, down into the basement and in the far back of your dad’s workshop. Having turned eighteen over a month ago, you’re blessing your lucky stars your dad decided to give you the combination for the gun safe. Nervous fingers keep missing the right digits, but you manage to get the damn thing open after a few tries.

And there it is: the family’s prized Winchester model 23, with several boxes of ammo at the bottom of the safe. You’re clumsy when you loaded up and almost drop the entire open box of shells, but eventually you get the thing locked and loaded. You’re about to head upstairs with just that and the shotgun shells, but turn around and grab the handgun before bounding back up the stairs.

This isn’t entirely unusual by now; you’ve seen this place every time you’ve had nightmares. Being an active participant is new, though. You’ve never been able to move around or touch anything, always a passive observer of goings-on.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

You sit cross-legged in the corner of you room, wedged between a wall and the edge of your desk. You have a clear line of sight to your window–not that you think it matters much with how absolutely covered it is–and your bedroom door, which you’ve pushed your bookcase again. And you wait.

You’re counting your blessings with being able to check your watch for the time, having apparently fallen asleep with it. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. You hear things outside, in the distance. Nothing close by. Somehow that puts you on edge even more. Check the time one more time: you’ve been holed up in your room for nearly fourty five minutes now with literally nothing happening.

You lean the shotgun against the wall next to you and get up to pace around your room. This isn’t normal. You screw your eyes shut as hard as you can and try to open them slowly, a trick that usually helps to wake you up. But it’s not good; you’re still in the twisted, decayed-looking version of your room.

Growling in frustration, you go back up to your window to see if you can spot anything out on the streets. But somehow, the vines have covered even more surface and you can barely make out the outside at all. You slam your fist against the window to–

Oh no. Did those vines just move?

Just as you wrap your hand about the Winchester, you feel something wrap around your ankle and pull. You’re winded as soon as you hit the floor, can feel your skull hit the hardwood. Whatever it is starts to drag you towards the door–and ultimately, you assume, down the stairs and out the door–you twist around to see what it is that has you.

And it’s a vine. A fucking vine.

You don’t really think too long or hard about it. Take a deep breath, bring the gun up, aim about two feet beyond the tip of your toes, and pull the trigger.

The gunfire makes your ears ring and feels like it blinds you for a second, but when you look down you can see you’ve successfully shot the vine off. What was around your ankle falls limp to the floor.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fucking hell,” you say to yourself, standing up and looking around. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

Stupid. God what a stupid thing to say.

You bring the shotgun back up and switch between aiming at the window and the door.

Strange, you hear, and it’s both like there’s a voice inside your head and like it’s resonating everywhere all at once. You don’t belong here.

“Fuck you, buddy!” you spit, spinning around wildly in your room. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

Then leave.

Text divider my natasharomanovf

[perpetual-fool]

Who the fuck am I?

The last step, as far as I know, is to imagine what I said was coming from someone else, and telling them what I think. I don't recognize this voice either.

(current vibe: https://youtu.be/v1c5gV3EpRA) -

I want, I don't have a word for it, love? companionship?

I want someone I can learn to know as well as I know myself. I want to be able to trust them with every thought in my head. I want to be an extension of them and they of me. I want to move heaven and earth to bring them happiness. I want them to hold me when I'm afraid, to tell me everything will be alright, and that we'll face the unknown together. I want to be enveloped by their warmth as they hold me tight. I want to rest my head on their chest and listen to their heartbeat. ..And I want feel every soft inch of their body. I want to know everything that arouses them. I want to know all the ways they like to be stimulated. I want them to hold my head between their thighs. I want to know what they taste like. I want to make them writhe. I want to hear them gasp and moan. I want to feel their body tense up as they orgasm. And want to keep holding on until the warm feelings fade.

And I don't deserve to have that. Because I still live with my parents. Because I can't support myself. Because I can't work. Because I don't know how to pay taxes. Because I don't have the strength to make my own appointments. Because I wouldn't be able to save anyone from their troubles. Because I haven't achieved anything in my life. Because I'm incompetent at the things which interest me. Because I can't do what others can. Because I'm freak with no place in this world. Because I could never understand what I'm supposed to do. Because I could never be what people wanted from me. Because I've said inappropriate things to a lot of people. Because I'm disgusting for wanting sex. Because I've never been good enough for anyone.

Firstly, 'deserve'. What *exactly* does that mean?

I don't think I know. To have worth? apparently. But the way it's phrased, "to be worthy", doesn't make sense to me. In any other context worth would mean a cost-benefit analysis. In a fundamental sense, whether a thing is more uplifting than it is demoralizing. But in this case, it's meant as whether reward or punishment should be given or withheld. But I don't understand what that means. What good is it that someone should be made to suffer? to have happiness taken from them? The justification, I guess, would be to 'correct' behavior. But I don't think that's true, and I don't think they believe it either. If I don't know why it was wrong, punishment won't change that; if I knew why it was wrong and didn't care, punishment wouldn't change that. It seems like a thin excuse for vengeance. As if they were annoyed or offended and just wanted to hurt me. That doesn't mean what I did wasn't wrong. Maybe they should hurt me. Maybe that would be uplifting for them, even. Maybe to say I 'deserve' it just means that it brings them joy to make me suffer. Maybe that's all I'm good for.

Then secondly, what does 'should' mean?

In this case, I'm also not sure. "To express moral obligation" apparently? Which is.. a 'moral' debt? I guess the idea being that if I've hurt someone, then they have the right to hurt me. So, vengeance. But I don't think that is moral. Moral would be creating joy or alleviating suffering. Causing more suffering is, ya' know, not that. If anything wouldn't it be that I'd owe them something that would make them happy? I'm aware tit-for-tat is a thing, but when I asked what I was doing wrong they wouldn't tell me. I got titted for that too.

What does it mean for you?

I don't know how to phrase it. A moral request? or assessment? Like a, "hey it'd be nice if you did this" kind of thing. Any imperative would come at the end of a threat, which would make it not moral. Although, what I've been thinking hasn't been like "it'd be nice for other people if I killed myself". Nor do I feel I owe that to anyone, or everyone. In that sense it's more like a command. Not one that anyone told me (though maybe that one song title is implying such), so it'd have to be an amalgamation. An amalgam of every rebuke, every lack of response, every invalidation. And not one person who would just listen, actually hear me, and give an honest reply. (Not that anyone's listening now, but what I'm doing for myself, here, now. At best, every time I'd bring something up like "I want to die", the responses would be along the lines of "aw that sucks" or "no don't feel like that". Never anything like "how come?") Like all of that has crystallized into one voice which screams at me "You should fucking kill yourself you piece of shit".

Do you believe it?

I'm not sure. I feel like I haven't really had a choice. Every relationship I've had has led me to believe I must be wrong. And I've had no answer that could justify all of them coming to the same conclusion (so to speak) unless it were simply true. But it reeks of.. I don't have a word for this. There is one skill I am reasonably competent in, and there were a number of stories that people just repeat as fact. Which I naively accepted. It made sense, everybody says it, it must be true. But as I achieved some level of mastery I found all of those stories to be false. This seems much the same as those stories. And yes, bandwagon fallacy, but everyone I've ever known has led me to believe I'm wrong. How could I not doubt myself? How could I possibly believe myself despite that? With the stories I had direct observations to dissuade me. Like, "if you look at it under a microscope you'll see.." and then I did, and I didn't. But this is purely subjective. If I had just one person who understood, cared, and believed me, I think that would be enough. But I'm not going to have that.

However, this doesn't make sense, does it?

No, it fucking doesn't. It's not moral. It's not fair. I'm a person too. I don't deserve to suffer. I should have every ounce of joy I can wring out of this miserable life. -

This feels like my true self. Both of them. If I can just hold on to this, do I get to be happy?

[mrsbrekkers]

How bout a kaz brekker x blind!reader? 💓

okay so i have never written blind!reader before but but but BUTTT a good idea came to me involving reader being a grisha ( healer ) who had the gift to see someone and what they truly look like if they are physically allowed to be let in? it’s hard to explain, but y a

in this, reader and kaz have known one another for a good three in a half years, they work on heists together, and reader is usually partnered with kaz, as he wants to keep her safe. i S U C K at summaries. also, i was hella distracted while writing this, but it came out somewhat okay? f u c k.

pairings! kax x blind!reader

reader in this is female, but i will adjust accordingly if you’d like me too! just let me know! :)

warnings! really distracted writing, jordie, ptsd, blood, the typical soc stuff, kaz almost having a panic attack, but also him realizing he’s safe there with reader ye. 

i could so make this a series? like going through all the times blind!reader has made kaz come to trust her more and more. haha ha unless...

word count! 2847

ONE SHOT UNDER CUT

GLOVED INTERACTIONS

There were many descriptions given to Y/N about what Kaz Brekker looked like. What color his eyes were. What color his hair was. What his build was like. She could give you an accurate description of Jesper, Inej, Nina, Matthias, even Wylan was easy. But when it came to someone she couldn’t physically map out? She became a bit lost.

Being born without her sight, Y/N had to learn other ways to understand the world. Especially in a place like Ketterdam. Maybe that was why Kaz was quick to take Y/N under his wing. To keep her safe, just as he had with Wylan. But, Y/N wasn’t useless. Being a Healer, she was valuable to the Dregs. Nina was a powerful heartrender, but could only do so much when someone was inevitably hurt during jobs. That’s where Y/N was useful.

In a sense she had her sight, but it relied on physically being able to touch someone. A side-effect of being a Grisha, with abilities that no one has seen before. Her sight may have been gone, but being able to see one in her mind, whether it be blurry or clear, gave her an idea on what one looked like.

That meant Kaz was the most mysterious person to Y/N.

Y/N could describe most of the crows relatively well. Jesper had been the first to let Y/N use her ‘gift’ as Nina called it, with him. Her hands rested on his arms, slowly moving up to his shoulders, the other crows sitting around them to watch.

“You’re Zemeni, but I knew that already. Inej described you as long limbed, she wasn’t wrong.” Inej laughed a bit, shaking her head. “Lean, no surprise, I could make that out. Your eyes are a dark grey, but beautiful. I must say Jesper, you’re rather handsome. Being a handsome decoy seems like it should be a Jesper talent.”

Jesper smiled, looking down at Y/N. “Right on, almost to the dot,” he said, giving his best friend a chuckle.

“Your smile lights up a room. But I also knew that already,” Y/N added, tilting her head as she let her hands drop from Jesper’s shoulders. The crows around them were in awe, and then Nina was moving Jesper out of the way.

“Move handsome decoy, my turn,” She said, humming a bit as she sat in front of Y/N, making the Healer laugh. As she had with Jesper, Y/N ran her hands up Nina’s arms, stopping at her shoulders.

“Hmm, long curly brown hair, your heart beats a bit differently than the rest of our friends. Courtesy of being Grisha, and a Heartrender. You’re also a bit curvier than our friends, but as am I.” Nina smiled, glancing at their friends, who all seemed confused on how Y/N managed to do this.

“Green eyes, piercing almost. As always, like the rest of our friends, your smile lights up the room. But instead of Jesper’s toothy smile, you’re a closed mouth smiler, unless talking to Matthias of course,” Y/N smirked a bit, feeling Nina’s body heat up told her that the Heartrender was indeed, blushing.

Then slowly, all of the crows sat in front of Y/N. Except for Kaz, which Y/N understood. She didn’t pry, but she did begin to wonder what he truly looked like. There were so many conflicting descriptions. Obviously the ones given from people who didn’t like him weren’t taken into account, because most of them consisted of calling Kaz ‘The Grinch’. And while this was probably a good term for his lovely personality, it didn’t seem like it’d match his looks. Kaz wasn’t green after all.

But after a particularly rough job, one that ended with almost everyone scuffed up in some way, shape, or form, Y/N was working herself to the bone. Inej had the worst of it, so Y/N worked on her first at the Slat, and upon finishing, she had Nina sit next to the sleeping Wraith. She stood, huffing as she climbed the stairs to Kaz’s room. He was always the least willing to be healed. He always claimed he was the least beat up, or he could handle it himself.

This time, Y/N knew he wasn’t the least beat up. She’d heard about the gash running up his arm, and the scratches lining his face, which were less than pretty. Entering the room, she crossed her arms.

“I’m fine,” Kaz spoke first, earning a scoff from Y/N.

“I’ve heard plenty from Jesper about how nasty the gash on your arm is, and how your leg has been worse than usual. I can’t heal a bone that’s healed incorrectly, but I can ease the pain,” Y/N stated, moving to stand in front of the desk. Why was Kaz so damned stubborn about things like this? It concerned the Healer. Did he find himself so unlovable that he believed he deserved the pain when he was hurt?

“How are you going to count your Kruge if your arm is cut wide open?” Y/N asked, tilting her head. That made Kaz sigh. She wasn’t wrong about that. It also meant problems during other aspects of his job.

“Fine,” Kaz said reluctantly. He watched Y/N round the table, his eyes mainly on her fingers that softly glided the desk, letting her know when to turn. He’d always found it fascinating how she managed so much without her sight. Mainly how she found her ways around. The way her fingers would move so smoothly across surfaces. Or how graceful she seemed. It was hard to fascinate Kaz Brekker, but she did it effortlessly.

“I won’t touch you, but I’m going to need to be guided to where the gash is,” Y/N spoke, now standing in front of Kaz, who gulped with a shaky nod. He trusted her. He trusted all of his Crows, but her the most. She’d been there when the Crows were down bad. She brought smiles to the team without fail. Kaz could remember the first time they’d met, when his fascianation had started.

The night had been cold, dark. As Ketterdam usually was. After a few months of Kaz having Inej watch over the Healer that lived near the university district, Inej had come to Kaz with news that the Healer, Y/N, had noticed her. It had rendered the Bastard of the Barrel speechless. Someone had noticed Inej Ghafa?

“How did she notice you? Nobody notices you. Even I didn't for the first time, and I notice everyone,” Kaz stated, his tone confused.

“I believe our Healer is blind. It would make sense then, all of her other senses would be on high alert, especially her hearing. Even the most silent aren’t silent to the blind. They notice everything, Kaz. I’m surprised she didn’t notice me earlier,” Inej said, her arms crossed as she leaned in the doorway between the bedroom and the small office.

Kaz stalled for a moment, humming in consideration. It would explain how Inej had been found out. What that didn’t answer was whether Y/N knew who they were. He doubted it, but you could never be sure in Ketterdam.

“Did she know who you were?”

“I’m not sure, I left before things escalated. She said she knew I was there and to reveal who I was and who I worked for. So she knows I’m not some random in Ketterdam. I’m sure she could figure out enough if I’d appeared before her,” Inej said before looking back at the window. She knew she wasn’t followed, she always checked for such. But with the revelation that someone, for once, had noticed her, it wasn’t unlikely that maybe she’d been followed.

Kaz huffed, realizing he’d have to now go and explain to this Healer about how he’d been watching over her for the past few months. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been doing so. Well, he did, she’d be a good asset to have later if he ever decided to actually let it be known that he’d been keeping her safe. It was time that’d present a new reason.

Arriving at the small apartment that the Healer lived in, Kaz knocked Inej behind him, and when the door opened, his dark eyes landed on Y/N.

“I was waiting for you guys to show up,” Y/N said, turning and allowing the two inside.

“You knew we’d come?” Inej asked, entering the small apartment and sitting where Y/N offered, taking the small cup of tea she was handed. For being stalked for the past few months, the Healer was being rather kind.

“I suspected it was The Wraith watching over me for some time. I have learned to feel different presence’ around me. Yours, while I didn’t notice it at first, I began to when one of my papers went missing and was replaced with a forged one,” Y/N said, sitting next to Inej.

“How did you know it was forged?” Kaz asked, raising an eyebrow. Not that Y/N could see that, but his tone, his voice did the accenting for him.

“Kaz Brekker I presume. The handwriting wasn’t my own. I don’t have terrible handwriting, I’ve practiced for years after all, but my handwriting is not that nice. And the paper wasn’t the kind of paper I used. It was a close second, yes, but the letters weren’t able to be felt. That’s when I realized it was forged. It was a good forgery, but I’ve lived in Ketterdam long enough.” That’s when Kaz’s fascination started.

Or maybe it was when Inej had announced someone had noticed her. Nonetheless, that was the day he decided to recruit Y/N officially. It wasn’t hard either, considering she was rather willing too as long as she wasn’t indentured to the Dregs.

“I won’t go with if I’m going to be paying you back for the rest of my life,” Y/N stated, sipping her tea. Oh, and she had to bring her cat. Jesper now called the cat the Crows mascot. Which, the other’s had found weird. It was a cat, not a Crow, but they had changed the name of the cat to Crow. Which made the rest of the gang agree on it. Even Kaz found the cat enjoyable.

That was three years ago.

Since then, Y/N hadn’t let Kaz down once. He’d grown to trust her as he did Inej, even more so as she became his shadow. The person in his corner, his partner. He trusted his shadow.

Sighing, Kaz shook his head, looking over at Y/N and glancing down to her hands. “Left arm, right above my elbow,” he said, watching her fingers flex before moving to hover over the gash that covered a good part of Kaz’s upper arm.

“You know, I still don’t know what you look like,” Y/N said as she healed to gash slowly, making sure the work was intricate and done correctly.

“Brooding, dark, nothing else really to me,” Kaz said, but Y/N shook her head, finishing the gash and humming a bit. She moved her hand slowly up to Kaz’s face, doing a quick brush over to heal the small gashes there. Kaz felt them heal, his labored breath steadying as she moved her hand away from his face.

“I don’t believe that. If there was nothing more to you, I wouldn’t be staying around, Kaz,” Y/N said, bending down, but she felt a gloved hand grip her wrist, surprising her and causing her to jump a bit.

“I can handle that pain, I have for years,” Kaz stated, watching Y/N nod, and while she couldn’t see his hand, her eyes were still on the wrist that was enclosed by Kaz’s gloved hand.

“I may have an idea. A way for me to know what you truly look like,” Y/N said, a smile rising to her lips.

Kaz was almost frightened to ask. No, he was frightened. He knew what that would entail. But he knew what she looked like and she had so many conflicting ideas about what he looked like. He also knew that Y/N wouldn’t cross his boundaries unless he gave explicit permission. He could say no to this and she’d agree and leave with a smile, some words of encouragement to sleep and rest, and later have Inej or Jesper bring up food for him. But sucking in a deep breath, he looked up at Y/N, determining that he trusted her enough for this. She’d never hurt you. 

“Okay, tell me the idea,” Kaz said slowly, his words wavering.

“You can back out at any time, Kaz. If you don’t want to do this, you let me know immediately,” Y/N stated, and Kaz let out a small cough. 

He closed his eyes, nodding to himself before giving an audible, “I know.”

“Your gloves, their the barrier that helps ensure you don’t come into contact with skin. What if I wear a pair, they don’t have to be yours, but a pair of gloves and use them to learn what you look like?”

Kaz tilted his head. It wasn’t a terrible idea. It actually made a lot of sense. He used the gloves as a barrier, as Y/N had said. If she did the same, it would be the same as he had just done with her wrist. He wouldn’t feel Jordie. He wouldn’t feel Reaper’s Barge. At least, that’s what he hoped for. But he’d be willing to try for Y/N. He’d try for her.

“We . . . can try that, but use my gloves. I’m used to the feeling of them. I have another pair in the nightstand by my bed,” Kaz said, watching Y/N smile a bit before moving to grab the gloves in the nightstand. He watched her slide them onto her fingers, seeing they were just a bit big on her, he chuckled quietly.

Y/N let her fingers glide against the desk once more, pulling the chair from the other side of the desk right in front of Kaz. She could hear his uneven breathing as she sat too. “You guide me, just like before,” Y/N said, letting Kaz have control of the situation. 

Slowly, Kaz lifted his hand, taking Y/N’s gloved one into his own. Stalling for a moment he shut his eyes tightly, and for a moment the flashes came to him, but he sucked in a deep breath, opening his eyes and seeing Y/N in front of him, alive, breathing.

He lifted her hands to rest on his shoulders, watching her hum as the vision of him began to form within her mind. He watched a smile come to her lips. She would never know how beautiful that smile was. How beautiful it was to him. How he hoped it wasn’t washed away like his was because of the Barrel.

“Hmm, Dark hair, trimmed at the edges. Inej teased you for it one day, I remember that. You have a sharper face than most of our friends, and a lean build, but more muscular than Jesper is.” Y/N tilted her head, the image in her head finally fully forming.

“Dark eyes, like bitter coffee. Two tattoos. I didn’t know that. I must say, but don’t Jesper this, you’re far more handsome than he is. Maybe you should start being the handsome decoy.” Kaz chuckled at that, and for a few moments he wasn’t shaking. He wasn’t fearful. He wasn’t breathing heavily. He was happy, even if just for those few moments. Happy because of her.

Y/N dropped her hands, pulling off the leather gloves and placing them on the desk. “Certainly not the grinch as some put it,” she added, standing.

“Pretty close to that,” Kaz said, watching her stand.

“Maybe personality wise, but certainly not look wise.”

“Who calls me the Grinch?” 

“Jesper,” Y/N laughed. She remembered hearing Jesper reference Kaz as the grinch at one point. It was where the nickname had probably originated from for others to call the Bastard of the Barrel, and slowly it became known. The room became quiet for some time, and Y/N was the first to break it.

“Thank you . . . for letting me do that, I know it wasn’t easy. The tattoos, what are they of?” Y/N asked then, tilting her head. Kaz took a deep breath in, looking over at the window across by his bed. The one he rarely ever used.

“The Dregs Crow, and an R,” he didn’t elaborate, leaving Y/N to know that was as much as he’d say. She knew what the Crow was for, but she had a feeling she shouldn’t ask much more than that.

“Well, do get some rest. I can’t heal sleep exhaustion, sadly,” Y/N said, laughing a bit. She didn’t see it, but a smile spread on Kaz’s lips.

[persephones-wren]

Hello! may i request a c!revivebur who’s walking around the server and sees his (now ex) partner for the first time since he died and he apologizes to them for how he treated them in pogtopia and they just like walk around and catch up please? love your writing!! don’t worry if this gets rejected or you don’t feel inspired i know how it feels!

Hope (c!Revivedbur x Reader)

apologies if it's a bit out of character, it's been a while since I've written anything for the DSMP :) but thank you for my first request from there! I hope you liked how it turned out!

Warnings: none? all lore is pretty outdated I think

Genre: fluff-ish

Word Count: 1220

Dawn breaks.

He stands there, watching the sunrise. His trench-coat feels heavy. The gloves on his hands feel scratchy, and he knows he keeps tightening them; a nervous habit. He’s going to betray them all. Whether they win or lose the final war, L’Manberg is going to go up in flames.

He’s not going to be there to see it all.

“You alright, Will?”

You stand beside him, on the cliff, and he knows that Tommy and Tubbo are probably somewhere behind him, watching over you both. He didn’t have his sanity anymore, but he was still in control enough to think of them and Niki, fighting for a false cause, watching over him, worried.

“Of course, love. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His voice is an odd, jubilant tone. It’s one he’s had for a while, the one he had when Tommy and Techno spared and he pushed them both, the one he had when referring to Dream.

You don’t know whether it’s happiness or madness.

“Wilbur Soot.”

“Y/N, I’m alright,” he sighs. He puts his arm around you. “We’re going to win L’Manberg back,” Lie. “and we’ll be able to have everything we once did.” Lie. “I’ll run the country again as it’s rightful leader,” Lie. “and it’ll be the place to build our future.” Lie.

“I don’t care about L’Manberg as much as I care about you,” you state. “Wilbur Soot, I love you. No matter what happens today,” you whisper, “That won’t change.”

How foolish you had been.

Philza had murdered him, a diamond sword straight through his chest, and the only thing that reassured you that it was what he wanted was the smile on his face. Your word never faltered, though. No matter what happens, you’d still love him.

You’re considering changing that sentiment as you go to visit the same cliff, and see someone already there. Occasionally, it’d be Niki there, or Tommy and Tubbo, sometimes even Ranboo. You’d talk to them, reminisce, or tell them bits of history. It always hurts your heart, but that’s what kept the dead alive, their stories.

It’s not any of them this time, though.

You scan the figure ahead of you. Tall, wearing a jacket, gauze and blood wrapped around his right arm. The height tells you it’s Ghostbur, but the dressing and the vibrant color in his hair tells you it’s his living counterpart.

It’s Wilbur. It’s Wilbur Soot, not Ghostbur.

You pinch at your wrist, but the slight sting tells you that it’s no dream.

Wilbur Soot stands a couple meters in front of you, alive. You want to run, away or toward him, you can’t be sure, but you’re rooted in place. He’s alive. The realization fills your heart with love, with fear- which era of Wilbur has he returned as? Is he the musician who made you swoon? Is he the revolutionary, the gentle and kind leader? Is he the man who spiraled into insanity, who blew up L’Manburg?

“Beautiful sunset, isn’t it?”

He knows there’s someone there. Who, he isn’t sure, but whoever it was, whether it was someone new or someone he had to make amends to- starting a conversation was the best way to find a window to apologize. Personal gains aside, there were a lot of people who deserved apologies from him.

Especially his love.

“It’s nice,” you say, cautious. “I haven’t really taken the time to look at another one since Doomsday.”

He turns toward you, shock in his expression and a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword, and he frowns at that.

Did you think- didn’t you still have two lives? He’s not the man he was when he was last alive.

“Love-”

“Please don’t call me that,” you whisper.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not the person who blew up L’Manberg.” He takes note of the way your expression softens slightly, but your hand doesn’t move. “Darling, I’m unarmed. Why are you- how many lives are you on?”

“One.”

“One? I thought- What happened?”

“The L’Manberg explosion took my second one.”

He notices the way you say L’Manberg and not Doomsday. It was his doing.

He decides that he’s never going to forgive himself for it. Even if you do, he’s going to spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, and strides towards you, throwing his arms around you. “I’m so sorry.”

There’s a small silence, before you speak. “I’m getting over it,” you mutter into his shoulder. “All I have to do is avoid conflict. It can’t be the hardest thing in the world.”

“It’s difficult here.” His concern makes you feel warm. Maybe death has changed him. You hope death has changed him.

“I know,” you respond quietly. Avoiding problems never was the strong suit of anyone on the SMP.

“I’ll find a way to beat death for you.”

You laugh a little, and reach your hand up to ruffle his hair. “Of course you’d find a way. You’re always pushing for change.”

“Especially if it helps the people I love.”

You don’t get a moment to reflect on his words before he’s reaching for your hand, interlocking it with his. You both walk, side by side, throughout the SMP.

“A lot has changed,” he remarks.

“Yeah. A lot has.”

Care to tell me what’s been happening around here?”

“Do you have any memories from Ghostbur?”

“Oh, him,” Wilbur frowns at that. His ghost had been way too positive, quite odd, to be honest. Perhaps he felt the tiniest bit guilty that Ghostbur was stuck in the personal hell that was Jubilee Line, but if it meant he got to live, he would make the same decision again, to board the train Dream had sent out for him.

You’re still staring at him, and he gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry, zoned out there. I don’t exactly have many memories, but they’re coming back to me, little by little.”

“We rebuilt L’Manberg, before Tommy was exiled. You left with him, as Ghostbur. I don’t exactly know what happened there, but-” you sigh. “It must have been hell. Tommy never really recovered, I don’t think. Tubbo forbade any of us to visit, he said it was too dangerous to confront Dream head on.”

“I remember that,” Wilbur says quietly. “If I were to see Dream again, I’d strike him down where he stood.”

“He’s in prison now, thankfully. I’d say he’s getting what he deserves.”

He decides not to mention how Dream was the one who brought him to life.

You both finally stop at the ruins of L’Manberg, staring down into the glass-covered crater. It’s a swirl of memories, a tangle of old times, a harsh reminder of the past.

“We should look towards the future,” Wilbur speaks. His eyes are focused on the bright of the moon, and the glimmer of the stars above both of you. “A future together,” he adds. He kisses the top of your head and puts his hand around your waist, cautious, but you make no move to stop him. Even if he’s not the same, he’s close to the man you once knew.

You find the constellation he’s looking at, and smile slightly.

Canis Major.

A future together.

Hope.

[miraculouscontent]

I know that you said that it was an one shot, but I really love the idea of marinette stay in Paris with Luka and kagami and avoid all the NY drama! If you can, can you share more of it? Even if just a few little ideas it would be great! (I love your ideas!)

(the one-shot this anon is referring to)

Aw, thank you so much!

And sure, after some thought, I did really want to write a little more with them!

—————

While throwing away their now juice-less cups, Marinette made the realization of how different things seemed with Luka and Kagami. She had already experienced hanging out with both of them separately, but she'd never imagined having both of them with her at once. It wasn't as if she'd always dismissed or despised the idea, but the only time they'd interacted as a group had been with Adrien around, which had probably soured the whole thing and thus involuntarily caused her to never think about it.

With her friends, everything was typically high-energy. Juleka and Mylene weren't very involved in creating such an atmosphere, but Marinette herself, Rose, Alya, and kept things energized. It wasn't a bad thing in general, but it made Marinette wonder if maybe surrounding herself with people who only encouraged her excitable habits wasn't a good thing.

Meanwhile, Luka and Kagami were completely different, both from her and her friends. Neither were particularly loud - though both could be when they wanted to - and they weren't really the kind to tease or mess with her either. Luka wasn't quiet in the way Juleka was, just seeming to absorb the world around him, whereas Kagami only spoke when she felt that there was something of value to say. Marinette had worried briefly that she might've been too different from the both of them, or that she'd overwhelm them due to speaking up the most, but instead, there was a sense of balance. Luka smiled or chuckled reassuringly whenever she caught herself rambling, whereas Kagami would cut in with her own views that were often direct but nevertheless good in their intentions. Perhaps her personality rubbed off on them in a way she couldn't fully understand?

Still, it was nice.

As the three were deciding what to do next, Marinette's phone suddenly went off. Marinette looked at her purse and pulled out her phone, half-expecting a text from one of her classmates about her missing the bus, but it was actually a notification about where Andre the ice cream man was.

Kagami glanced over after noticing the look on Marinette's face. "You want to get ice cream?"

Marinette frowned, Kagami's voice reminding her of the day the two of them had gone for ice cream with Adrien. She still remembered talking to Andre, hoping beyond hope that maybe the man wouldn't make them pick between the three different flavors. His words still stung a little, not because of Adrien, but because of what the words meant.

"Too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance."

It implied that one of them would always be the third wheel if they were together, no matter what, and it was a hollow feeling that she'd only recently started to accept.

"Marinette?"

Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked over and noted Luka offering her a concerned expression. It grounded her, serving as a reminders that things were different now and that Adrien wasn't there which, in a strange way, brought her an immense sense of comfort.

"I'm fine," she assured. Turning her attention back to her phone, she deleted the notification and then made sure that she wouldn't be getting another one. "Ice cream sounds good, if you want it too, but... I think I've got a better idea than Andre's."

Luka and Kagami exchanged curious glances.

—————

"Here's to Neapolitan ice cream!" Marinette declared dramatically, raising her spoon up with flair before shoving it and the ice cream on it right into her mouth.

Luka snorted in amusement while Kagami gave an acknowledging nod, probably remembering the exact phrase from Andre that Marinette had recalled earlier.

They'd picked up the carton of ice cream on the way to Marinette's place, with Marinette insisting on paying in order to spoil them, and while they seemed confused on the specifics of her insistence, they gave in soon enough. Marinette could understand why she'd be the expected person to be comforted, but giving to others made her happy on its own and she felt they deserved it. After all, Luka had tried his hardest to catch up to the bus and Kagami was still dealing with Adrien wanting to leave for New York despite her being in Paris.

They'd ultimately decided on splitting the entire carton between the three of them, with each of them getting a majority of the one of the flavors and then the rest of that flavor going to the other two. Marinette had gone with chocolate, Kagami had gone with vanilla, and Luka had gone with strawberry. It might've seemed like a weird choice to go with since they'd just had orange juice, but it hadn't been much and it wasn't exactly a "treat."

Marinette may have considered suggesting ice skating instead if her first thought of it wasn't her slipping and bringing Luka and Kagami down to the ice with her. Ice cream was the safer alternative to "cold fun."

"Luka," she called thoughtfully, taking another bite before asking, "you're not feeling sore or anything, are you?"

He met her gaze, smiling at the concern but waving his hand dismissively. "I'm alright, Marinette. I'm used to biking around for hours because of my job, so it wasn't a big deal."

Kagami halted, spoon halfway in her mouth while her brows rose noticeably. She finished the scoop, then turned to look at Luka. "You have a job?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I deliver pizza." He grinned, clearly amused by her reaction. "Are you surprised?"

Kagami's expression didn't shift, but Marinette had known her long enough to see that she was embarrassed. "Oh, no. It's... I don't have one."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Luka shrugged. "I just have the time to do it."

"Mm." Kagami looked back at her ice cream, poking at the surface with her spoon. "I suppose it would be too difficult with my fencing lessons."

Marinette giggled sheepishly, happy to join in on the conversation. "I probably wouldn't be able to either. There's all my fashion work with my website, and then there's the unexpected babysitting, the bakery, and I'm also the class representative." She hurriedly added an, "I know it doesn't sound like much, but I'm bad at planning," when she felt that it seemed like such little things. She was Ladybug and the new guardian too, of course, but she couldn't be blurting that out, so she could only hope that it didn't seem like she was whining over nothing.

She averted her gaze, scooping up a self-conscious bite of her ice cream and shoving it into her mouth. She was partway through savoring it when she realized that neither Luka nor Kagami had responded to her. Daring a look back, she saw them staring at her with varying gazes.

Kagami seemed stunned, commenting, "That is... well, much, actually," referring to what Marinette had just tried to brush off.

Was it? Marinette had never really thought about it. In fact, she distinctly remembered back in the day where people might've thought she was just scatterbrained and didn't really do anything. Back when she was hesitant to be class representative and claimed that she was busy, Alya had asked her with a hint of snark what she was busy with, like she expected her to have a free schedule.

Even beyond her role of Ladybug at the time, she still had random babysitting to do and still frequently worked on her fashion projects. Thinking back, it stung just a little.

As Marinette glanced at Luka, she at first felt that the amount of sympathy he was directing at her was excessive, but then she remembered how she had cried in front of him to the point where he'd dropped his bike and guitar in order to comfort her. She blushed, both in shame and from the memory of him holding her so closely.

"Ah—well—it's okay!" she said hurriedly, "Anyway, forget about me! This day is about... um, this ice cream, and ice cream doesn't have problems that you should worry about!"

She nearly gave herself brainfreeze from how quickly she scooped up and ate the next bite, but figured it'd be worth it if they dropped the subject.

It wasn't worth it.

"You should be more careful," Kagami commented critically, an edge to her voice that Marinette knew wasn't meant to be anger at her. "You're my friend, so don't overwork yourself."

Marinette grinned nervously, still trying to lighten the mood. "A-are you saying it'd be alright to overwork myself if I wasn't your friend?"

Kagami's gaze didn't waver, and Marinette slowly tried to sink into her seat.

Luka set his spoon down on the bowl, then chimed in, "I don't know anything about fashion, Marinette, but if you ever need any help with anything—"

Kagami clicked her own spoon against her bowl to interrupt him, as if she felt personally slighted that he'd gotten to say it first. "We're here for you."

Luka nodded to confirm.

"Oh." Marinette blushed deeper, touched by the gesture from both of them. She thought about trying to reassure them again, but their gazes were firm and showed no room for argument, so she settled for a soft, "Thanks."

They resumed eating their ice cream from there, the topic officially concluded. Though the atmosphere felt noticeably different, Marinette was surprised to realize that it wasn't exactly in a bad way. She feared that she'd ruined the mood, but instead felt like she was supported, with Kagami and Luka looking satisfied with their choice in offering help to her.

It was like she was Ladybug, and they were the partners standing at her side, each with their own form of support. It made her smile, allowing her to happily eat away at her ice cream without thinking about anything stressful.

The idea of going to New York was suddenly very unappetizing in comparison to having ice cream with Luka and Kagami.

—————

All things considered, Ladybug wasn't concerned about telling Chat Noir that her plans had changed and she wasn't going anywhere after all. She imagined that Chat would be overjoyed and wouldn't even ask questions about it, just happy to have her back. She found his affection eyeroll-worthy, but he was still her teammate, so she just steeled herself up for whatever ramble he was about to give her.

However, as she waited near the top of the Eiffel Tower, sitting on the guardrail and looking around for Chat Noir, she realized that she couldn't even see him. Checking the time on her yoyo, she confirmed that it was indeed time for their usual patrol, but Chat Noir was completely absent. Even though it was nighttime, which made the black cat's suit blend in with the sky, he still had the blond hair and light skin that should've made him noticeable.

Ladybug got up and paced around the area a few times, constantly peeking down at the city as she wondered if maybe she just wasn't looking in the right spot. When she still saw nothing, she concluded that Chat Noir must just be running late and she'd simply have to wait a little longer. Things happened, after all, she knew that better than anyone, so she began idling on her yoyo, searching for something to keep her occupied while she waited.

They were a team. While their identities had to remain a secret, Chat Noir had always hated it and prioritized openness in their relationship, so he would've told her if something had come up. He was also active in going on patrols, always seeming eager to join her for their runs across the rooftops, and given that he didn't even know that she'd still be in Paris, patrols were even more crucial.

He never showed up.

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze

[wizardofahz]

Little Piece of Heaven

The title comes from the “Home” section of Secret Files of Kara Danvers, where Kara refers to it as “our little piece of heaven in Midvale.”

This takes place after episode 6x08 ends. All credit to @thatsjustsupergirl for the idea.

Alex puts her phone down on the coffee table and tugs on Kara’s arm as she gets to her feet. “Pack a bag.”

Kara obliges and lets Alex drag her into the bedroom area. “Why?”

“You’re going to Midvale.”

Oh, so that’s who Alex had been texting all throughout dinner.

“I can’t take more time off work. Andrea will--”

“Don’t worry about Andrea,” Alex says with such confidence that Kara briefly wonders if she had J’onn use his powers on her. “The Asilomar Conference on Signals, Systems, and Computers is next week. Mom goes sometimes because it’s conveniently close to Midvale. You’re going up north early to interview some of the top tech researchers before the conference starts, thanks to Mom’s connections. Obsidian may have dissolved, but Andrea is still a tech nerd. According to Lena, she’s going to love it.” 

That sounds significantly less relaxing than Kara imagined. “Wow, you really thought this through.”

Her disappointment must show because Alex smiles. “I did, which means you don’t actually have to meet with any of those people. Mom said she can just email them for quotes and cc you. You can spend the rest of this week and next week relaxing in Midvale, slap some quotes together for an article, and make your boss happy.”

“What about you?” Kara knows Alex hadn’t had an easy time while she was gone. Alex deserves a break too, but she hasn’t mentioned coming along.

“I’ll take care of things here.” After a beat, Alex adds, “Stop looking so guilty. We’ll both go home, together, soon. Just not now, okay?”

...

“Welcome home, sweetheart.”

Eliza’s hug is warm.

So warm.

Such a welcome contrast to the Phantom Zone and its infinite cold.

Kara could live in this hug forever.

Eliza must be able to sense it because she doesn’t pull away. She simply waits for Kara to initiate the move apart.

Eventually Kara does because there is another source of warmth begging for her attention.

Food.

So much food.

And yes, Alex had done the same, but this is Eliza’s delicious, home-cooked food. Very little can live up to its greatness. Kara stares at the kitchen table and can’t help being impressed not only by the plethora of food but also by the fact that all of it is still warm. The logistics must have been a nightmare.

A few hours where the highest stakes lie in which of the many dishes she wants to start with first is exactly what Kara needs. Eliza further indulges her by updating Kara on her life and not asking about the Phantom Zone.

“I have a class I have to teach at 10, but I’ll tell my lab I won’t be in tomorrow.” Eliza gets up to put her own dish in the sink. She knows better than to ask if Kara is also done.

“I don’t mind going into lab with you,” Kara says, the words escaping from her mouth before her mind can catch up.

Eliza turns and watches her carefully. “Are you sure?”

Kara had actively avoided Eliza and Jeremiah’s labs as a child. Her memories of lab time with Zor-El had been a precious commodity. She hadn’t wanted to risk corrupting them in any way. As the years went by, the reticence faded, but by then it was simply accepted that Eliza wouldn’t bring Kara to her lab.

With her father alive and on his way back to Argo, everything feels a little different. Kara doesn’t have to cling to memories that raise him upon a pedestal. That pedestal had been cracked a few times in recent years. Now she can see him for who he is, flaws and all, and it doesn’t feel like a betrayal.  It’s the opening of a new path, and that includes experiencing something new with Eliza. 

“Yeah. I think it’d be nice.”

...

Eliza’s 10 am class is an undergraduate bioengineering course located in a hundred-seater lecture hall. Kara settles herself into the corner while Eliza prepares by writing equations and drawing diagrams on the board. 

There are ten minutes between classes, and students trickle in the entire time. Several eye her curiously. Others ask their friends if they have any idea who she is. Kara doesn’t pay much attention to them, but her super hearing still kicks in when she hears her name.

“That’s Kara Danvers,” a young woman says in a hushed voice. She’s of Middle Eastern descent with a laptop bag covered in pinned and sewn on badges, Jordanian and LGBTQ flags among them.

One of her friends, a black man with sleek glasses carrying only a notebook and pen, says, “Oh, is that her name?” 

The last member of their trio is an East or Southeast Asian man with a small duffle bag that indicates the gym factors into his day somehow. “Who?” 

“Do you guys not read the news?” Badges asks.

“I mean, I only get the newspaper for the crossword and sudoku so--” Duffle trails off, completing his indirect no.

“She’s a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist,” Badges explains. “I wonder what she’s doing here. Nothing big ever happens in Midvale.” She cranes her head, looking around for clues.

“Or she could be here because she’s Kara Danvers, and we’re currently in Professor Danvers’ class,” Notebook says with amusement.

“Oh, right.” Badges settles down with a hint of disappointment.

Notebook shrugs. “I’ve seen her picture in Professor Danvers’ office during office hours.” 

They debate on whether or not to say hi to Kara. Apparently Badges is a fan, but she doesn’t want to do it alone. The guys agree to come along for support. 

“Hi, Kara Dan-- I mean, Ms. Danvers,” Badges begins, clearly flustered. “I’m such a fan of your work.”

After so many years of intentionally blending her Kara Danvers identity into the background, being approached like this while not in her supersuit still feels odd. 

“Thank you. Just Kara is fine,” she still manages to say with a degree of grace. “It’s nice to meet you. What are your names?”

It turns out Badges is Noor, Notebook is Jermaine, and Duffle is Tom. 

Noor clearly has a thousand questions but can’t decide where to start, so Jermaine steps in. “You look a lot like your mom.”

Kara smiles. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, but I’m adopted.”

Maybe it was a good thing Alex didn’t come along. Ever since Jeremiah “died,” anyone learning one of the sisters was adopted took one look at their family and assumed it was Alex. To this day, Alex is primed and ready for an epic eye roll. 

“Oh.” Jermaine recoils. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kara reassures him. “Really. Like I said, not the first time.”

“Cool, I’m adopted too,” Tom says. “I’m actually part of a club on campus where we mentor other adopted kids from the community, relate to them on conflicting identity issues -- like, my parents are white -- help them find resources connected to their birth cultures if they’re interested, that kind of thing. You could drop by if you want. We meet every other Tuesday.” He pauses as realization catches up to his enthusiasm. “Although I guess you don’t live around here.” He looks between Kara and Noor for confirmation.

“I don’t,” Kara confirms, “but let me know if I can support the club in any way from afar.” 

Kara wonders if there are any aliens in the club. With the Alien Amnesty Act, maybe there are more aliens in and around Midvale now, or perhaps there always were and she never knew.

The lecture hall is starting to fill up, so the trio decide to return to their seats.

Kara decides to work on the article for Andrea. Even though Alex had made the article sound like an afterthought of the week, Kara could never treat one as such. She’s received a few emails from speakers of the upcoming conference. For now that feels like enough. She doesn’t feel up to constantly meeting new people for the next week.

Throughout her lecture Eliza asks the class questions, keeping them engaged. The first few questions are easy. A number of students raise their hands for each one. As the lecture goes on, the questions get harder, and the number of raised hands decreases to zero.

When that happens, the lecture hall is quiet but not silent. Some students fidget uncomfortably in their chairs waiting for someone else to speak up. Others whisper to each other, comfortable with sharing their guesses only with close friends in case they’re wrong.

Kara doesn’t quite register all that fully. Still focused on her article, whatever’s left of her processing power recognizes that her mom has asked a question and that she deserves an answer. Kara had learned Fick’s laws of diffusion under a different name on Krypton, and the Earth version doesn’t account for states of matter it’s unfamiliar with, but she gives what should be a reasonable answer.

Now the silence is complete. Kara glances up from her laptop. The students stare at her, frozen in their seats.

Eliza just smiles. “Very good, sweetie, but maybe a little too advanced for this group.”

She continues on with her lecture, and the background buzz of the students returns but with greater intensity. Any curiosity as to her identity has clearly increased, but Eliza skillfully returns their attentions to the lecture material.

Kara goes back to her article and refrains from answering any more questions.

...

After the lecture ends, Kara and Eliza walk across campus to Eliza’s lab. 

Eliza has a meeting with her postdoc Carlos, which they both offer to cancel, but Kara reassures them both that she doesn’t mind. Instead, she chats with the graduate students that she’s heard so much about.

Neha sits in front of a desktop computer whose screen is covered in data tables, statistical models, and figures. That’s all forgotten when she hears about Kara’s upcoming article. “You’re covering the Asilomar Conference? That’s cool.”

“Ugh, too much math,” Eunice says from the lab bench where she’s pipetting a solution into some test tubes. 

This is clearly a conversation they’ve had often. They bicker about what is considered “difficult math.” It reminds Kara of her and Alex in high school. 

“Are you focusing on anything in particular?” Piotr asks. In addition to his laptop, he has a stack of reference papers scattered about. He seems grateful for the break.

“It’ll depend on who I end up getting quotes from.” Kara tells them the names of people she’s gotten so far.

One name catches Neha’s attention, putting an end to the math debate. “Wow, Aart Saloner.” She goes into a spiel about his research on alien technology and the human attempts at understanding that planet’s version of Heisenberg and Schrödinger's quantum mechanics debate, before stopping sheepishly. “Sorry, I know: too much math.”

Kara smiles coyly. “No, I actually agree.” Like her answer to Eliza’s question on Fick’s laws of diffusion, Kara is careful to moderate her response to a level suitable of other’s expectations. She uses metaphors liberally, which should match her human identity of writer.

Like Eliza’s class, Neha stares. “A media person who can speak intelligently about STEM topics. Where have you been all my life?” She clutches Kara’s arm before briefly raising clenched hands upwards as if the heavens owe her an explanation. “You should see our press office. The guy handling the press release for my latest paper...” Neha trails off with a slow, dramatic, disappointed shake of the head. “I had to send him an explanation practically in baby terms so that he could understand it and write something cooler and more eloquent, but then he just published it as is.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Eunice tries to console her.

Neha disagrees. “I either sounded like a moron or a condescending, infantilizing jerk.”

Kara asks Neha about her research and then Piotr and Eunice. By the time Eliza’s meeting with Carlos is over, Kara has a pretty good handle on the projects going on in the lab. In the privacy of Eliza’s office, she’s able to share her thoughts freely. There is something quite amazing about watching Eliza process ideas and provide feedback. Now she knows how Alex feels, and she can tell Eliza herself is enjoying sharing this part of her life with Kara. 

When Eliza and Kara leave for lunch, Neha asks, “Would you like a tour of the campus later?”

Eliza and Kara look at each other. Seeing that Kara is equally confused by the random question, Eliza says, “Kara has been on campus many times.”

“Yeah, but has she seen where the press office is? Maybe she’d like to work there?” Neha says. It both is and isn’t a joke. 

Kara laughs. “I’m happy with my job, but that’s very nice of you.”

Neha pouts. “But... you could be close to your mom.”

“Well, I always feel like I’m only seconds away.” Kara bobs the phone in her hand, but when she exchanges smiles with Eliza, they both know her statement has nothing to do with it. With her flight and super speed, Kara could come over any time. Maybe she should do it more often.

“Sadness.”

...

Kara eyes her mug of hot chocolate. 

It sits on the coffee table just to her right, physically well within arm’s reach and yet mentally completely inaccessible. Kara is lying on the sofa, head on Eliza’s lap where fingers are softly combing through her hair. Kara's article has already been sent to and eagerly approved by Andrea. She has nothing pressing grabbing for her attention other than the debate on whether or not getting up for the hot chocolate is worth disturbing the bliss of her current state. 

And yet no matter what she decides right now, her little slice of normal is coming to an end. Tomorrow she will head back to National City where, despite Alex’s reassurances that the Superfriends have everything handled, the next crisis will inevitably present itself. 

Eliza’s hand temporarily disappears to flip the page of her book before returning to its previous task. Kara glances up at her. She has been reunited with her birth mother and father, but there remains something so unique about Eliza’s role in her life. Kara’s parents had sent her to Earth to become a hero, and that’s who she is now. When she found Alura on Argo and Zor-El in the Phantom Zone, she had re-met them as that hero. Their daughter Kara Zor-El is still here of course, but each time the mission at hand forced her into the backseat.  

Kara doesn’t have that dichotomy with Eliza. For that and so many other reasons, Eliza is the only parent that Kara can imagine having a decompression week with. 

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Thank you.”

Eliza smiles down at her, picking up on the weight behind her thanks because she’s her mom, and that’s what moms do. “Always.”

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Safety-Dreamwastaken

A/N: This is IF Tommy and Dream escaped together 

Word count: 2.4k+

Pronouns: They/Them _________

"What?"

Their breath was shaky as they spoke. At this point, Y/n was frozen in place. It had been such a normal day, Y/n had gone deep in the forests with Callahan to collect materials for some building. But when they returned, havoc was among them. People were running around in a panic, the prison was destroyed. Destroyed-Just the sight of the prison put Y/n in panic. All they could do was run, they needed to find someone, anyone who would explain what happened. It had taken minutes, but felt like hours. Finally, they had located someone-Tubbo.

"Y/n!"

"Tubbo!" They pulled one another into a hug, both were exhausted. They treated one another as family, Y/n being Tubbo's older sibling figure. "What happened?!" "I'm sorry Y/n, but Dream escaped prison."

It felt like a slap in the face to receive this news. The color in their face disappeared. This was bad news. "No... no, this can't be true.... I... how?"

"Something to do with Ranboo. Tommy and Ranboo are gone too. No one knows where they are."

Y/n took a step back, feeling their breath shorten. This couldn't be happening. Everything had gotten good,  they were safe. They were safe from Dream. It felt so amazing, but now... everything was going to hell. If Dream was out of Prison, what were the chances he'd come after Y/n? They had known each other since the very beginning, they were friends, but soon it had turned into something toxic. He had manipulated them so much, to the point Y/n was broken down and suffering from a bit of PTSD from everything.

They could still remember the night before Dream planned to capture Tommy and kill Tubbo. They were hiding away in Dream's lair, where he planned to keep future items and belongings of members.

“Please don't do this, Dream.” They were on the brink of tears, “this isn't going to end well.” “This isn't going to end well for Tommy, Y/n.” Dream turned away from the portal, looking at his friend. “Why are you crying? We're friends, aren't we? I said you'd be safe.”

“I'm not crying over my safety,” Y/n stepped closer to Dream, looking up at him. “I'm crying over yours, I don't want you to get hurt.”

The blonde man made a 'tsk' noise, his hand shot up to Y/n's face, grabbing their chin. His green eyes stared down into their e/c ones. A look of disproval was on his face. “Crying is a weakness, Y/n. I thought I taught you better than that.” He wasn't wearing his mask, Y/n was one of the few people to see his face. The only reason they had seen his face was a way to get Y/n to trust him. “Everything's going to end well. Tommy will end up in prison and Tubbo... he'll most likely be dead by sun rise.”

“What?” Y/n froze at the mention of Tubbo. Dream could tell he had just struck fear in them. “Please, not Tubbo. Please, Dream.”

“I'm sorry Y/n...” He now cupped their face with both of his calloused hands, dragging his thumbs under their eyes to wipe away a few fallen tears. “It has to happen.”

“No,” their voice cracked as their eyes watered more. “Please no.” They pulled away from his grasp, tumbling a few steps back. “I've done everything for you. I put the TNT in the community house, I helped you build this hellsite, I did everything. Why? Why can't you do this one thing for me?” Tears were falling as Y/n raised their voice. “Why? Why do you need to kill Tubbo, my brother!" Y/n froze, that was the first time they had called Tubbo their brother, it felt good to say it.

his face showed no emotion as he watched Y/n. His lips parted, only mumbling a few words coldly; "Go home, Y/n. You're tired. You need rest."

“No! You don't get to push me away or order me to do something when we talk about something I want or that I care about! You can't do this to me!”

His gaze grew cold, his eyes beginning to glare, "Go home, Y/n."

"No."

"Fine," In one motion, he unsheathed his sword, beginning to walk towards the portal behind him. "If Tubbo is such a problem, I'll get rid of him now."

"No!" Y/n practically threw themself at Dream, grabbing onto his arm to stop him. "I'm going, I'm going. Please, I'll leave. i'll go home and sleep."

Dream smirked down at his friend, putting his weapon away. "Good. Get a good night's rest, you'll need it."

Y/n nodded, keeping their head down in embarrassment. It was cruel to think he could control them so easily. Right as they got to the portal, Dream had called for them one more time. "Oh and Y/n... If you think about spoiling my plans for tomorrow, I promise you I'll make sure Tubbo is dead before I go for Tommy. You know I always keep my promises."

Y/n winced at the thought, barely nodding. This was humiliating.

With Dream out of prison, there was only one thing Y/n planned to do; protect Tubbo. For the rest of the day, the pair walked around with Y/n holding a grip on their sword, constantly looking over their shoulder. Dream was a good fighter, better than Y/n no doubt, but they still needed to at least try and keep Tubbo safe.

When the day had come to an end, Y/n was still on their toes. Of course, Tubbo could tell, so he did the one thing he could think of. He took them up the highest hill, just to watch the sunset. It was one of their favorite things to bond over, they were both busy people, just being able to sit and catch up with each other was something nice.

"You know..." Tubbo picked at his pants as he spoke, he was a bit nervous to bring up the next topic in mind, but it had to be done. "You've never really talked about what was going on between you and Dream. Before he was in prison and everything. Tommy and I would see you and him together, but we understood why."

"You wanna know something, Tubbo?" Y/n sucked in a breath of air, they knew they had to talk about this eventually. "My role was to serve, that's all he needed me for. Yet..." they paused, looking into the sunset. Was it going to be a smart idea to say the next few words in their mind? "I still love him."

"What?" Tubbo's mouth fell agape. he felt something in his stomach lurch, his older sibling had fallen in love with his enemy. "I... I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to," Y/n could look Tubbo in the face, not right now. "I don't really understand it. I fear that man with half of my heart, the other half lives for that rush when I see him. He's like a drug, I'm willing to do almost anything for him. I live for his approval, I love when he says I've done good or tells me I deserve a reward, stuff like that."

"Y/n..."

"God, I'm so sorry, Tubbo. I really am. I... I don't know what's wrong with me." Y/n shook their head, realizing what they just said. "That... that was fucked up, I shouldn't have said that. Especially to you, you're just a kid, you've gone through enough trauma already. You don't need your sibling scaring you like this."

"No, it's... it's not okay, but it's whatever. I'm just happy you feel okay opening up to me about this. I'm gonna be honest here, Y/n... I'm not really sure what to say to any of this. It feels kind of like you've fallen in love with the enemy here."

A moment of silence followed, neither knew what to say. An unusual tension summoned, it felt strange. Normally, both Tubbo and Y/n were very comfortable around each other, but after Y/n's confession... it all seemed so strange.

Instead of breaking the silence, they sat there. Both kept their focus on the sun, watching it disappear from sight, the sky changing colors as the light left the sky. It had taken a while, but the sun had finally disappeared from sight. The pair sat there, staring off in different directions. The sky was filled with stars, it'd be impossible to see if they were closer to town than they already were.

"I... " Y/n paused, they didn't know what to say. There was so much they could say. "I think I'm gonna go to bed." Standing they muttered a brief 'good night'.  They could hear Tubbo say 'night' to them as they walked away.

This would be the first time Y/n would be alone since they heard of Dream's escape. Honestly, it was going to be hard for Y/n to fall asleep tonight. They already knew they wouldn't feel safe in their own home. As they walked, they could still remember the time when Dream had convinced them to tell him all of the secrets of their house. He knew every passage, every hidden item, any secret entrances.

"This is where I keep my iron and armor," They opened a chest, revealed stacks of iron bars sitting by two chest plates. Dream loomed over them from behind, he glanced into the chest for a brief moment before turning to walk somewhere else.

For the past hour it had been like this; Y/n showing everything there is to show in their home while Dream inspected. Y/n wasn't too sure why they were doing this, but Dream found it important. Whatever seemed necessary in his eyes, Y/n had to comply; it was just the rules.

"Don't you think I've shown you enough?" Y/n chewed on their bottom lip as they spoke, they were a bit anxious to hear his response. It wasn't a good idea to go against him, but at this point, it felt like Y/n had shown him enough.

The dirty blonde paused, turning on his feet to face his friend. "Are you trying to tell me I'm wrong for trying to protect you?"

"What, I-... no..." "I'm only trying to protect you, Y/n. There's going to be people who will want to hurt you, I can keep you safe if I know where your belongings and materials are. I can keep you protected if I know where all the entrances are to your home. Don't you want me to keep you safe?"

Y/n muttered a sheepish; "yeah," as they kept their head down. Moments like these always made them feel so weak.

"And just remember..." Y/n could feel their gaze point upward, Dream had placed a hand under their chin, forcing them to look him in the eye. "I'm never wrong, I know what's good for you."

Their house would no longer be known as a safe space for Y/n. As soon as Dream was imprisoned, Y/n had changed a lot about their house-but there was still a good chance of Dream finding a way to break in. When their home came into view, Y/n picked up their pace. Even if their home wasn't technically safe any longer, it'd still be better than standing out and alone in the dark.

With the door closing behind them, Y/n let out a sigh. Hopefully, they'd be able to find some way to get their mind off of Dream. They made their way through their home, putting away items and even turning on a bit of music as they did. The music was loud enough for Y/n's footsteps to drown out as they walked, loud enough to even drown out the sound of opening and closing chests, putting their belongings away.

Something seemed off, it looked like a few items were missing. A few pieces of armor, enchanted items, and even weapons. Y/n shook it off, they were just overthinking. It was normal for them to accidentally overcount in their stock.

Y/n had placed a few more items down into the last chest, a few apples and carrots they had collected earlier that day. It seemed like everything was going to be okay... until it wasn't.

Just as Y/n closed the chest, the music stopped. They froze. Y/n was supposed to be the only one here, the music shouldn't have stopped by itself. But it did.

There wasn't much they could do, they could run and hide-he'd find them. They could escape-He'd catch them. They could fight-he'd overpower them. What was the best option? Running would make him mad, fighting would make his blood boil-hide. Y/n would just have to try and hide.

Quickly they scanned over the room, chests filled with items were stacked. The room was like a maze, there had to be some chest they could slide into. As they moved, they stayed quiet, one little noise could ruin their chance of safety. The room was big, if they weren't careful they would get lost. Step by step, row by row, they passed by the chests. Every few seconds, they would glance over their shoulder-looking for him.

Just as they went to look over their shoulder for the hundredth time, they froze. Y/n's blood turned cold-the door opened. Heavy footsteps echoed through the room, the sound f metal dragged on the floor. He had a weapon.

"Y/n. I know you're in here..."

Should they run? Should they hide? Should they scream for help and pray someone will hear them?

Holding their breath, Y/n listened to the steps. One wrong move and it was all over for them. Sooner or later, they began to move, trying to stay silent as they listened for Dream's footsteps.

"Come out, this can be so much easier. If only you didn't act like this."

Y/n held their breath as they kept their pace up.

"You know I would never do anything to hurt you. You make me happy; and even more happy to you feel the same, right?"

They could feel their heartbeat rise.

"I know you better than yourself. I know you're in here."

Their pace quickened, listening to him.

"Luckily, it's only going to be me and you soon."

Faster-they were almost there.

"And before you know it-"

Their pace quickened, at this point Y/n was sprinting. Within seconds, they launched themself forward... only to land into someone's arms. An ax clattered to the ground as a pair of arms enveloped Y/n. Dream grinned, looking down at the person in his arms. Everything was going to plan.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Taglist: @ivory-raptor @behzynga​ @snowcones404 @delsinhunter @kiritokunuwu @part-of-too-many-fandoms29​

[himbo-only-zone]

Can you do Rantaro fluff alphabet?

rantaro amami || fluff alphabet

Me? Getting a post out? Woah- /lh. Anyway, of course I can! Here ya go! Sorry if it's out of character, I've never written for him before! I'm glad I was able to, though!

- Mod Anna

a. attractive. what does he find attractive about you? he loves your hands, they fit perfectly in his. he'll kiss you knuckles happily before dragging you on, another adventure to pursue. he's excited to be anywhere with you, and knowing that you're holding his hand, by his side? that's amazing.

b. baby. would he like a family? he would! i can see him wanting to show a kid the world, point out cool things in pictures, telling wild stories about what happened while he was there. he wouldn't mind taking them on trips as well!

c. cuddle. how does he cuddle? he's usually the big spoon, and he loves you facing him. he's pretty protective, a hand usually pressed against your lower back and a soft kiss on your forehead. he's very gentle and loving with this sort of thing.

d. dates. what are dates with him like? usually you're doing something different that you haven't done before, dates are never the same. he likes to be spontaneous, but also have a little bit of an idea of what's going to happen. he likes to keep you completely in the dark, though, having you play guessing games, although he wouldn't tell you even if they're correct.

e. everything. what are you to him? (ex. you are my _____) you're his favorite adventure. out of everything he's done, everywhere he's been, the greatest adventure of all was finding out about you and learning every little thing that he's come to love.

f. feelings. when did he know he was in love? you two were on an adventure, and you were a bit scared of something, whether it be the bugs or the night. he held you close and said that you didn't have to do this for him, but you shook your head. you were dedicated, and wanted to be with him no matter what, even during a small adventure. that was enough.

g. gentle. is he gentle with you? he's pretty gentle, holding your hand with a tight enough grip not to hurt you, kisses just firm enough, and hugs just warm enough. he's very careful. he loves you more than anything, and he thinks about your well-being all the time.

h. hands. how does he like to hold hands? he likes your fingers interlocked. it doesn't have to be tight, it can even super loose. just as long as your hands are touching, he knows you're safe, and that's all he wants to know. he loves pressing kisses to your knuckles.

i. impression. what was his first impression of you? he saw that you had an interesting personality, that would match well with his own. he saw a possible future, and wanted to pursue it. he didn't waste too much time asking you out, but he did get to know you a little first.

j. jealousy. how often does he get jealous? he is a very chill person in general, so it's very unlikely that he'd get jealous. there is the occasional moment, but it's far from often. he refuses to show it, not wanting it to interrupt your relationships with other people. he wants you happy. you'll notice the little things soon, however.

k. kiss. how does he kiss? who initiated the first kiss? he's an amazing kisser. the kisses are firm, yet soft and sweet. they show his passion for you. it's always accompanied by a hand on your lower back, and the other gently cupping your cheek. to break it, he often smiles into it and stares into your eyes.

l. love. who says "i love you" first? he does. it's done when you two are on the way home from some date, his hand on your knee as he drives. at a stop light, he looks over at you and just smiles. “damn, i love you. a lot,” he says, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.

m. memory. what's his favorite memory with you? every one. he takes pictures of every date, every little thing you two do together. he loves every moment he spends with you, and he cherishes it more than anything. all the memories with you fill him with more joy that you'd expect.

n. nickel. how much does he spend on you? well, you two share most of your money so it can go towards trips and stuff, but he makes sure to spend more than you do. you don't deserve to pay that much, he was the one who took you on all of this. he also buys you surprise souvenirs.

o. orange. what color reminds him of you? purple. it represents mystery in his eyes, and he likes to explore mystery with you. hand in hand, exploring the world together.

p. pet names. what pet names does he use? more often than not, he uses babe. it's classic, and it gets the point across. but he loves throwing in the occasional love, dear, or prince/princess. he loves seeing your reaction, it's his favorite.

q. quaint. what's a non-modern thing he does? he scrapbooks. y'know how all of his moments with you are special, and he takes pictures? all of those pictures are in a scrapbook. all of those little details are put in there, journal entries of the fun things, little pieces of leaves found where you were ... it's beautiful.

r. rainy days. what does he do with you on a rainy day? you two aren't able to get out, so the day is mostly spent laying on the couch and watching tv. you two need to rest sometimes, all of the adventuring gets tiring after a while. he has an arm tightly wrapped around you, pressing a kiss against your temple.

s. sad. how does he cheer you up? he insists on laying down with you and letting you vent about what's going on. he's stroke your cheek with one hand and hold your other one tight, listening to your every word. he wants to see you happy. you're amazing to him.

t. talking. what does he like to talk about? he likes learning about what makes you you. like your childhood, your parents, siblings if you have any. it makes him smile, knowing that you had an interesting past, no matter what it will be. and yes, he will be asking your parents for baby pictures.

u. unencumbered. what makes him relax? he likes taking soothing nature walks. he wants a house near the woods so that he can go out and relax if needed. he likes taking you with him, enjoying a comfortable silence together. it makes him feel a lot better.

v. vaunt. does he show you off? you two are a pretty loving couple in general, so yes? he doesn't really do it intentionally, but if he catches someone staring, he'll smirk happily and pull you a little closer. a quick kiss to the forehead, and he'll walk away with you in his arms. he's so happy with you.

w. wedding. when, how, and where does he propose? he would want something simple, but at a really nice place. on the top of a mountain, the view absolutely beautiful. he pulls out a ring with is extremely simple, maybe one small diamond, but it holds so much meaning. “s/o ... you know i love you. most of what i would say would be me repeating myself over and over again, but ... being your husband would be the best adventure of my life. will you marry me?”

x. xylophone. what song reminds him of you? what's your theme song? honeypie by jawny reminds him of you! your them song is desert island disk by radiohead!

y. yes. does he think about proposing to and marrying you? he would love that! going on adventures with his wife/husband/life partner? being able to call you that to people when asked? god, it'd make him feel like the best man in the world. he loves you more than anything.

z. zebra. if he could have a pet, what would he get? from such an adventurous man, you'd expect something exotic, right? hell no, he would be insistent on getting a big dog. he loves big dogs. and they're his best friend. no questions asked.

[yuzukult]

from home 05 || jjk & reader

title: from home  pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in later chapters word count: 7.5k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: i was really excited to write this chapter and i still couldn’t get myself to make it longer... :( i suck...

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup​ @yobroitsjayden​

← previous chapter || next chapter →

Stating that Jungkook was 'on edge' is an understatement.

His palms and armpits were sweaty from the moment he arrived at your apartment to grab you before going to meet your parents, despite the amount of layers of deodorant he has on. He's never had a real relationship before, let alone met any girl's parents, and he can't help but feel something churning in his gut. "Good to go?" You ask, and he merely nods, suddenly bashful because he feels like he is definitely not ‘good to go.’ "Alright, let's head out."

The ride on the bus to your family home is only 30 minutes away, and truthfully, he has never ridden on one before. Walking to yours, Hoseok, and his home were less than 15 minutes, the thought of taking the bus being the absolute last thing on his mind. 

Jungkook isn't exactly sure how he feels about the bus. The constant starting and stopping makes him nauseous; then the unsteadiness of having to hold the bars and handles throughout the vehicle all around seems unsafe. When there's an available seat, you sense his fear, nudging him cautiously, gesturing him to take the seat. "Sit," and granting he wants to offer it to you instead, Jungkook complies to the demand because he swears he's going to vomit. 

After getting off the public transportation that he vows to never take again, you guide Jungkook through a narrow road, he notices the neighborhood here was more concentrated than the ones in Busan; tightly knitted with homes that stacked on top of one another, side to side, and back to back. People hung their clothes on lines that stretch from apartment to apartment, piles of boxes stored on balconies, and plants resting on the borders with owners sitting idle on their porches, fixated on their hobby of people watching. 

Jungkook is known to be popular to the public, from magazines, gossip TV channels, social media posts, and the types continue on to the point that you couldn’t name them all on your own ten fingers. People don't often recognize him on the streets anymore because he's unrecognizable in regular everyday clothes but today, he learns that you're the celebrity.

The people in their homes say their greetings, making comments here and there as you entertain them with a response back, laughter dispersing in the air. There's an old lady that lounges on the steps of her home, a smile stretched so wide that her eyes disappear, all with a blanket laying across her lap, knitting away. "I haven't seen you around, I assume your mother is having a dinner party for the kids? I see you brought a friend!"

"Something along those lines," you retort indirectly, nose snug into your scarf. "You're not staying indoors? It's cold out."

"My husband keeps the heater on the home too high, I sweat like I'm going through menopause like I’m forty all over again, so I much rather be outside here. Anyways, I don't want to hold you up too long, but please come by for Christmas, I do have a sweater I knitted for you as well!"

Then there's a grandfather, another grandmother, and a couple who seems just a bit older than the two of you, and the list just goes on. Despite the whisper exchanges at the supermarket mentioning that you're intimidating, mean, and scary, it's obvious that you aren't or else you wouldn't be swooning the hearts of these strangers.

But there will always be an exception. Especially when the two of you run into a girl who looks close in age, hair dyed blonde with her lips painted fusion red. He could tell how curvy she was with how tight the winter coat hugs her frame, swaying her hips toward your direction as she eyes you both suspicious. "I see our town loser brought a friend."

"Mm," You nod, attempting your best not to amuse her, or else you’d be pouncing on her back by now. "Jungkook, this is Somin. A classmate of mine when I was in grade school." He bows in politeness, zipping up his jacket further while stepping closer to you. "Nice to meet you, Somin."

"Oh, no!" She gasps, a hand on her chest in exaggeration, completely flabbergasted by something he said. "Don't call me that. I go by Bella, since... you know, I am an American now. Being an American deserves the right name."

"You got your citizenship there?"

"No, but, I spent enough time there to know." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. Spent enough time there—you want to call out on her bullshit yet again, knowing she barely spent a month there before dropping out of school and coming back, but it'd be humiliating to mention that with Jungkook standing by, a stranger that she had only met a mere few seconds ago. "You said Jungkook... Are you perhaps, Jeon Jungkook of the Jeon Corporation?"

You furrow your brows. "How do you even know that?"

"Well, daddy invests in their stocks, of course." Fluttering her lashes, she manages to make her presence known to Jungkook as she moves in his direction. "And I saw his pretty little face in a magazine and couldn't help but admire."

Possessively, your hand slips into his pocket, intertwining your fingers together, causing warmth to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Well, great to see you, Somin. Jungkook and I have dinner plans with my parents."

"Whoa, wait, dinner plans?" Somin nearly exclaims, shifting aside to block your way. "Also, it's Bella, get that straight, will you? And why is Jeon Jungkook with you anyway?"

"We're dating," Jungkook interjects, clearing his throat. The words are still unfamiliar on his tongue yet he loves to flaunt them anyway. "I'm her boyfriend." He adds, tightening the grip on your hand as if Somin could see it. Her mouth drops open, unable to grasp onto the fact that you were able to land on a hunk like him. If only she knew how much knowledge of basic life skills he didn't have... actually, she might still have the same perspective. "There's no way. This is fake, right? You realize how rude she is, don't you?"

"No, it’s not fake, and well, kind of," Jungkook admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. "But it's endearing. Wouldn't be as exciting if she wasn't always trying to banter with me, so I don't think I'd have it any other way. People mistake it for her honesty. I love a woman who can be true to herself and genuine with her words."

Just then, your mother peeks out of the front door of your childhood home, waving her arm eagerly, calling out your name. "Well, that's our cue. Thanks, Somin, for congratulating us on our new relationship. Hope you find someone yourself soon!"

"What—" Somin barely finishes her sentence before you're zooming past her, tugging Jungkook along. 

"I didn't know you had so many enemies," Jungkook says jokingly, a playful smile upon his lips. You roll your eyes before squinting them at him, squeezing his hand hard as he winces. "Now you know how little I care for them, watch out because you might become one."

Upon entering the home, Jungkook observes too many things at once. Your mother is in the kitchen, frantically maneuvering through the junk that your family has hoarded over the years, searching for whatever it is she needs for the task at hand. Your father sits comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table with a controller in hand, dozing off with a combination of quiet and loud snores escaping from him. As a family home, Jungkook believes it's small considering that you had mentioned previously that you had two other siblings. To think that your parents are still living in the same home they grew up in is amazing to him, knowing that his parents moved at least five times within his youth while you only stayed in one home.

"Uh, hello," He greets your mom, bowing as she places her hands onto his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. She looks almost like a replica of you, except older and much brighter. "You must be Jungkook! It's so great to meet you, I'm so happy that my daughter found someone. She's known to be a bit... cold, so knowing that you were able to warm her up means that you're definitely special!"

"You make me sound like a bad guy." You hiss before your little sister walks in, in the midst of tying her hair up into a ponytail. She resembled your mother than you did, a delighted expression that matched exactly the one your mother had on. "That's because you are, and any guy who dates you seem to run away once they find out." She halts in her steps when she notices Jungkook's face. "Oh my god, you're that model."

"Model?" Your mother reiterates, glancing back at Jungkook and then your sister. "Yeah, yeah, that model in the new edition of Elle. He was in it—he's listed as one of the 10 most desirable men under 30. No flipping way, how'd you even get him to even date you?" She pauses before pointing at Jungkook with a suspicious look on her face as his eyes widened. "Unless... you need her for something. What's she offering? It can't be her body, she's not sexy... is it her brains? You heard about her—"

"Miyoung." Your mother says sternly, interrupting your sister. "Just because Jungkook is a model, it doesn't mean that your sister is incapable of being loved by a man like that."

"Actually—"

"Oh, hey. You must be the boyfriend." A taller male enters the room, his hair messy and lids hooded from waking up barely minutes before. He's still in his pajamas, a loose grey shirt and red checkered pants, but from the outline of his shirt, Jungkook could tell this guy was built. "I'm Daehyun, also known as their big brother. It's nice to meet you." Jungkook is in awe, hand extending to shake with Daehyun's. He knows he's straight, but even as a straight guy he knows a pretty man when he sees one. 

Jungkook was starting to pick up as to why your exterior was so tough. With a younger sister who didn't have a filter to an incredibly handsome older brother, of course as the middle child you had to protect yourself. "Uh, yeah. And that's my little sister, Miyoung, who basically just attacked me for all of my insecurities within a minute. Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem, Unnie." She grins cheekily, seated on the high stool. "Did mom tell you I was back home from college for the weekend? That's why you're here?"

"Something like that," you respond ominously, hanging up your jacket along with Jungkook’s. Despite her preceding interrogation, she’s chewing on her bottom lip skittishly. "More like she forced me to come. Well, she didn't say anything yet but I felt a guilt trip coming so I just decided that I would come instead."

"Typical," Daehyun scoffs, leaning against the wall beside Miyoung. He sneaks a glimpse into the kitchen where your mother secretly runs back into, resuming in her work. "She's been desperate to get us all back together since the two of you moved out. Remind me again why I'm the only one stuck here?"

"Because you can't find a job." Miyoung and you remind him in unison and he frowns. The interaction between the three of you is crystal clear evidence that you guys are related. "Well, geez, hurt a guy, why don't you? See what I have to deal with, Jungkook?"

With some time left until dinner, the four of you crowd at your small dining table, conversing away about updates in your lives. Miyoung is in University an hour away from home, residing there for an easier commute, and Daehyun stays at home with an ambition to find a job that fits his degree. Daehyun still dates from time to time but he admits that he can’t tend to his needs because well, his mother is a room away, and oddly enough, albeit Miyoung babbles on about other things, she’s silent about her love life. Neither Miyoung and Daehyun are able to hold a steady job, he observes, and he’s starting to pick up as to why you’re so adamant about keeping both of yours. Jungkook learns that everything seems to gravitate toward one of the two phrases from your siblings when it comes to finances and they are: “Mom can handle it,” or “I’m going to let Dad do it so I don’t have to.”

From what Jungkook can gather, your siblings seemed to have different outlooks on life compared to you—they still depended on their parents whilst you were already hunting for opportunities of your own before Miyoung’s age so you didn’t have to ask for money.

“Are you still upset with me about what happened a year ago?” Miyoung finally asks you, chewing on her nails nervously. It seems to be something she’s been holding back from you, Jungkook takes a note of the way her eyes were filled with worry. “Of course,” You reply nonchalantly, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed. “How could I not be? But you’re my sister, so I can’t actually be mad at you.”

Miyoung begins to tear up— glassy gaze with her bottom lip quivering, in spite of the previous aggressiveness she presented when you first entered the house. Before Miyoung could get another word in, your mom comes in with a guilty expression on her face. She calls your name faintly, a pout upon her lips. “Can you and Jungkook go out and grab me a couple things before dinner?”

Jungkook can’t get the question that Miyoung brings up out of his mind. In the middle of an aisle at another one of his mother’s grocery stores, your lips are pursed in thought at which brand of soy sauce would your mom like more. 

“What was Miyoung going on about?” He eventually asks, but he holds his breath in case you decide to sock him for querying you about something so personal. Strangely enough, you open up. “Miyoung fell in love with my ex. He told me they didn’t do anything but he was in love with her, so we broke up. I thought I was going to settle with him but— guess not.”

Jungkook’s eyes expand like a deer in headlights. “Your little sister is dating your ex-boyfriend? And they were in love with each other during your relationship? I would’ve given her an uppercut if I were you— are you seriously still buying the banana milk she asked for?” He’s trailing behind you as you lead him toward the drinks; your face brightening from the lights from the fridges. How could someone who lost their boyfriend to their little sister seem so put together in the first place? Was this was Hoseok was talking about that your men streak was horrendous? 

“Because she’s my little sister. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy.” Throwing a pack into the cart, Jungkook continues to push it while following you, mind still foggy and angry about the situation. Here you were, with a guy who you’d fallen in love with to the point of considering settling down, then finding out he’s been in love with your sister... he feels like this is all a fever dream and isn’t an ounce real. “You’re fucking with me right?”

You look at him with perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“This sounds crazy. You’re serious? Miyoung stole a guy from you and you’re just going to be the bigger person here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Get in the way of their relationship that is obviously blossoming in a good way?”

Jungkook pauses. Was this what it was like in another family? Or at least yours?

In comparison, he perceives that within his family, outbursts were everything. Getting attention and being recognized for any wrongdoing was immensely important— he knew that if he stole a girl away from one of his brothers, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. His mother, including father, would never forget it. The chattering would be heard through the grapevine amongst the housemaids, drivers, and employees of the company. Even news media outlets would dabble a bit into the family drama, adding fuel to the fire. He could never react the way you did, at least, he hopes he would, but realistically speaking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Yet, with you, it seemed simple enough. Sure, your heart was broken, but how were you going to be with someone who didn’t love you back?

“If you love someone, you let them go.” You say calmly when Jungkook doesn’t respond back. “Keeping them around for your benefit doesn’t solve anything. If he wasn’t truly happy with me, I want him to be happier with someone else. And if that person so happens to be with Miyoung, what am I supposed to do?”

“But... you’re not happy.” Jungkook declares with no hesitation. He recalls the time where you felt bad for him for not having the best upbringing, and he’s starting to understand the emotion that ran through you. “I’m happier now,” You concede, placing the last ingredient your mom has on the list for you to purchase, turning your back at Jungkook. “Now that I met you.”

His heart flutters at the comments, and he’s desirous about bringing up the topic of the kiss again. Jungkook resists the urge to because he could tell from the way your silhouette begins to quicken its pace toward the checkout line that you really didn’t want to talk about it. 

When the two of you arrive back at your house, your father is jolted awake. Jungkook greets himself to the elder man who only grins brighter than the sun—something Jungkook is trying to grasp where your grumpiness comes from— and instantaneously directs him to the dinner table where your mom has a ton of side dishes laid out with six place settings for you all.

During the meal, there was nothing but exchanging stories, laughter, and elation that swarms the room. If this was what family meant, Jungkook wanted it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to be with you.

Nothing is working out for Jungkook.

This week, the pipe in his apartment burst. Something about— it’s winter and when it’s cold, the water freezes within the pipe and it expands the material, causing the pipe itself to burst, he doesn’t quite understand how the whole plumbing system works, but he knows that he can’t use the water in his apartment and has to go to yours and Hoseok’s for the week for a shower until the landlord can get it fixed.

Then, one of the deli guys called off because he apparently had the runs which meant that there was a shift change— Jungkook having to cover since whomever was working that day didn’t have the skills to do it.

Skills? Jungkook curses underneath his breath when he recites that word in his head repeatedly because he cuts his finger on the meat slicer as he winces, calling out your name. Coming to his side, you pull out the first aid kit and force him to sit down on one of the stools, tying elastic on a higher point of his finger to stop the blood from gushing out. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t need to be put here, right? Someone else could’ve done this, I have no idea how to use a slicer.”

“I know,” You coo, wiping some of the antiseptic on the wound as he whimpers at the sudden sting. “The new shift manager panicked, she wasn’t sure what to do since the guy with the actual food preparation license is going to be here a bit late so she put you here. Not exactly the best plan.” After bandaging him up, you wash your hands underneath the faucet as Jungkook slouches in the seat.

Nothing really was going his way.

It doesn’t even stop there. Unexpectedly, his mother calls for dinner but you’re on shift, therefore you wouldn’t be able to attend. He’s tempted to down a glass of whiskey on ice, his signature drink, but when he opens the cabinet in his kitchen, he falters at the image of your face. Would you be disappointed if you saw what he was doing? And Hoseok? What would he say?

Retracting his hand back, he immediately slams the door shut at the thought of the consequences.

Dinner is the usual at the Jeon residence. Father sits at the end of the dining table, the typical beige cloth napkin spread across on his lap while in his usual work attire, glasses rested on the tip of his nose as he’s ready to dive in with a fork and spoon in hand. Mother is settled beside him, pretty as ever and calm in comparison to the hell that’s going to let loose in a couple minutes. The unknown? Who is going to blow up this time and who will they be comparing themselves to?

The answer? Jongseok and Jungkook.

Jongseok is upset to the point that he articulates every word with spit nearly projecting from his mouth to the opposite side of the room. The vein on his temple is stressed to the point that all Jungkook can think about is when it’s going to pop. “Why are you guys always babying Jungkook? You realize the kid is fucking working at a grocery store right? And not just any grocery store, either, but it’s mother’s chain.”

“Okay?” Father retorts, forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Isn’t he trying to prove himself worthwhile? Didn’t he find that job himself, despite it being your mother’s chain? He’s paying for his mistakes, learning basic life skills along the way, and even landed himself a serious girlfriend who can hold his hand through these tough times, since, after all, you’re the one who suggested we cut him off. If I’m being honest, I think we should give him access to our funds again.”

A scoff of incredulity comes from Jongseok. He’s a ticking time bomb in this moment; jaw twitching in frustration with the tips of his ears heated red. Even though he’s the target yet again, Jungkook is sober now, mind clear of the fog and the ability to defend himself for once. “I don’t get it. Why are you even mad at me? I’m trying here, right? You’re the one who wanted me to get cut off so desperately— and congrats, by the way, because I did. I had to find a job myself, one I’m not a fan of, and I’m barely making it by. I lost water in my apartment this week, cut my hand on one of those deli slicers, sprained my ankle on my way to work— and that’s only a portion of my bad week. Yet here I am, sitting at the dinner table with people who claim that they love me when you’re here flipping shit at father. What do you want from me?”

“For your name to be completely off the will.” Jongseok finally says what he has been actually feeling unperturbedly, not an ounce of affection in his tone with a gaze that could pierce through Jungkook. “You have nothing to offer to this family. Why we keep you around— I don’t know. Why should you have any portion of our estate and company assets when all you’re doing right now is working at the supermarket. Tell me, Jungkook, why do you deserve to be part of any of this?”

Jungkook hates how childish he’s being, but he feels like he has the right to. The flickering colorful lights and music booming through the speakers of the club are tuning out the words his brother exclaims at his parents, and the amount of alcohol passing through his lips are numbing the pain that tears through his chest. Your face pops up in his head; your laugh, your smile, and the comfort in the underlying messages through your tough love— he wishes that all of that was enough to heal the sting in his heart and fill the hollowness that his family left.

He doesn’t remember any of these people sitting at this table with him, even though they’re hollering in excitement that “Jungkook is back again!” The girl placing a hand on his chest with his arm around her shoulder isn’t you, but he knows that if it was, you’d be so displeased at how wasted he is. Honestly, this feels wrong. Nothing sits right in his stomach and when another pretty gal with her dress hiked up to the point he could see her thong from where he’s on the couch, he’s not even attracted to her. All he could think about was you, and that scowl on your face when he tells you about this night. He could hide it from you but he’s not going to lie to himself— if he wanted to improve for the better, it meant being straightforward and authentic. Jungkook came here to let loose because the events that occurred at the estate tonight was something he wants to forget.

Turning to the girl beside him, his eyes are hooded and vision is blurry when he asks, “What’s your name again?”

When her rosy plump lips open, she says her name but the voice that comes out of it is deep and oddly familiar. “Hyeri?” Why does she say it like a question, and why is her voice so low? Just then, a hand clenches the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up and he meets the proprietor of the response. Hoseok.

Hoseok drags Jungkook’s weak and frail frame out into the alleyway behind the club, fuming to the point that smoke could’ve been whistling out of his ears. “What the fuck are you doing here? And with Hyeri, of all people! I thought I told you to stop fucking around, dude! I-I thought you knew how much she means to me. Out of the people I’ve partied with— you were my actual friend.” He clenches his jaw before Jungkook could even answer, a fist tightening in his hand. “You’re such a fuck up, Jungkook. So much for a friend.” 

Then everything blacks out.

His entire body hurts. His head is pounding, he can barely open one of his eyes, and his legs are so sore he can hardly shift on the bed— on a bed? He doesn’t have a bed. He has a futon but not a bed. Startled, he attempts to sit up against the bed frame, the other eye opening to skim through the room. 

He’s never been in your bedroom before, but the pictures of you graduating college hanging on the corkboard above your desk, concert tickets, Polaroids, and holiday cards thumbtacked beside them is all the evidence he needs to know it’s yours. Jungkook wants a closer look at them, he can scarcely make out the cute little smile on your face with your family in attendance in the picture, but when he puts weight onto his arms, he groans. Seconds later, you’re bursting through the door, out of breath and worry in your eyes. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Voice hoarse, he realizes how dry his throat is and you lean over to the bedside table to hand him the glass of water you had there originally. “Don’t move, idiot. You’re actually really torn up if you didn’t feel it with all that alcohol in your system.” Inviting yourself onto the foot of the bed, Jungkook frowns after he finishes the entire glass, much more dehydrated than he initially thought. “Trust me, it’s gone now. I feel every ounce of pain. What happened? I blacked out.”

“No shit,” you retort harshly, rolling your eyes at him. “You were drunk as hell, but you didn’t black out from that. Hoseok saw you getting all cozy with Hyeri and knocked the shit out of you. What happened, Jungkook? Why were you there in the first place? Did something happen?”

Reading the expression on your face, he fears for the worse but he doesn’t see any hint of dissatisfaction anywhere. There’s no anger, no resentment, no frustration— none of that. Just curiosity smeared across, genuinely worried about his well-being. “Are you upset that you found out I was there?”

“I was mad that Hoseok called me to come grab you, at first, so kind of, yeah. But if you’re trying to figure out if I’m disappointed in you, then no, I’m not. Old habits are hard to kill, so I understand that you’re trying to cope with something. I just want to know why you were there in the first place and why were you getting all lovey dovey with Hyeri—“

“I wasn’t getting lovey-dovey with Hyeri,” Jungkook exasperates, head falling back against the headboard, closing his eyes shut, interrupting before you lead the conversation into a lecture. “She was just some girl that sat down and claimed a spot next to me. I didn’t even know she was Hoseok’s girl.” There’s a pregnant pause in his explanation, and you don’t break off his train of thought. “I... I went because Jongseok called me useless tonight, yet again. It didn’t bother me as much as it did before, you know, before I met you, and it’s probably because I wasn’t intoxicated or the fact that I’m actually trying now and he still thinks I’m useless. He wants me out of the will.”

“He’s jealous that he’s the problematic child now, not you.” Making your way up the bed, you’re seated on top of the covers, settled adjacent to Jungkook. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re way more useful than you had been initially. I usually do the dishes at my parents’ house, mostly because I’m the middle child, but you did it for me instead. I consider that a huge accomplishment from who you were before.”

As much as he hates to admit how warm and fuzzy he feels inside just from that small achievement, it’s a resemblance of the time when he was younger and won an award for being most creative in his kindergarten class. How are you able to lift up his mood so easily by just saying a few words?

“I… is Hoseok really pissed?”

“A bit,” you reply sincerely and apologetically, even though none of this had been your fault. “He’s been in love with her even before I met him. She was all he could talk about, and I guess she finally gave him a shot, only to drop him a month later. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s a gold digger from the stories he shared.”

Jungkooks face drops when his gaze meets yours. “Have you ever told him that?” You laugh—the melody that practically heals his wounds on the spot. “No, are you crazy? He’s blinded by love, Jeon, and any interference with that, I’m done for, probably cut out entirely from his life. Have you never been in love before?” 

He wants to say that he hasn’t, not until he met you, but you continue without expecting a response from him anyway. “Well, that’s just how he is. You could tell him a billion times that this girl isn’t for him but he’s never going to care about what I say until something actually happens.”

“I really care about Hoseok, though, and I want the best for him.” His doe-brown eyes are glossy, full of cherish for his friend. “And he cares for you too, Jeon. Just give him some time.” Quickly, Jungkook twists away, gaze avoiding yours as he clears his throat a couple times.

“Are you... okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He says, choking up on his own words. “Hurts a little. Hoseok is strong.”

You furrow your brows. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t react. “Jeon,”

“Can... you give me some space?” 

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you contemplate whether or not to listen to his words or go against him. He’s been living in a home full of people yet still feeling alone, with no one to listen to his perspective on things. Maybe it’s time you change that.

Abruptly, you swing your leg over his thighs, hands cupping his cheeks just like you did that fateful night. He swore his heart stopped beating. “What are you—” There’s tears brimming in his eyes, you realize, with some escaping, trailing down his cheek. He sniffles. “You’re crying?” You’re stating the obvious, yet somehow it comes out as a question. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’ve never had a friend love me before, a friend who actually liked me for me and only wanted to spend time with me because of who I was, not who my family was. Did I really fuck up with Hoseok?” You frown, thumb rubbing against his cheek to wipe away his tears. Truthfully, you never really knew how to react when someone fell apart like this, but with Jungkook, it felt natural, the comforting. It might’ve been the sunlight peering through the windows of your room that made everything toasty, thawing out your cold heart, or it was just Jungkook. “Maybe. But I doubt he wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself though. I mean, yeah, you’re bruised all over because he really beat you up... but, I’m sure this evens things out. Plus, I’m your friend and I love you too.”

He sighs, shoulders plunging with his hands creeping up to your waist unconsciously, tenderly steering you to sit on his thighs. Swallowing at the feeling of his body flattened against yours, you’re attempting to shake your head from the dirty thoughts. Jungkook feels at ease, detecting the words come from your mouth, yet he wants more. He craves for more, especially since that night in Busan and he isn’t sure he can hold himself back anymore.

“I... What happened that night in Busan?” Lifting your weight off him, he only stops you by putting down more pressure to stop your escape. Despite being in an awful lot of pain, he still manages to overpower you in strength. “Please don’t avoid this. If Jongseok didn’t come to our door that night, it would’ve led to something more. I want to know, please, what does it mean?” Cheeks burning, you stare at the wooden headboard behind him, except Jungkook knows your next steps before you do because his finger is already on your chin, guiding your view back onto him. He doesn’t need to say anything because the look he gives you says it all, tell me.

“Okay, okay,” You cringe, the idea of talking about this makes your stomach feel queasy and want to recoil in dread. “White flag. I’ll talk.”

“Enough of this white flag nonsense, just tell me.”

Belatedly gathering enough courage, you spill. Although your heart feels like it’s jumping through hoops from suspense, you realize that you can’t hold yourself back any longer anyway. “I’m... attracted to you, alright? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you 100% emotionally, because I still feel like we’re on different pages here, but I feel like I kind of like you? If this goes any further, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

That’s... it? Admittedly so, Jungkook was hoping for more of a confession, something along the lines of, ‘I really like you, Jungkook’ but he’d have to settle for this. This was definitely a step closer to where he wants to be. “So... you’d date me, that is. There’s still an opening somewhere.”

“I-I mean, I guess so... why?”

“Because well, I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I know that for sure that I like you.” He discloses. “And if there’s even a bit of an opening, I want a shot at it.”

You scoff. “With me? You want an actual shot with me? After spending time with my family, you want to still try to swoon me?” There’s a smile tugging on Jungkook’s lips; there’s a blackish-bluish bruise underneath his eye, the side of his lips red and blotchy and the entirety of his body is either swollen or bruised, and yet, he still endures the pain to be beaming brighter than the stars. “Of course, you met my family, right? Yours is nothing complicated in comparison... well, maybe your sister. But for once, I feel like I belong here, with you, I feel like I’m home. So, will you give me a chance to win you over?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing this whole thing? This... you thinking you like me kind of thing.”

“Are you going to keep wasting your time?” He blurts, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You wasted how long with some guy only for him to ditch you for your sister. What about your happiness, and what you want? None of this is fair to you. What if I could possibly give that to you, that happiness? Would you actually give me a chance?”

Sincerely, you didn’t know what the relationship with Jungkook held and what it would mean in the future. But what he asserts is right with the things he repeats in Busan about being selfish for once replays in your head again, and you finally decide to take a shot at it.

Was it the high of saying ‘yes, okay’ to Jungkook or the painkillers he took earlier because when your lips meet with his, he feels like he’s floating in mid-air. Your tongue is wet and soft when it fights with his, and when his hands on your waist pull you in closer, the bulge in his pants isn’t discreet, raging for attention, twitching against your thigh while your fingers knots through his hair tightens in response to your bottom lip suddenly tucked in between his teeth. The room feels steaming hot, especially when your hips start to move against his, emitting a groan from him as hand trails down to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze in consequence. His jeans from last night are still on and they’re straining in his crotch uncomfortably.

This is escalating so fast—just as quickly as his heart is beating in his chest, almost popping out of his chest cavity. Your natural scent is intoxicating, clouding up his mind to the point that he doesn’t think he needs the alcohol to forget the pain his family has caused him anymore, because you’re mending the pieces of him together. Your hands trail down to his neck, tugging him closer before they wander down to his biceps, giving him a gentle squeeze that releases a wince from him. 

Just as abrupt as the kiss, you pull away with a concerned and panic expression, with your mouth open in aghast. “Oh my god— I forgot you were still injured—” As you’re trying to move back, you stumble on his legs and collapse onto the floor.

“What— hey, are you okay?” He says, breathless as he leans over to check on you sprawled on the floor. Swiftly hopping back on your feet, he observes you clearly with your hair disheveled, cheeks tinted pink, and swollen lips. There’s a look of achievement on his face from the sight of a disoriented you. “Uh, um, yeah. I-I’m good,” Flustered, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m... I’m going to get dinner ready for the both of us, uh, I’m going to leave you to it,” you’re awkwardly gesturing his crotch before rushing out the room and slamming the door shut.

He can only laugh at your reaction. At least his week wasn’t that bad after that kiss, right?

Jungkook stirs awake from the sound of chatter in the living room, voices familiar that he can associate them as yours and Hoseok’s. Unexpectedly, he sounds melancholic, the muffled sounds from your walls, almost to the point of whimpering mixed with your soft assuring words. He figures he should get a closer perspective of this, maybe enough where he can make out what the two of you are conversing about.

He’s not far off from shrieking when he angles his leg too far, but he bites his bottom lip in prevention of any sound, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the torment. Careful, he reiterates like a mantra in his head, chanting it until it’s engraved in his brain. When he reaches the door, he opens it slowly and just barely, to peek out and see the scene unfold before him.

“She told me that they didn’t do anything,” Hoseok exclaims, face in his hands as his elbows are resting on his knees. “That she chose to be there, and Jungkook was just lounging on the couch. That if anything, she wanted him to fuck her. Isn’t that ridiculous? How could she say that?”

You’re seated on the armrest of the loveseat, hand rubbing against Hoseok’s back soothingly. “I know, Hobi, I know. You might’ve been the right one for her, but at the end, she wasn’t the right one for you.”

“I could’ve changed,” He emphasizes, spinning his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are crimson and swollen from his tears, restlessness fills in those orbs. “I love her so much.”

“Well, and you love Jungkook. He’s in the other room, beat up and crying because he thought he lost you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you tore him to shreds! Earlier when we were making—“ You pause, clearing your throat when you realize where you were leading the conversation, Hoseok raising a brow in confusion at the action. “Earlier, I mean, I went to check on him and he was whining in pain. You really hurt him, Hoseok, and not just physically either. He’s both hurt emotionally and physically.”

He frowns. “I mean, I guess... I guess it wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s no guessing, idiot. It wasn’t. He was honestly too wasted to even realize that she was sitting beside him. Poor kid reeked of alcohol that I almost made him sleep on the porch. But he would’ve gotten robbed so... I let him stay in my room and I slept on the couch.” Jungkook glowers at the thought of you struggling to find comfort on the small sofa, wishing you would’ve chosen to sleep by him instead.

“Can I... talk to him?” Hoseok finally asks, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. His knuckles were red, contused from the one-sided fight he had with Jungkook the night before. “I fucked up, and I’m sure he thinks that he really fucked up.”

You hum for a moment before an idea pops into mind. “How about... you go out and get takeout? I’ll check on him, prep him for your appearance, and then you guys can hash it out?”

You don’t take no for an answer, pushing Hoseok out the door shortly, and a soft smile tugs on the edges of Jungkook’s lips before he lightly shuts the door and tip toes back into bed, pretending to be deep in slumber.

When you come into the room afterwards with a wet rag in hand and a bucket of warm water, his heart swells. Patting the towel against his wounds while seated at the edge of the bed, he hastily has a hand wrapped around your wrist, shocking you in the midst of your activity. “Oh— you’re awake?” He gingerly kisses the palm of your hand, heat clogging your face . “Yeah. And, thank you. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“I—uh, maybe you’ll reciprocate this for me as well, one day?” You respond dubiously. “But... you also might not know how to do it so—“

“Are you still trying to make jabs at me after I made such a sweet comment?”

“Well, I’m just being honest, do you even know how to take care of another person?” You shoot back. “You couldn’t even get yourself back home, I had to be called and drag you back here myself, and my god, you’re heavy—“ He hauls your arm closer, dragging you along with it until your nose is inches away from his. “Can I kiss you again? I miss the way your lips feel with mine.” Even when he says the words in a volume that’s barely a whisper, his breath fans against your skin harshly, causing goosebumps to crawl up your spine.

The door pounds shut and before you can tear away from Jungkook’s hold, Hoseok is already standing in the threshold of the bedroom, mouth wide open in shock before it immediately fades into a mischievous grin. “What did I tell you, Kook? Which one was it first? You or her?”

[jabbagabba]

La La Land

Read Prologue

Warning ⚠️

Triggering subjects: disassociation, manipulation, mind control, grief. (READ AT OWN RISK)

Wandavision: spoilers (up to episode 6 - just to be safe), violence

———

Pools Of Despair

You weren’t sure how long it’d been, the drive feeling as though it had taken a lifetime. It might have been just down the road and you wouldn’t have been able to tell; time seemed to move torturously slow under Wanda’s control.

She tried to keep herself calm besides your frozen body, already thinking of a way out as she turned the steering wheel. But it was too late to go back.

‘No other way. No other way.’ The words replayed over and over in her head as she finally made it to the front of the building, and it was the first time she fully looked at you. Your face was stoic, the only sign of life being the soft breaths escaping your mouth. You couldn’t look at her - even if you wanted to - and as she reached a hand to your face, the feeling of complete numbness returned.

During the drive there had been small moments of clarity; moments where for the first time you felt in control. It was almost euphoric being able to push through the fog.

But then, as quickly as it had subsided, she would crawl her way back in.

Even now as she turned you toward her fully, you tried to swim through the heaviness, but the black swirls of grief and anguish just got tighter the harder you fought.

Wanda sighed in annoyance. “You can’t go in looking like that.” She pulled at a strand of her hair with a small huff. “Need glasses.”

You were sure if you had control of your body, the pain of your neck would be unbearable, the awkward angle surely making every muscle strain as you were forced to watch her pull apart the car.

This had to have been owned by the only man on the planet that didn’t carry sunglasses in their car. Wanda almost laughed, a punishment for stealing it? She couldn’t be sure.

“Well...” Wanda pulled the blue and white baseball cap by the brim from under her seat. “Better then nothing.” She gave a small smile as she adjusted it on your head, pulling back and grabbing your hand and letting it rest in her lap. “If there was any other way, I swear, I would let you go. But... I just... I can’t live without him.”

You said nothing as she cried.

———

“Head down, get Vision. Leave.” Her voice plagued your every step, each word carved into your brain as you finally reached the front desk.

‘Sword’ was a nice place - or at least had nice flooring - and from the bright light that filled each and every inch of the glossy tile, you knew there had to be a lot of glass. It was a government building after all.

“Can I help you?” Her voice is chirpy, a polite smile painted on her lips, you don’t need to see her eyes to know it wasn’t anything but genuine. She lets the wheels of her chair carry her forward, her computer forgotten besides her as you near the desk.

“Do you have... a meeting?” She smiles again, more forced and you’re able to see the golden pin on her chest that proudly says ‘Mary’ and try once more to float above the darkness.

“I -“ The word leaves your lips aprubtly and the fight drains from you just as fast. “I’m here to inquire about some of my father’s equipment. I’d like it back.” You let the darkness swallow you whole.

“And who are you again?” Mary is quick to pull her deskphone to her ear, hand hovering over the numbers.

———

The name that fell from her lips made Mary freeze. She looked up with wide eyes, both fearful and exited.

Starks were top priority at ‘SWORD’ - she was sure they were top priority everywhere - and as she desperately tried to recall if her boss mentioned anything about Stark equipment, the girl’s patients quickly wore thin.

“Can you please just tell me where to go? I have a long drive ahead of me.” Her voice was a sharp contrast from her apparance. The girl’s voice was stern and loud while her body was scrunched in on itself, eyes glued to the desk. Mary took a glance over the desk and saw the dark fabric of a dress, the hat didn’t even match the girl’s shoes.

“Right.” Mary said. “I’m sorry, just a little... starstruck.” She tried to keep her cool, turning again in her chair and started typing as fast as possible on her little keyboard. The atmosphere was thick with uncomfortable silence and Mary had to make sure not to shiver in the girl’s presence. She scrolled down the list of names and let out a small “ah” when she found your name. Just as quickly as she clicked on it, a pop up window filled the screen

STARK - Access Denined. Call Security

She felt sick; her nerves making her skin pucker as she tried to keep calm. When Mary finally found the courage to move, bile reached through her throat as she saw red eyes looking back.

“Ahh!” Mary was quick to jump out of her chair.

“Fine.” The girl sighed, hand flat on the counter as she took long strides around it. “If you won’t help me.” A red trail flowed through one of the doors; slithering like a snake as it wrapped around the shell shocked receptionist. “I’ll do it myself.”

———

Wanda’s mind had warped, grief and anger become one as she ripped through each and every room of the building. No one was safe from the witch’s wrath as she swung them through various glass panels and equipment. By the third turn she took, guards had given up, opting to instead try desperately to get out of her way.

She had left you at the desk, too transfixed to care and as she heard the various shouts of alarm from down the hallway, she was glad you weren’t in her way.

———

The group of four man were shocked; watching as the two guards dropped their guns and put their hands up for mercy.

“We’ll give you what you want. Please!” One of them - Felix - cried as the woman barreled through the double doors.

Wanda simply flicked her hand and he was sent flying to a wall, his partner following.

“Where is he?” Her accent was thick and the youngest tech almost asked her to repeat herself. “Where is Vision?” The stunned silence only fueled her anger. “You.” Red swirled under one of the men’s feet and lifted him from the ground. “Where?”

If the man could have, he’d be shivering in fear right about now. His life was in the hands of a deranged woman who with a simple flick of her wrist could send him plummeting down ten floors.

Wanda tightened her hold on him in warning and he knew he had to speak.

“Behind us.” He said. “There is a set of double doors, turn left and there’s an examination room.”

“He should be there!” A colleague on his left was shaking as she turn to face him. “He’s not lying.” Wanda let her power swim under him once more beofre gently letting him go.

“Thank you.” She gave a small smile. “Now, go.”

They didn’t have to be told twice.

———

Wanda felt as though she couldn’t breathe, the sight of her dead lover on the table was crippling. Vision was a dark grey; his eyes blank as they stared into her. If it wasn’t for the table itself she would have probably collapsed on to the floor as sobs took over her.

“I cant. I can’t. I -“ The words fell from her lips like a mystical chant. She couldn’t look at him anymore, his body was nothing but an empty shell of parts.

When her body turned to ash; Wanda was ready to die, her last shred of humanity died with Vision. The battlefield would be her final resting place. She chose to spend her last moments hoping that If there was a God that they’d be merciful, that she’d be allowed to spent her afterlife in blissful ignorance.

But instead she woke up.

Five years had passed and she was still there, only now she was alone. It was only after the death of Tony Stark that she let the floodgate of loss fill up her veins. While Thanos was alive, she had a mission; kill him and reverse the snap.

Wanda never imagined the pain that followed. She should have died that day, why couldn’t she have died that day?

Grief had a knack for turning the strongest people into helpless pools of despair.

Vision deserved better. That was what go her up, got her to calm her tears and push herself up. She wasn’t going to let them win. Vision was hers to mourn, to love, and hers to take care of.

She had a new mission, one that was stronger then her need to submit to pain.

But... she needed help carrying him.

———

Your body moved through the halls, following the tethered rope of energy that wrapped around your waist. If it wasn’t for your boots, your feet would have been covered in cuts from the sharp edges of the broken glass that filled the hallways.

The fog had cleared more then before and if you tried hard enough, you might’ve even been able to pull free completely. Wanda was exhausted and the fight had been ripped from you So you let her pull you, let the fog seep through every inch of you.

And as you entered the small room, you forgot you were suppose to care anymore.

“I need you to hold onto his legs.” She said softly, hand stroking his cheek. “Easier to carry both of you.” Your body moved again and you placed a gentle hand onto vision’s ankle.

Wanda wiped the last of her tears away, grabbed onto his arm, and all three of you were lifted off the ground.

———

Hot air blew through Wanda’s hair making her hands continuously push back strands from her face as she walked. The afternoon sun was unrelenting and she had to take several short breaks.

The car was too dangerous to return to - a swarm of agents was not something she wanted to deal with - and controlling someone for almost 24 hour straight took a lot out of her. Her hold on you was weak enough for you to sometimes fully take over, her control turning into a dull ache at the back of your brain.

As she walked in front of you thoughts of running flooded through your brain but the walking had tired your body out, and you were sure that if her little pushes weren’t there, you’d have already collapsed. Even if you had the strength to do it, the empty roads had long ago turned into tall trees and bush. You were in the middle of nowhere and getting loss in the woods with a heartbroken witch was not something you wanted to deal with. So, like a trained puppy, you followed silently behind Vision’s dragging body. It wasn’t hard to keep up, she was as slow as she could be while Vision’s body left a dirt trail.

“Break.” Wanda breathed. Who knew an empty little spot of grass would be so inviting? “Sit.” You felt a small push and follow it down to the ground. You let your fingers grip the direr under them, the cool breeze making you sigh.

“Where-“ The sound of your voice startled both of you but she stayed still. “Where are we going?”

She said nothing, choosing to instead turn on her knees and pull Vision forward by the arms.

“When I was little-“ Wanda smiled to herself as she stared down at Vision. “- I use to dream about this field. Me and Peitro went past it everyday during the summer. It had all these small flowers growing.” You listen intently as she giggles, eyes losing focus as she is hit with the memory. “I always tried to sneak past the fence... but, I was alway stopped by someone.” Her mouth twitches and you feel the pulsing return in your neck. “It’s probably nothing but dirt now, like everything.”

“Where are we going, Wanda?” You try to keep your voice soft, afraid of ruining the small moment as you reached out for her but she was quick to stop you, hand glowing red and inches away from your face.

“Don’t.” She warns. You nod in silent apology.

“We’re not far from a road.” Wanda let’s her hand fall back to her side. “I want you go and call whoever you need to.” You’re almost startled when her control leaves fully from your body, it almost feels empty. “Tell them what I did, or don’t, I don’t care. I have what I want.”

“Wanda -“

“Please.” The crack in her voice makes tears pool in your eyes. “Just go.”

You stand on shaking legs. The world was spinning and you felt as though you had just gotten off a rollercoaster but you tried to steady yourself. Unsure of where to go, you turn to her once more for guidance and she simply points behind you.

Your conscious wouldn’t let you leave. Wanda was tired and you were afraid of leaving her alone. Regardless of what she did; you knew you couldn’t blame her, she had lost everyone.

In a way, so did you.

“I’m sorry about Vision.” Wanda looked up again and gave you a small nod. “About Pietro, about everyone. I wish it was different.”

“Me too, Stark.” She let her fingers wrap around your hand and squeezed. The warmth from the dock returned and you couldn’t help but give her a small grin of gratitude. “I meant what I said at the funeral.”

Both of you were so wrapped up in your own little bubble, you didn’t even question why the birds stopped.

————

Tag list (open, just ask)

@white-wolf-buckaroo @y-napotat

All my stuff is open, and I’m always happy to hear from people so feel free to let me know what ya thought. I always get stuck halfway through writing but I hope it wasn’t too hard to read.

Next chapter will be fun.

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

[nasaty]

Vieux Carré

Shouta Aizawa x (she/her) reader. Angst, fluff, and smut! This is a choose your own ending! There are three separate endings and a few choices. 15 part series.

TW: Panic attack things. Ends up fine.

Ch. 5

The next morning, you found yourself thinking of him as you woke up. You picked up your phone and dialed his number.

“Hey Eraser. You around today?”

“Of course. I’ll make my self around for you.”

His deep voice made you shutter. God, he was such a flirt. Maybe he just does this to all women, or men, or anyone. Maybe he just does it to be an ass.

“I’m working again tonight if you and Hizashi want to come by later.” You offered.

“We’ll come before patrolling tonight this time so we don’t end up ditching you again.” You could practically hear him wink.

“Okay, well we don’t open until 6pm”

“That’s alright, we don’t patrol till 11 tonight anyway.”

“Damn that sucks. You really have no time to sleep.”

“Yeah…I only really sleep in between school and patrol…if you don’t count my naps in class,” he mumbled.

You giggled, “So you usually sleep around the time you’re going to come to the bar then? Will you be okay?”

“Oh yeah I’m always tired. It’s okay. I’ll have someone do a presentation in class tomorrow while I sleep.”

“HAH is that what thats for?”

“Absolutely, I don’t really trust anyone else to teach my kids for me.”

Somehow that seemed kind of sweet. Maybe recovery girl was right, he is a softy.

“So you really like teaching then?”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You cracked up. You could tell he was beaming on the other side of the phone.

“Well maybe I’ll get to hear about it tonight then.”

“We’ll see.” He brings back that playfulness again.

“I’ll talk to you later, Eraser.”

“Please, call me Shouta”

“Alright, Shouta, see you later tonight.”

“See you tonight, y/n.”

The sound of his voice saying your name made you feel warm.

~~~~~~

The evening came and you made your way to the bar. You flipped the sign over for the nth time in your life, and couple minutes later Hizashi and Shouta showed up followed by another woman.

She was tall with legs for days, dark hair down to her ass and was wearing a skin tight suit, visually differed quite a bit from the two men. She’s intimidatingly attractive and has a sultry look on her face. You couldn’t tell if you want to fuck her or be her.

“HEYYY y/n!!! This place is NEAT. Hope it’s okay that we brought a friend, she’s a hero too. Her name is Midnight.”

“So you guys travel in packs?” You joke.

Hizashi laughed loud and hard and smacked his knee. The other two chuckled and Shouta plugged his ear that was closest to Hizashi with his finger. You turned to Midnight.

“Nice to meet you Midnight, I’m y/n.” You held your hand out to shake.

“Please, call me Nemuri. Or anything you’d like, I’ll listen to you call me whatever you want-“ you blushed she turned your hand and pulled it to her to kiss it -

Shouta’s hand flew in and smacked Nemuris away. He rolled his eyes “Nemuri, keep yourself off of her please.” He looked even more tired that usual somehow.

“Oh I’m sure she doesn’t mind…” she winked at you, then leaned over to Hizashi. “Did you already call dibs or something?” She tries to ask him quietly. Hizashi opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted.

“Nemuri. She is a person.” Shouta breathed.

You giggle at their back and forth and change the subject, “What would you guys like to drink?”

Hizashi got some sort of fruity drink and Nemuri copied him. They had halfway downed it before you got to Shouta. Shouta said he didn’t need anything.

“Shouta come on, just because you were a shit last time doesnt mean you can’t have something today” you teased.

“LAST TIME?” Hizashi exclaimed.

“Oh so YOU called dibs.” Nemuri deduced looking at Shouta.

Shouta looked at them surprised and shrunk down in his seat, blush across his face. He was so shy around everyone else it was surprising he said so much to you.

“He showed up the other night and made himself a drink, it was pretty funny.” You told them.

They both turned to him with their jaws on the floor. He deserved this. You got put on the spot multiple times the other day and covered for him, so he could take a little teasing from his friends tonight.

“Daaaaamn Eraser, that’s bold!” Hizashi said.

As they were relentlessly teasing him, you looked over to Shouta and tried to determine what kind of drink he may like. Probably something with coffee in it for tonight.

You made him a White Russian and slid it over to him with a smirk. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ as they continued to berate him. You kept working as a couple other customers were in the bar, but the bar was never busy, especially on a cold night like this.

They spend time joking around and teasing, inviting you into conversation whenever there was a lull in work to do. They drank a few drinks and ended with some waters, paid out their tab and tipped generously.

“We gotta do this again sometime, y/n!” Nemuri says.

“Yeah next time let’s go somewhere where you don’t have to work!” Hizashi adds.

“See ya around” Shouta breathed as all three of them walked out.

You finished your shift at around 4am, later than usual but there were a few people hanging around late and you didn’t mind since you didn’t work the next day. You closed up, cleaned up, and went out the back door to walk home. You heard a voice from nowhere.

“Could I walk you home?” In the distance, Shouta emerged from the shadows. You jumped, it had reminded you of the night when you met and that villain attacked you.

“Shit Shouta…you scared the shit out of me…” You tried to calm down but your body disobeyed you and you started shaking.

“Heh I didn’t think I was that scary-“ He stopped and noticed your behavior. “Are you okay…?” He made his way towards you cautiously and gently.

“I….no…I don’t know...” your face went hot and tears stung your eyes. You sat on the ground to get your bearings. Your stomach twisted. Shouta ran over to you as you fell.

“Can I…?” He held his hands near each of your shoulders to ask permission to touch you but you nodded before he could even finish asking. He put his hands on either side of you and rubbed your arms up and down slowly, “it’s okay….everything is okay… I’m so sorry.”

You sat on the ground with your arms wrapped around yourself and tried to steady your breathing.

He pleaded. “Can I do anything to help? Do you want me to shut up?”

You shook your head no at both questions. He was actually helping just a little. It’d been a long time since you’d had a panic attack.

As you both sat on the ground outside the back of the bar in the dim light for a few minutes, he continued to soothe you with his words and held you in his arms.

After some time you calmed down a little and were able to speak, “We need to put a bell on you or something.”

He chuckled and gave you a pitiful smile. “I can live with that... What’s going on, do you want to talk about it?” He said as he pushed a hair away from your face.

You shake your head no, “I’m okay…thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course, it’s my job.” he winked.

“No it’s not.”

“No…it’s not. But I’ll do it anyway. Can I please give you a walk home?” He asked.

You appreciated that he asked to just walk with you rather than assuming or asking if you wanted assistance. Of course you didn’t want it, you didn’t want it to be necessary. But unfortunately it was as you had seen before.

“Yes please.”

He stood and held out his arms out to you to help you up.

“Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah… I think I’m fine.”

You started to walk home in still silence for a few minutes.

“…I thought you were on patrol? That’s not a long shift,” you asked.

“Hizashi and I overlap…and…I was worried about you.”

“What happened to ‘seems like you could handle it’?”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

Damn. He actually listened to you.

“I…thank you.” You said.

“Anytime.” He offered. His voice was so pure and caring you could melt.

As you made it back to your house, he walked you to the door.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime. Well not …this specifically..just like-“

You laughed “I get it, Shouta.” He smiled.

On the porch, you gazed at each other softly for a moment, and somehow it wasn’t awkward. You realized that you want to kiss him. Badly.

“I…uh…” not knowing what to say, you just moved forward to lean against his chest and kiss him. Slow enough that he could step back if he didn’t want to, but, he didn’t step back.

He kissed very gently. His lips were slightly chapped but soft, and his stubble grazed against your chin. He reached up slowly to hold your face in his hand, resting his thumb on your jaw. You eventually pulled away.

He hummed. “…I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, blushing and looking away.

“Do you want to come inside?” You said, turning and putting your keys in the lock. ‘Maybe I could’ve worded that differently’ you thought.

“I would, but ….I think you’re a little too fragile tonight. I don’t want to take advantage of your emotions like that. Maybe another night if you still want me to? Sorry if that’s….rude.”

“Thank you, Shouta.” You beamed.

“What did I do?” He sounded excited to have done some good.

“You’re just…sweet.”

He blushed and hummed happily.

“I’ll see you around, y/n. Call me if you need anything.”

“Goodnight Shouta.”

“Goodnight.”

Go to ch. 6