#now on paper I’m sure it’d sound like a good idea that’d work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

tiny love || 10

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. through a few strange twists of fate, you’ve ended up living with the very boy who’d broken your heart. but, perhaps it’s not as bad as you thought it’d be. he is the perfect gentleman, after all.

warnings: f!reader, implied nsfw, reader is hopelessly infatuated with iwaizumi but who isn’t

wc: 1.5k

m.list | ch. 9 ↞ ch. 10 ↠ ch. 11

It’s strange, waking up in a bed that’s not your own in your very own house.

Stranger yet is that you have nothing to blame expect your own temper. You weren’t there because you’d drunk too much or taken something that’d impair your judgement.

You were there simply because you’d gotten so angry.

What happened didn’t fix anything. Maybe it’d just make everything messier.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be upset about it. Not when Iwaizumi’s arms were wrapped around your waist and his peaceful sleeping face was just a breath away from yours.

He looks so soft, that small kink in his brow that’s around so often he may as well trademark it is gone, the corners of his mouth are upturned instead of tugged downwards by the weight of all his responsibilities, his hair all un-styled and messy due to all your ‘hard work’ last night.

Your eyes flicked down to a red mark on his collarbone. Whoops.

Granted, perhaps you should’ve been grateful that was the only obvious remnant from the events of the previous evening. Not that you had any idea what you looked like. Maybe you hadn’t made it out so clean.

Regardless, you just wanted to take the moment to admire him, to let yourself lie in this quiet moment.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flickered open, still heavy with sleep.

You held your breath.

What if he regretted it? What if the morning brought some kind of change? What if he’d had the so called ‘post-nut clarity’?

The softest smile you’d ever seen spread across his face as his eyes focused on you.

It’s enough to make you blush, all things considered.

He brought a rough hand up to cup your face, running his thumb gently over your cheek.

“Good morning,” he murmured, in what was perhaps the sexiest voice you’d ever heard.

“Morning,” you whispered back. God, why were you so bashful?

Iwaizumi was still smiling at you, an overwhelmingly fond look in his eyes.

“Sleep well?” He yawned, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “You?”

“Best I’ve slept in ages,” he mumbled, gently tugging you closer to him. You conceded.

His shirtless torso was so warm, so inviting. And his arms… His arms… You’d fantasised about being wrapped in those muscular arms of his more times than you were willing to admit, but you were delighted to report that they did not disappoint.

This whole morning felt it was straight out of one of your teenage daydreams.

“Don’t you go for runs in the morning?” You asked, smoothing a hand over his side and up his back. It was enough to make your cheeks flare up again, but he couldn’t be the only one being all touchy.

Iwaizumi grunted, burying his face in your neck.

You giggled as his breath tickled your skin. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t just abandon me.”

Iwaizumi chuckled lowly, smoothing his large hand over the small of your back.

You shivered against his touch. It was almost like every nerve in your body was on fire. Iwaizumi still seemed positively sleepy, but you were wide awake.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi murmured, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Hm?”

“Is this what you want?” He asked.

You paused. Did he mean… this? The situation you’re in right now? Or did he mean ‘this’ on the broader scale? As in…

“What do you think?” You mumbled, your chest fluttering as you tightened your arms around his shoulders. It was safer not to assume anything. Not when it came to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi chuckled, his breath tickling your collarbone. “It’s a serious question.”

“Are you asking me if I want…” You trailed off, your mind caught in a war between dramatized recollections of last night and the will to discuss said events seriously.

“I’m asking you if you’ll have me,” Iwaizumi murmured, his voice low. “If you want to give us a shot.”

Everything stopped. Was this… was this really happening?

It felt irresponsible to let yourself believe that. Not when there was still so much unresolved tension.

“Hajime…” You gazed at him for a long moment, your eyes roaming his face. “But, last time…”

“I was an idiot,” he smiled. “I thought we established that.”

“I know,” you pouted. “But what about…”

Tooru.

You don’t need to say it. Iwaizumi understood.

“Hey…” He brought a hand up to your cheek, caressing it gently. “I want to be with you.”

He’d said them. The words you’d always wanted to hear.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“Are you willing to say that to Tooru?” Perhaps your tone was firmer than it needed to be. Perhaps the question ruined the mood.

But you deserved an answer.

One quiet, frozen moment.

“I have to,” he murmured.

“What if he gets angry?” You asked.

That was one of the things he’d been so scared of all those years ago. It was only one brick in the wall between you; but if you had to chip away at it bit by bit, you would.

There was a long pause.

“This is what you want, right?” Iwaizumi’s voice was more fragile than you’d ever heard before.

“Is this what you want?” Given the situation, it might seem like a stupid question. But you weren’t going to make him fight for this if it wasn’t

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation. “I should’ve told you that a long time ago.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” you grumbled.

But your chest felt like it was both collapsing and expanding. It was like flowers made of light were sprouting from your bone marrow, twining through your ribcage and tickling your lungs.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“But… if he gets angry, we’ll just… have to work it out,” you said. It didn’t feel like much of a solution. It was barely even a comfort. But, you had to say it. Even if it was just a promise to yourself that you’d face this, even if every instinct was telling you to run.

“I can talk to him alone,” Iwaizumi said.

“But—”

“He’ll be angrier at me.”

You bit your lip. “I… I guess.”

Iwaizumi was right. But part of you felt like that was only the case because Tooru kept babying you. It was like he thought you were still twelve, young and innocent and completely unaware of the world of relationships.

But Tooru had to accept that you were growing up. Iwaizumi Hajime was part of this, whether by sheer chance or as some part of a great cosmic prank.

“We’ll tell him together,” you said.

Iwaizumi lifted his head and stared at you, eyes slightly round. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “That seems fair.”

“But—”

“I’m not a doll, Hajime,” you said. “If Tooru thinks he has a right to dictate who I can and can’t be involved with, then he’s going to have to speak to me about it.”

Iwaizumi laughed. A true, genuine laugh. It was a beautiful sound.

“My bad,” he smiled, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. “We’ll talk to him together, then.”

It was happening. It was finally happening.

Iwaizumi Hajime was within your reach. And this time, he wasn’t running away. This time, he was letting you in with open arms.

Nice as it was, it was disorienting. You didn’t know what to feel – proud? Ashamed? Stupid?

You were lying in his bed, after all. You can think of at least one person who’d berate you for that.

But Amaya’s inevitable scolding aside, you don’t feel… bad, about it. Was that just because you hadn’t really done anything like this before? Were you moving too fast? Or was it okay, given your history? But then again, your history probably meant you’d need to go even slower…

“Hey, Hajime?” You asked, your voice tiny.

“Hm?”

“Do you think we… rushed things?” You asked.

“Maybe,” he sighed, drawing back from you. “If you want to slow down, then—”

“No.” Your cheeks bloomed red in recognition of how embarrassingly quickly you’d cut him off.

Iwaizumi smirks. “No?”

“I just mean that—well, you know—” You swallowed, rifling through your brain like an office worker who’d lost a very important piece of paper. “It’s just that—we’ve already, you know…”

Iwaizumi laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the way you’d always adored. “Are you saying you can’t keep your hands off me?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” you huffed. “You pervert.”

“Pervert?” He grinned. “If I remember correctly, you were the one begging for—”

You kissed him coarsely in a meagre attempt to shut him up. You felt him smile against your lips, his hand moving down from your waist to your ass.

“Like I said,” you mumbled against his lips, “Pervert.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. The warmth of the sound spread from his lips through your whole body.

This is where you were meant to be.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: hh hi sorry this is incredibly overdue i hope it doesn’t disappoint

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love

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aitarose · 4 years

Text

ROSES | ZUKO

PAIRING: Zuko x Reader x Azula [fem]

PLOT: Zuko’s main focus was always Azula’s health, that was until he reconciled with the girl behind all of her improvement—from then on, all he saw was Y/N. companion piece to thorns

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, mutual pining, unrequited love (azula)

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

A/N: this connects to the events that occur in thorns. this piece can be read as a standalone, but thorns gives more detail to the reader’s feelings and struggles with azula

ALT. END: Blossoms | AZULA’S POV: Thorns

MY MASTERLIST

orange · roses : a symbol of love in the sense of enthusiasm and passion. bright colors denote life, energy, passion, and excitement—whilst softer hues speak of sincerity and gratitude.

Year three, day twelve.

Zuko groaned, facepalming as he listened to the pattering footsteps of his advisors leaving the throne room. His shoulders dropped, the formal demeanor he usually wore dissolving almost immediately.

Meetings with his advisors were far from his favorite of the Fire Lord duties, but they were necessary to reassure the people that he was doing right by them. Their trust and support was what held the dignity of his rule in balance.

This meeting in particular had gone on for far too long. His advisors were always able to drone on about his least favorite topic, the topic of Azula’s mental state of health.

His sister had been in recovery for a little over three years now, keeping her promise to him that she would learn to be better. Azula’s goal was to understand compassion and honor—and maybe even love.

Zuko had been taken back by the idea at first, Azula having brought it up during her time in the Fire Nation’s most secure prison cell. He didn’t think she was capable of knowing guilt, but happily obliged to her wishes.

He and his advisor’s had determined that she’d be given a total of five years to begin her rehabilitation. Five years to prove to his nation that she was no longer the monster that they knew her as.

It’d been going fairly well as of yet, only a few tantrums and outbursts here and there, but overall well. Azula’s progress was undeniable, she had finally begun to leave her demons in the past.

As he entered the kitchens which were empty of any royal staff members, Zuko heaved a deep sigh. It seemed as if there was very little time that he was able to have to himself these days, constantly being bombarded with his duties.

He felt like his mind was in chaos, millions of ideas and plans storming in his head like a hurricane. The storm brewing beneath his facade was overwhelming. His only wish was for a simple breath of air.

While Zuko sat in silence, leaning against the large counter with his head held in his hands, his ears perked up to the sound of the door opening.

Without bothering to look up, he waved his hand in admission, not interested in whatever servant had come to fetch their leader. “Not now,” he called out, “the Fire Lord is out of service for the day.”

Whoever had accompanied him began giggling, their voice ringing in Zuko’s ears like the melody of a choir. His head shot up, knowing full well that it was no servant interrupting his time alone.

“Y/N!” He smoothed out his wrinkled robes, fixing his hair in a hurry as she gracefully stepped into the room—gracefully meaning that she ran into a pile of pots and pans before tripping over her own feet.

Zuko rushed over to help her stand, taking one hand in his while the other supported the rest of her body. This wasn’t uncommon, Y/N had a tendency to make a mess wherever she went, unintentionally of course.

She’d been working in the palace for the past three years to help Azula honor her promise to the nation as the advisor’s were unable to put all of their trust into Zuko alone.

Which had actually been an extremely helpful conclusion. Without the help of Y/N, Zuko didn’t think Azula would’ve been able to make any progress, let alone the amount she had made now. Y/N was the light to Azula’s darkness.

She was also the girl that Zuko had a little bit of a crush on, which he’d admitted to himself early on in their relationship—not that he’d call their relationship a “relationship”. Zuko wasn’t actually sure what they were.

When he’d met Y/N, she was nothing but a tool that he was forced to provide for his advisors. There hadn’t been many applicants due to the dark cloud of Azula’s stigma, but Y/N had shone against the few that’d applied.

He’d selected her himself, reading through her resume and immediately liking what he saw—and after speaking to her in person for the very first time, he knew that if anyone could help Azula, it’d be her.

What he didn’t know, was that he’d begin to notice how utterly and undeniably amazing Y/N was.

She was kind to the servants, never failing to remember their names. She’d wish each and every one of them a happy birthday, even if she’d never spoken to them before.

The nation’s people were in love with her, thankful that she was brave enough to take on the challenge of spending one-on-one time with the princess, and for the pure goodness of her heart.

Zuko had become enthralled by her mentality and love for life on the first day of Azula’s treatment. However, he’d still been involved with Mai, leaving little to no room to explore friendships with other women.

But now that he and Mai had broken up, Zuko was free to make his own decisions without having to worry about her constant attitude. Mai was in no way a bad person, but she was a bad person for Zuko.

As he helped Y/N to her feet, Zuko’s face was flushed bright red. If he was being honest, she made him nervous—more nervous than any person had ever made him.

“That was a pretty bad fall,” he said sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes to avoid Y/N seeing how much he was shaking. “Are you alright?”

Y/N smiled, her expression warming Zuko’s heart. “I’m perfectly fine, Fire Lord Zuko. You don’t need to worry, I’m quite used to falling over.”

He laughed, dropping his head to hide the deepening blush dawning his face. Zuko took a breath, preparing to end the disaster of an interaction so he couldn’t embarrass himself any further.

“Well then,” he started, beginning to back away from Y/N in the most natural way he could manage. “Is there anything I can do for you before you’re on your way?”

Y/N nodded her head, gesturing to the large kitchen space surrounding them. “There is actually!” She exclaimed, pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper from her bag.

“I wanted to surprise Azula with some of her favorite treats, but I’m afraid that I’m not sure what those are. This is all I have to work with.”

Zuko peered over her shoulder, studying the various names of deserts and snacks that had been carelessly written across the page. He knew by the handwriting that it’d been Azula that had given Y/N the list.

His sister hadn’t made it easy on Y/N, only providing a few of the many Fire Nation delicacies that she enjoyed—but Zuko was going to make sure that Y/N’s plan went perfectly.

“I’d be honored to help you with this, Y/N.” He grinned, taking the list from her hands and heading towards the exit. Y/N stood still behind him, shocked that Zuko would jump to the task of her aid.

She stumbled, doing her best to follow along without causing more havoc. “Are you sure?” She asked, concern laced in her voice. “Don’t you have any Fire Lord duties to attend to, Fire Lord Zuko?”

Zuko shook his head, stopping to a halt in order to be beside her. He looked into her eyes, trying to show that he was unbothered by his titles and that his duties could wait.

“Call me Zuko.” He requested, hating the way his authoritarian name sounded coming from her lips. “And of course I can join you. The Fire Nation can miss me for one day.”

Y/N’s face lit up, excited to hear that she had the honor of calling her leader by his first name. “Okay Zuko,” she trailed on, grabbing one of the woven baskets sitting on top of the counter. “I guess we’re spending the day together.”

Zuko nodded, grabbing a basket of his own before holding the door open for Y/N, which she gladly walked through, proud of herself for befriending the most famous member of the Fire Nation—who’d finally come up with his response.

“Then, I guess it’s a date.”

Year three, day eighty-seven.

Zuko cursed to himself, pricking his fingers on yet another rose bush. Little scratches and marks graced his fingertips, encouraging his hatred for the thorn covered stems.

He’d been in the royal gardens for what had seemed like hours, searching for the most perfect flower he could find. However, with spring time just beginning, there were few plants that had fully grown.

Normally Zuko wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of the gardens, dirt all over his formal wear, and leaves caught in his traditional bun—but for Y/N, there was no telling the lengths Zuko would go to make her happy.

They’d been seeing each other romantically ever since their trip to the market in search of deserts. While their goal had been to provide food for Azula, he and his love had ended up spending all of their time at the beach.

Distractions had come early on, intrusive thoughts and worries erupted in Zuko’s mind. Y/N, having noticed this, had suggested that they worry about Azula another time.

He’d wholeheartedly agreed with her, happily getting to know and understand Y/N for the entirety of their night, quickly falling for her natural charms. It wasn’t long after that when Zuko had asked her on a real date, one without the original nerves.

Which brought them to now. He and Y/N’s relationship had progressed beautifully, Zuko could confidently say that he’d never felt as seen as he did with her.

His flaws complimented her strengths and vice versa. They both knew that they were nowhere near perfect on their own, Zuko could pick out each and every one of Y/N’s flaws without hesitation and he was positive that she could do the same for him.

Y/N wasn’t held on some high pedestal where she could do no wrong in Zuko’s mind. She was just a human girl with human qualities that he happened to fall in love with.

The girl that he loved who deserved the gift of the most amazing, gorgeous, and beautiful rose in the royal gardens. A rose of only the highest quality that Zuko’s eyes had finally landed on.

He reached down into the thorn filled bushes, wincing as he plucked out a single flower. His face lit up at the sight of the petal’s soft orange hue, seemingly in the midst of bloom.

The stem was free of the pesky thorns, smooth and welcoming of his grasp. The flower itself seemed to embody his love for Y/N perfectly, his love that he was planning on admitting to his girlfriend later in the day.

He hustled out of the gardens, quickly heading towards the kitchens where he’d informed the staff of his evening plans. Zuko had asked for the whole night off, wishing to be free of his lordly duties, and thankfully getting his wish granted.

The fresh breeze whipped across his cheeks, rejuvenating his senses as he rushed through the halls and past the courtyard, barely taking notice of the two hysterical girls sitting under Y/N’s favorite cherry blossom tree.

Zuko’s steps halted, being frozen in awe at the contagious beauty that was emitting from his girlfriend. Her smile lit up the whole space, outshining the sun itself in his eyes.

As Azula took notice of her lurking brother, Zuko frantically stuffed the rose in his pocket, crossing his fingers that neither his sister nor Y/N had seen his surprise.

He waved sheepishly at Azula, hoping that his posture looked natural and not at all shuddering in complete nerves. Zuko was counting down the seconds to which Azula would call him out for his strange behavior, silently thanking the spirits when she chose not to.

“Zuzu?” His sister called out, her voice echoing among the wind. Y/N perked up at the sound of his name, curiously looking out to see Zuko’s awkward position. “What is it that you need, brother?”

Zuko shrugged, internally panicking and attempting to come up with a reasonable excuse for interrupting Azula’s time with Y/N. Normally he’d never intrude on Azula’s Y/N hours, believing that she deserved to have fun with her best friend without his presence.

His feet began to rock beneath him, his heels alternating positions on the stone ground. Zuko gestured to Y/N, pointing at her in response. “I need to speak with, Y/N. I have some business that we need to cover, it’ll only take a second.”

Y/N stood up as fast as lightning, nearly falling over in doing so. Zuko chuckled at her eagerness, eager to talk to her as well not having had any time together earlier in the day.

“I heard that the Fire Lord requested me?” Y/N grinned, standing beside Zuko at a comfortable distance, not wanting to flaunt their relationship in front of Azula for some unknown reason.

Zuko brushed it off, knowing that whatever it was that Azula and Y/N had was nothing but a friendship. He didn’t want to be jumping to conclusions, no matter how confused he was about it all. Y/N would tell him whenever she was ready.

“What could the infamous Fire Lord need with someone such as myself?” Y/N pondered jokingly. Zuko rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness, ruffling her already unruly hair in doing so.

He felt a smile bear his cheeks, unable to contain the utter joy that came with being with Y/N. “I just wanted to tell you that you have plans for tonight.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, giggling at the information she’d been given. “I have plans?” She repeated, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “And who might these plans be with?”

Zuko laughed as she went along with his ruse, her humor was also one of the million things that he loved about her. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, Lady Y/N.”

She shook her head in amusement while beginning to turn away from Zuko, feeling the need to return to Azula. She’d already kept the princess waiting for far too long, finally having gifted Azula with her surprise deserts. “I suppose I will.”

As her figure began to retreat, Zuko’s mind was at war with itself. On one hand, he wanted to wait until that night to reveal his gift to Y/N—but on the other, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

Choosing to follow his latter instinct, Zuko reached out to take hold of Y/N’s forearm. She let out a gasp, nearly running straight into his chest. Her eyes radiated with confusion, wondering what Zuko could possibly still need.

He took one of her hands into his, relishing in the feeling of the perfect fit, before revealing the blooming rose that had been stuffed into his robe’s pockets and offering it to the girl in front of him.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed bright red, becoming a much deeper hue than the rose itself. “What’s this for?” She asked, gently taking the rose from Zuko’s light grip.

Zuko watched as she spun the stem around in her palm, studying the beauty of the flower. He once again contradicted himself, most likely ruining his evening plans in doing so.

“For the sole reason that I love you.” He admitted shyly, praying that she felt the same. His heart thumped in his chest, jumping at the idea of her being in love with him.

Y/N reached forward to wrap her arms around his neck, her hands playing with the stray hairs on Zuko’s head. She pulled him in for a tight hug, before whispering into his ear.

“I figure you’d meant to save that for later.” He could hear the grin on her face through the tone of her voice. “I suppose I might as well save my words for later, considering you couldn’t yourself.”

With that, Y/N pressed a light kiss to his cheek, lingering slightly before skipping back towards Azula—who’d begun to look bothered by their intimate interaction.

Zuko’s hand caressed his own cheek, his mind doing a dance of its own at the news that Y/N felt the exact same way. This day was amazing, he’d determined. She was amazing.

Year four, day two-hundred and one.

Fear. That was the only emotion on Zuko’s mind. Fear of rejection. Fear of being alone. Fear of losing the person that mattered most in his life. The person who he considered to be up in the ranks of Iroh and Ursa.

It’d been over a year and a half since he and Y/N had begun dating and about one year past the date in which they’d admitted their unconditional love for one another.

Their relationship had only gotten more close and intimate since then, causing Zuko to come to the realization that he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side. There was no one else for him, he was sure of it.

Of course, the only logical thing to do would be to propose, which had caused an immense amount of stress on Zuko’s life.

He’d gone and gotten Y/N’s parents blessing, his own family’s blessing, and his advisor’s blessing before going out to prepare for his proposal. Zuko had picked out the finest jeweler in the Fire Nation, helping design and create the perfect ring for his beloved.

Now, the only thing left to do was actually propose. Which was one of the few things Zuko was certain would happen that night. What he wasn’t certain of, was if Y/N would accept.

“Please, please, please.” Zuko mumbled to himself, standing outside of Y/N’s chambers, itching to knock on her door. Every nerve in his body was screaming with positivity. “Please let this go to plan.”

The entrance swung open, Zuko’s hand still midair. Y/N was bouncing in excitement, having suspicions of the big question Zuko was meaning to pop. She’d been waiting for hours for his arrival, sitting by the door with anticipation on her mind.

“Y/N!” Zuko yelped in surprise, nearly falling over at the sight of her face so close to his own. She laughed at his unbalanced posture, glad to see the tables had turned for once.

She held out her hand, taking his in her own and led him out of the hallway and into another. “So what’s the big surprise?” She wiggled her eyebrows, trying to suppress the large smile forming on her lips.

“A little bird told me that you asked the entire staff to keep out of the kitchens tonight?” She let out her smile at the sight of Zuko’s flushed face. He shook his head in disbelief, loving the fact that his staff adored her as much as he did.

“That little bird can’t keep a secret.” He wrapped an arm around her body, leading her towards their destination—the place where they’d first discovered their connection.

As they entered the kitchen, strong smells of freshly baked bread, warm wood logs, and most prominent of all—roses, filled the room. The aroma was overwhelming, dominating all of Y/N’s senses.

Zuko pulled out her chair for her, making sure that she was comfortable before taking a seat of his own. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the ring box in his pocket, before continuing on as if everything was normal.

His plans went off without a hitch. They shared a meal, some laughter, a few kisses here and there—now came the time for Zuko’s big question. The question that would determine their entire future.

“I love you so much.” Zuko breathed out, sitting beside her at the small table. He held her hand, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and stuffed his own into his pocket.

He took out the ring box, placing it on display in his grasp above the table. “I’m well aware that you know what I’m going to ask you.” He smiled, biting his lip and looking into her beautiful eyes.

Her expression was indescribable. Tears welled in her sockets, dripping slowly down her cheeks. Her hands were covering her mouth, trying to prevent any soft sobs from escaping her lips.

“And I just want to lay everything out, before you say yes.” He explained, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t want you agreeing to something that you may come to hate.”

Zuko set down the box, now taking both hands into his. He squeezed them, trying to calm down Y/N’s rapid breathing. “By saying yes, you’d not only become my wife, but a leader of my people.”

“They already look up to you so much, but as the Fire Lord’s wife—their expectations could get out of hand.” Y/N nodded at his words, taking in his reservations and understanding his concerns.

“I want you to accept this proposal for the sole reason that I love you.” He confessed, having confessed it a million times before. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Y/N leaned forwards, cupping Zuko’s face in her palms before kissing him deeply. She poured all of her emotion into the single act, expressing her feelings and acceptance of his proposal.

“You are everything to me, Zuko.” Her eyes sparkled with tears, her hands shaking. She let her arms hang loosely around his neck, bringing him even closer. “I’d love to marry you.”

Zuko felt his eyes begin to water, sweeping her into a large hug, causing the both of them to lose their balance and fall to the floor. They laughed together, radiating happiness as Zuko slipped on the ring—marking their engagement.

Year four, day two-hundred and two.

Zuko rushed through the hallways, his footsteps rapidly hitting the pavement in urgency. Staff members and servants swerved to the side, trying their best not to get in the way of the famous Fire Lord.

His hair had come undone in the midst of his sprint, his robes flapping behind him in the wind. The rain was pouring outside of the palace, washing away the clear skies that had taken up the day’s morning.

The thunder rumbled, echoing down the vast walkways, filling the palace with dread. Worry had overcome Zuko’s mind—worry for the girl who’d become his fiancée just the night before.

“Please be alright.” He mumbled to himself, stepping into their shared bedroom which was filled with the sound of her beautiful soft sobs. Zuko dropped the soaking robes, letting them fall from his shoulders before calling out. “Y/N?”

The cries began to settle, quieting for only a moment before picking up again. “I’m in here!” He heard Y/N exclaim, choking back her sadness. “Although, I’m afraid I look like quite a mess.”

Zuko shook his head, his royal mannerisms being thrown out of the door the minute his love came into view. He knelt down beside her, holding her close as she continued to let out her agony.

“One of the servants interrupted my meeting earlier.” He said quietly, his arms wrapping around her shaking figure in an attempt to calm her nerves. “They said you made a bit of a ruckus at the beach.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, resting his head on top of hers. A deep sigh escaped his lips, confusion and concern being his only emotions in that moment. “What exactly did happen at the beach?”

Y/N breathing began to even out, her sobs subsiding as she relished in the feeling of being in Zuko’s warm arms. She stared at the engagement ring resting on her finger, as she began to give the explanation that she’d been dreading.

“I told Azula about what happened last night.” Her voice sounded numb, the usual merriment and joy was void from her tone. She gulped, preparing herself for Zuko’s inevitable shock. “And she wasn’t happy, at all.”

Zuko’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to piece together why Azula wouldn’t find excitement in their happiness. Their engagement was a definite sign of love between her brother and best friend. Why wouldn’t she want them to be happy?

“What’d she do?” He asked, trying to get definite answers that would suffice the questions on his mind. “Yell? Scream? Did she hurt you?”

“No.” Y/N shook her head absentmindedly, she turned to face Zuko in his embrace, her eyes bloodshot. She bit her lip, preventing any more cries from escaping, before taking a shallow breath.

“She kissed me.”

Nothing. That was all that was running through Zuko’s head. Absolutely nothing. He had no thoughts on the matter, no opinions, no ideas that had ever even come close to that explanation.

He’d always known that Azula and Y/N were close, far closer than typical best friends would be—but he’d never guess that his sister had had feelings for the love of his life.

He’d never have guessed that his love used to have feelings for her as well.

“It just happened, I don’t know how.” Y/N explained, her eyes beginning to brim with tears once again. Zuko shushed her, bringing her closer to his chest to show her that he would always be there to comfort her.

“One second we were laughing and talking and the next thing I know she kisses me and I’m storming away.” Y/N clenched her fists, closing her eyes whilst trying to repress the anger she’d felt in that moment.

“I just don’t understand why she did this now!” She exclaimed angrily, slamming her hand onto the soft floor of the carpet. “I don’t understand why she did this after she told me that she didn’t love me, two years ago!”

Zuko felt immense rage bubble up inside of his chest. Not at all angered at the idea of them loving one another, but at the notion that Azula had intentionally broken Y/N’s heart.

He took a hold of her shaking hands, suppressing her anger with the natural comfort his presence brought her. They sat in silence with nothing but the sound of the thunder outside, holding each other as if they were all they had left.

Year five, the last day.

Serenity. That was the only thing left to feel on the wide spectrum of Zuko’s emotions. He’d found the person that brought him inner peace, someone who could calm his fire, rather than smother it.

Y/n was his soulmate, there was no denying that. He knew it, she knew it—spirits, the entire world knew it. There had never been two people more overwhelmingly compatible in all of Fire Nation history.

With the support of his people behind him, Zuko and Y/N had felt no need to keep their engagement a secret. Their only reservations being the topic of Azula, which was a sore subject on both of their minds.

Neither of them had been in contact with his sister in the past few months, afraid of pressing the issue further and making more of a mess. Y/N wanted to be on good terms with Azula, perhaps even friends again.

Azula, however, had refused Y/N’s requests for any meetings or sessions. She’d caved herself in her room, only allowing servants to come in and out with meals.

Zuko hadn’t seen his sister behave in such a manner since they were just the two little children of royalty, pitted against each other. He hadn’t seen her like this since she had her spiral.

In all honesty, Zuko was worried about Azula. He saw his sister’s improvements and the good nature breaking down her bad—but without Y/N, he didn’t know if she could continue the path upwards on her own.

Her struggles would come witness later today as Azula had accepted their formal invitation to the wedding. The wedding that they had specifically scheduled on Azula’s last day of rehabilitation for the sole purpose that she could attend.

Not that Zuko was even positive that Azula wanted to attend the ceremony. He feared that his sister was still lost in her feelings for Y/N, and wouldn’t have the strength to be present.

That’d been on the back of his mind all morning. While he was getting his robes fitted, his hair tied up—even while he was reuniting with his old friends, the friends he hadn’t seen in months.

Azula was the only thing he could think about, because while he never openly admitted it—his sister did matter to him. She actually mattered more than most things, and her feelings for his soon-to-be wife brought Zuko a sadness that he would never be rid of.

Knowing that his little sister would never be able to be with the person she loved most in the world was heartbreaking, and knowing that he was the reason behind that—it was just wrong.

Their lives hadn’t been fair growing up and he’d expected adulthood to be somewhat better than the hell they’d lived, but life wasn’t like that. It simply wasn’t.

There’s good and bad in the world. Sometimes the good outshining the bad and other times where the bad overwhelms the good, crushing it under its darkness—but despite that the world still needs balance, never tipping the scale too far one way.

With these thoughts constantly running through his brain, taught to him by Iroh in his own darkest moments, Zuko knew that Azula had a happy ending. Someone, somewhere out there, would be the person to make her happy.

He knew this by simply knowing her, and knowing the new person she’d become. He knew by the look on her face as Y/N walked down their rose covered aisle, her veil trailing behind her against the petals.

Azula’s expression was solemn, heartbreak and sadness rolled into one. However, there was a gleam in her eyes at the sight of Y/N’s smile, knowing that she’d never been the one to make her grin like that.

One glance, one second of eye contact between the two siblings gave Zuko the notion that Azula would be okay. She’d grow from this and continue on with her life, loving every second as the new and improved person she’d become.

The feeling of serenity had finally devoured Zuko’s concern, inklings of content reached his soul, settling his worries and letting his full attention focus on the beautiful girl standing in front of him.

The beautiful girl who was the perfect fit to his broken puzzle. Y/N, his perfect person—that he was now able to call his wife.

TAGS: @practicallylivesonline @cherryskyies @shell-bells-ringding @xapham @mochminnie @bombardia @lammello @user12345321 @xxspqcebunsxx @missmorosis @mysticpeacecrusade @akiris

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better.

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you.

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you.

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind.

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea.

That is, until this very second.

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have.

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor.

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out.

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior.

What are you hiding from him?

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry.

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time.

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me.

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before.

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.”

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries.

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me.

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human.

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.”

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him.

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on.

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck.

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower.

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it.

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.”

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income.

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you.

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it.

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me.

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco.

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not?

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.”

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno.

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom.

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left.

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day.

Having him to talk to is nice.”

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him.

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on.

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal.

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory.

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco.

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment.

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion.

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation.

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for.

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--”

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore.

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath.

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that.

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity.

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted.

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either.

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up.

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?”

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight.

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

513 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 4 years

Note

Theo, my girl, my idol, my star, my main bitch, I gotta read about the first time that Loki is seen out and about after he's been released pleeeaaaasseeeee (and some sexual tension wouldn't hurt)

part 18 of predating idiots, in which you speak with that idiot for the first time since…everything happened. (he hasn’t exactly been released, but close enough ;))

warnings: long ass chapter with blood, injuries, pain, alongside some denial and awkward moments :))

Life without a fake-boyfriend has become rather, well, quiet.

No more surprise visits with only the excuse “I’m dying” being given, no more lying about the exceptional dates you’ve been on…no more ridiculously attractive doctor on your arm.

No one’s stealing your bagels anymore. That’s a plus.

But work is slow, suddenly. The weight of the secret, sneaking Loki into your office to eat and sleep and rushing him home on lunch breaks for a shower, was, in it’s own twisted way, exciting.

Loki admitting to the fact that it’s been “centuries” keeps floating back into your consciousness. You continually choose not to dwell on it.

Your first day back after Tony gave you a four day weekend to recoup went smoothly, without a single hitch nor a word from your special alien. Asking about him while trying to remain casual didn’t get you far, so you resigned yourself to a quiet day at your desk, sometimes sending Marcus off to make copies for you when even he looks bored.

“I’ve gotta admit,” he pipes up one day from his station at the doorway, “I kinda miss Lucky. Thought maybe I’d get to stop a bad guy, that’d look good on a résumé.”

You shake your head with a laugh, scrolling through a file of release records. “Sorry you’ve got to just watch me all day. Can’t be the most exciting thing.”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. You don’t look up.

Another day ticks by, then another, and then a whole week and you still haven’t heard a single bit of accurate information regarding Loki.

Plenty of false information is circulating though, and you pick up bits of pieces around the break rooms and bathrooms.

“Yeah, he got the chair, they wouldn’t have kept him alive.”

“No, they’re rehabilitating him. He’s of use, he’s basically another Thor, don’t you think shield would want to hang onto him?”

“What, make him a new avenger?” The voice by the sinks laughs, and the faucet shuts off. “Just what we need. Another superhero. Jesus, I can’t keep up.”

Break rooms are to be avoided as of late, since you can’t go near another coworker without them jumping you with questions, assuming you must know what happened to him.

“Wish I knew,” you always reply. It’s not exactly a lie.

This fine morning, you pass the god of thunder on the way to the copy room. He gives you a grimace of a smile, lifts a hand, and turns to walk back the way he came before you can call out to him.

Strange. You haven’t seen Thor since the day Loki confessed.

Assuming he’s been busy helping his brother, you hadn’t worried about what he’s been thinking of you. Granted, his impressions of you haven’t been of the greatest, most respectable caliber, from asking you if you were attracted to his brother to watching you rip his brother’s shirt from him while straddling him on a bed—

Yeah, it’d be better not to dwell on what awkwardness Thor may have started to feel towards you. You’d rather not know his thoughts.

Then the next day, Thor is there again. You manage to get in a wave this time, giving him your politest please-don’t-talk-to-me smile and heading for the copy room again.

This time, the god follows you, fidgeting with the strap of mjolnir.

“I would like to talk to you,” he announces, trying to lean casually in the doorway. It doesn’t work well for him, so he straightens up and goes back to fidgeting with the hammer, staring at you.

“Okay…go for it.”

“I’d like to-to—” he breaks off and clears his throat. Finishing your copies, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised.

“Yes?”

“I’d, uh, like to apologize.”

Your brow knits in confusion and you cock your head at him. “What for?”

“Not to you,” Thor clarifies with a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Do I owe you one?”

“No, not really, I guess.”

“I’d like to apologize,” he tries again, “to, uh, to my brother. You know, Loki.”

“Ah.” You nod with a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m acquainted with him.”

Thor lets out a relived laugh at that, tossing mjolnir in the air and catching it. “Of course you are. The only trouble is, I don’t quite know how.”

“And you’re coming to me because…”

“Because you may know this Loki better than anyone.”

“Right.” Biting your lip, you stare at the crease in Thor’s brow. This Loki. A bit of a terrifying thought, really, but he may be right. However unpleasant, your interaction may have been the first semi-normal one Loki had had in a long time. “Well, um, how can I help?”

“How…bad is he?”

That’s a loaded question, and you pretend to look through your papers while you think. “He’s in a bad state,” you venture to say, “he’s definitely hurt. Somebody hurt him, and not just physically.”

“Right. Alright.” Thor nods, tossing his hammer back and forth between his hands. “I can work with that. Sensitivity, I’m getting good at that.”

“Good for you,” you laugh. “Be careful with him. I mean, I don’t know him very well. But I know he’s not one to open up, so…go slow. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the apology.”

In all reality, you have no idea if Loki will give a shit about Thor’s apology, but in theory it sounds like a good thing to happen. It can’t go terribly wrong.

“Just be gentle with him, will you?”

Thor nods. “Of course.”

You rifle through your papers, gaze dropping to them to avoid his. “Where, uh, where is he, by the way?”

Your stomach flips at the sound of the question leaving your mouth, but hopefully you can pass it off as casual curiosity, keeping your gaze trained intently on the papers in your hand.

“The healing wing,” Thor replies with a growing smile. “The two-hundred and third room. I am sure my brother would be happy to see you, my lady.”

“He hates me,” you answer way too quickly, flashing him a forced smile and pushing past him. “He won’t—no, he doesn’t—heh. Just curious. Thanks.”

—

Curious enough to go find him on your lunch break, that is.

Room 203 is a drab white room that reeks of disinfectant, one single bed in the center next to stacks of monitors and a cot-like couch beside it. It’s an improvement from the cell, you’ll give them that, but the pure white gives you a headache the moment you enter, and Loki still looks trapped.

Trapped, and deliberately expressionless upon seeing you sneaking through the doorway.

“Hello.”

He says it carefully, eyes narrowing at you as you wring your hands with a sheepish grin.

“You’re, ah, looking better.”

More like an angry cat who just had to resign itself to the fact that baths are inevitable, but better nonetheless.

“I feel like my limbs have been filled with lead,” Loki replies. He limply tries to lift his arms for emphasis.

“Nothing a god can’t lift, I’m sure,” you laugh, taking the few steps needed to be by his bedside. His piercing gaze tracks every one.

Checking his water jug and the tray of food still untouched by his bedside, you give him a mildly disapproving look, one he certainly disapproves of. “I bet you’d feel better if you ate something.”

“Not interested.” He sinks back into the pillows, watching you with hawk-like precision. “Why are you here?”

You give him a casual once-over, disguising it with a quick look about the room, as well. His arm is in a sling—that’s new, he must be cooperating at least a little if they’ve been treating him.

“Uh, curious,” you decide to answer. “I’m curious, just, y’know, want to make sure you’re being treated right. You healing up?”

Loki nods. Yes, he is healing, technically, but at a glacial pace that’s nearly historic for asgardian abilities. Maybe he had pushed his limits a little too far with all the illusions and covering undressed wounds for so long.

Your not-so-discrete scrutinizing of his shirtless body doesn’t slip his notice and reopens a whole other wound, but he can’t think about that right now. Or ever.

“You’re wearing a sling,” you lamely point out, desperate to fill the silence, and mentally slap yourself.

“That I am,” Loki replies, and can’t help the smug little smirk that starts to turn the corners of his lips. You’re a bit out of sorts—this could be fun. “Did you miss me, darling?”

Your face goes sour, crinkling at the nose. “Don’t call me that.”

Loki breathes deep with a grin, and Dr. Laing takes his place in the bed, lounging much more seductively, injury free and on his side, with an arm draped over his hip.

“You missed me, didn’t you.”

“If you weren’t on the verge of death and in a hospital, I would slap the shit out of you.”

Laing laughs as he fades back into Loki; it’s a tired sound, scratchy and painful and rattling in his chest, but somehow he manages to sound so disdainfully full of himself that you don’t know if you want to soothe his aches or cause him a handful more.

He does look better though. Weak, definitely still as weak as before, but better. Not so gaunt.

“Have you been eating well, then?” You ask, pulling up a chair beside him. “You’ve filled out a little.”

“Define well,” he replies with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“More fast food, I take it.”

“If I wasn’t close to death before, I am now.”

“Well, take what you can get.” You reach over and give him a pat on the arm, just one awful pat before you think better of it and immediately hate yourself for doing that. “So, uh, what was the verdict? On your…y’know. Crimes.”

Loki shifts on his pillows, trying to sit up a little straighter, and his blanket slips further down to his hips as he struggles to with one arm.

“My crimes…right, trying to conquer the planet. Those crimes.”

Without thinking, you lean in and straighten his blankets for him, tugging them back up to lay just under his arm.

His voice dies in his throat, and he stares.

You stare, too, but unfortunately at the bruises littering his ribs and the scar racing right over his heart.

“There you go staring again,” he says, clearing his throat. “Are you quite finished?”

Ripping your gaze from his chest, you meet his narrowed eyes and swallow thickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Are you…are you using any illusions right now?” You gesture at him, emphasizing his relatively scar-free face.

“I may be,” he replies.

“Why? You should be healing, not hiding anything.”

His eyes roll and he sighs. “I do still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. Maybe no longer with you, and something must be done about that, but as for the others, they don’t need to know any more.”

“I don’t really care about your reputation,” you tell him, and he laughs as if that were obvious. “Or any image you’re trying to make of yourself, just so you know.”

“Oh, you did miss me, mortal.”

“No,” you snap, “I just…well, I don’t want you getting any more hurt than you are. And…maybe might have been a tiny bit worried.”

The last part you blurt, staring out the window with a burning gaze. You would like him to know, just for the sake of knowing that he’s not necessarily alone in this, but when you say it out loud, like that…

Loki appears to have swallowed something sour, when you glance back at him, and he stares at you.

Confusion, maybe?

Or maybe just shock. Or maybe he has morphine pumping through his veins; that’s a very possible answer.

“Are you on morphine?” You whisper when he doesn’t move, still staring. “That stuff can kill you, y’know. Careful.”

Slowly, he nods, lips parted.

“I…am.”

“On morphine?” You give him a sad smile. “That’s why you’re being friendly. Well, by your standards.”

“No,” he cuts in, cocking his head at you. “Still using an illusion.”

You nod, glancing down at your hands in your lap. “I figured. You can take it off now, I’ve already seen the worst of it.”

Room 203 falls silent for a moment, nothing but the air conditioning whirring in the background as a wave of green energy passes over Loki’s body.

“Just for you,” he clarifies when you look back up at him, “only for you.”

“Of course. I won’t tell.”

Taking a steady breath, you scoot forward in the chair and begin your inspection, ghosting along the parts of him you can, too used to cleaning him up to the point where it’s almost routine. He sits quietly, you point out to him which bits he should really show the others, berate him again for waiting so long to tell the truth.

“I lie,” he murmurs, and you almost catch a smile playing at his lips. “It’s what I do.”

“Roll on your side,” you simply respond. “You’re letting them treat your back, aren’t you?”

He grimaces, but doesn’t move. “In a way.”

“Please? Can I see?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I don’t know if you realize this,” you exhale, exasperated already, “but I’m a little more trusted here than you are. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

He squares his jaw, fighting with himself for a second longer—then rolls his eyes yet again and turns to face the other direction, exposing his back to you.

“Loki, come on.”

“I tried,” he cuts in before you can berate him further on the hideous state of his lashed back. “Really, I tried, but they can’t treat them yet. It’s not a flogging like any that have happened on Midgard, believe me.”

The thought of something worse than a flogging makes your toes curl, and you gingerly brush your fingertips over his shoulder before the sight makes you retch; one of the few unmarked patches of skin left on his back.

“You’re still bleeding.”

He nods, face turned from you. “I would imagine so.”

“Bled through your sling…” a quick look around finds the spare cloths and towels in the cabinet under his bed stand, and you take a couple soft rags. “Want me to, y’know, clean you up?”

He’s silent for so long you wonder if he’s fallen asleep, but then he nods, just once.

“I would–I would appreciate that.”

His whole body jerks with every few dabs of the cloth, trying to at least stop the trickling and sop up what’s pooled in the bony dip of his shoulder blade.

You try to tell Loki which cuts desperately need stitches, but he just chuckles dryly and explains that these cuts aren’t meant to heal; that they rip and open any stitching or bandages applied to them. Each attempt to close the wound is predestined to worsen it.

“So you’ll always have these?”

“Until I can find a way to heal them,” he grunts, letting you help him sit up, “yes. It’ll be wonderful for when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

The sling, as it turns out, is covering a much deeper gash than the rest, one that the skin around the edges looks burnt—but weirdly enough, also looks almost crystallized where it should be scabbed. Almost…icy.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just continue in silence to switch out his sling, sick to your stomach. Nothing you could possibly have to offer, any assistance from anyone on earth could make up for that.

It’s been a couple months now, since New York. There have been no other attacks, clean up has been relatively successful with the camaraderie of the nation. The avengers have been assembled, tested, and proven effective.

Loki’s in custody, no longer hiding, no longer blackmailing you into keeping his secrets while he runs. He hasn’t stepped out of line since, he’s been offering his knowledge, he’s been cooperating.

Yet he’s the only one still bleeding.

“Loki,” you say quietly, glancing at the door, “are they actually helping you?”

He gives his shoulder a testing roll with a wince. “That’s too tight,” he tells you, tugging at the fresh sling. “I’m being treated. Accordingly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve received the help I need.”

“I don’t believe you,” you reply with a huff, fighting with the knot in his sling. “I mean, has Thor even come to see you? He told me he wants to talk to you, but he’s the only person who’s mentioned you…”

Loki gives you a nod when you finish with the sling, finally lifting his head to look at you with an illusion-less face, ripped flesh around his lips where a cord stitched him silent.

A fist closes around your heart, clenching it and leaving a hollow ache in your chest. Your skin burns at the sight of him.

“You’re staring again.”

“Sorry.”

The stitching was crude, unevenly spread along his upper lip, and the left side has a couple gashes where the skin is torn all the way through. Must’ve had to rip out it himself.

“Don’t victimize me,” he warns. “Don’t make me into something I’m not. Don’t.”

Your jaw clenches, eyes flitting from his lips to meet his gaze. “How do you expect me not to?”

He drops his head back to his pillow, shutting his eyes.

“You should leave.”

“Yeah.” You stand, and he doesn’t open his eyes. The closer you look, his scars are fading again, back under the facade you broke. “I probably should.”

Before you can stop yourself, your hand moves to touch him, just once on the back of the hand that’s draped over his chest. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“I don’t think I trust you,” he whispers, eyes still shut tight.

A lump catches in your throat. “You–you can, you know.”

“I know.” He takes a shaking breath, wincing as his blood soaks the pillows. “That’s why I don’t.”

—

You give him a week.

You hadn’t gotten even half the answers you had gone in there for, leaving with more questions than before, if anything.

It’s hard to tell if he was pleased to see you.

So you give him a week. No visits, no telling him he needs to eat, no mention of him behind his back.

That week passes as normally as it could be.

By the next, you find yourself outside room 203 once again, psyching yourself up to just walk in there and cut right to the chase, not giving him even an inch over you.

But you open the door and he’s on his stomach, fists ripping the sheets as a nurse with a needle stitches the lashings on his back shut.

He’s bleeding. Badly.

“No,” you blurt, “stop, don’t do that–”

Your tongue falls limp in your mouth, and completely against your will, you walk straight to the couch beside the bed and sit.

Nothing you can do will allow you to move, and you spend the next few minutes struggling against invisible bonds, shouting silently into oblivion that you’re making it worse, horrified at the sight of Loki’s serene expression as he stares at you.

You can see it getting worse; each stitch undoes the last, reopening the wound from the beginning so that by the time she’s moved to the next cut, the one just finished is a fresh, open wound.

Even with his face perfectly calm, his gaze stone-set on you, his body betrays him. He jerks with every pierce of the needle, the vein on the side of his neck bulges, and he’s ripped the sheets by his fist.

It looks like pure agony, and you can’t do a single thing about it.

So you sit there, frozen to your seat and silenced, until the nurse gives up and apologizes for another failed attempt, promising that they’re trying to find a type of material that can hold as she tries to soak up the blood. She wraps his torso and he stays silent the entire time, knowing full well that nothing will change, and doesn’t move after she’s left the room.

You take a deep breath as Loki does, and the restraints on your body and tongue fall away.

“What the hell, Loki?!”

“Please don’t yell.”

“I think it’s warranted,” you cry, stomping over to his bedside. “You have a death wish, god, you–you–what the hell were you doing?!”

You’re shaking, half from the horror of having to sit there and watch him endure that, but mostly from rage—he could’ve stopped her.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Shh…”

“Oh, don’t you shush me, I’m so sick of this–I-I can’t believe you made me watch that—”

A cold hand curls around your wrist and yanks, and you fall to your knees by the bedside, nose to nose with the god of mischief.

“Let me bleed,” he grits out, each word ripped painfully from his throat.

“What?”

“Let me…let me bleed.” This time it’s on an exhale and his eyes close, his hand dropping from your wrist.

You can’t find it in yourself to move away from him.

“Why’d you do that, you idiot?”

Half his face squished into the mattress, he manages a hoarse laugh. “Punishment for my sins.”

“That’s not your call,” you hiss, grabbing him by the arm. “You need to roll over, you’re laying on your injury. C’mon, move.”

He actually obliges and the two of you struggle to roll him onto his uninjured side. It’s not exactly comfortable, for either of you, and you realize after the fact that you had to practically hug the guy in order to haul him onto his side.

That’s probably why he went so stiff.

And…why he’s staring at you as if you’d sprouted wings, trying to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” you mutter, a little out of breath yourself from trying to lift him. “You’re a fucking masochist, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.” He forces out another laugh.

Always laughing.

Always bleeding, always laughing. It’s exhausting, not to mention unbearably irritating when you’re nearly writhing in pain for him.

“Do me a favor, darling.”

“Don’t call me—oh, wait, do you want me to slap you?”

Another dry laugh, but this one sounds truer.

“Don’t make me beg,” he grins, and you almost find yourself wanting to grin back; it’s a breath of fresh air, after all the blood and pain. “Please, would you do this for me?”

“Yeah.” You can’t help the tiny smile you offer back, hidden behind your exasperated sigh. “Yeah, of course.”

“Tie my hair back?”

You swear his cheeks burn bright red, but he doesn’t let his empyrean expression waver, sinking subtly deeper into the pillows and handing you a thin strip of leather.

“Sorry,” he says when you take it, voice muffled, “it only gets matted with blood if I leave it down. I’d cut it, but I can’t be wasting strength on that in this condition—”

“I get it,” you assure him with a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve already ruined your reputation with me.”

“Right. Thank you for the reminder.”

Biting back a grin, you pull the strip of leather between your hands. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

“You are unbearably difficult.”

“Thank you.” You lean towards him, a tiny, smug grin just turning at your lips. “You answer any question I ask while I’m doing it. And no lies, trickster.”

He mulls it over for a moment, halfheartedly glaring at your smug self. You do look sure of yourself, leaning onto his bed, eyes narrowed playfully, his leather cord taut between your fingers. Daring him to disagree.

It’s not a bad look. Confidence, he supposes. Power.

The day has reached sunset, and in this moment of weakness Loki can’t help but notice—the light filtering through the lone hospital room window hits your face in a rather flattering way.

That, or maybe it’s been so long since someone smiled at him, laughed with him, teased him—maybe it’s…nice.

Maybe it’s been missed.

Maybe…that would be alright.

― ― ― ―

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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akp-1327 · 3 years

Text

dear diary // chapter ten

Auditions have arrived...O_o

Fair warning, I don’t know much about drama...anything? So I did a bunch of research from the original books, websites, and friends with experience...so let me know if any of this is inaccurate!

Also...hello! It’s been waaaaaay way way too long since the last update, but I’m beyond happy to be back! :)

As always, find the series masterlist here (Tumblr) or here (AO3) to catch up! :)

Pairings: Ajay Bhandari x f!MC (Charlotte Parker), Skye Crandall x f!OC (Leila Maciel)

Word Count: 6.5k

(*) Warnings: the briefest mention of dementia, otherwise there’s just a roller coaster of emotions in this chapter!

After one of the fastest weeks known to man, it was the day that classes started

This morning was all too familiar; the sudden remembrance of signing up for the morning classes, then the curse as I woke up with the sun. However, it was comforting to have this routine again. It made me feel normal, which had been a feeling I missed all summer back at Dad’s.

Walking to class on days like these, where the sun was warm and the sky was clear, had been another thing I missed. Birds chirping, the light foot traffic around campus, the smell of coffee wafting on the light breeze...

I could only think of how many hours spent pouring over the script for The Enchanted Kingdom. There were also points where Rory physically had to tear me away from the script to get outside, which to say, was not a task he succeeded at...

“C’mon! It’ll be fun! We can go find you some new blazers or something, since you insist on wearing them all the time.” Rory was slowly easing a highlighter from my hand. I gave him a death glare and he backed away, “At least take a break? You’ve been hunched here for hours.”

After a pointed look into his eyes, I focused my attention back on the script in front of me.

“I’m completely fine. Also, while I would love to get a few new blazers, I don’t have the time right now.” My voice was rough. I hadn’t been able to sleep much or eat anything but instant ramen for the past couple days. Though, I was feeling adventurous this morning and drank a piping hot cup of coffee. That felt like it did the trick, at least for a good while...until I fell asleep on my script for an hour or so. Ever since then, my eyes have been pretty droopy.

“Just let me be, Rory.”

Without another word, Rory sighed and left with a frown.

...was I a jerk that day? Maybe. But that was my nature; I’m a director and I’m supposed to be that way.

Another drift of wind caught the unbuttoned flannel I wore. Flannel was definitely a go-to right now, especially since all my blazers were much too warm for this kind of weather. Also, who knows who I’ll see?

I adjusted the backpack on my shoulders with a heavy sigh and tightened my grip on the straps. Something about today felt different from first days of class in the past. Could it be how nice the weather was today? It’d been raining on the first day for the past two years...

Maybe it was about where I was going? Performance Theory wasn’t the most interesting thing on the planet, but it was also something I’d taken the past two years. By now, it was something to wake me up in the morning. So why would that make me feel weird?

I shook the feeling away and continued to walk at a relaxed pace, focusing on something else.

Naturally, my eyes traced over campus. A big group of students laughing in the shade of a tall maple tree, a few couples walking shoulder to shoulder, and many stragglers like me with their textbooks in hand.

The environment was serene, and it was definitely one I enjoyed. The long summer of renting out that spare room at Dad’s apartment was, at last, something I didn’t need to worry about for a while. Or...ever again, now that I’ve visited Amma.

Maybe that was the feeling? Amma looked so happy to see me, and so did Mo. I guess I missed them more than I thought...

My feet fell onto a familiar path towards the arts building. I was almost there; only a few more steps and a small staircase until the doors--

“Ajay!” A voice shouted from behind me, making my eyes roll. I fought the urge to keep walking and just ignore them, but I knew that’d be a bad choice with who this was.

Craaaaaap.

“Danielle.” I greeted through gritted teeth. I turned around to face her. “Hello.”

She gave her normal maniacal grin, creepy as always.

“Auditions are tonight, yeah?” She asked, and then held up her already battered script for me to see. There was bright yellow, green, and pink post-its peeking out from the pages. She’d always been dedicated to her auditions...but she just couldn’t execute.

Honestly? That was okay. She was an alright person for ensemble roles because she’d been a good dancer. But that doesn’t mean she was a great actor.

“They are, so make sure to be at the auditorium by four.” I sounded a little annoyed, but Danielle was oblivious. She wouldn’t notice; even if she did, she wouldn’t care. “Don’t be late, otherwise I’ll make sure you can’t audition.”

Her eyes widened a little, but otherwise that annoying smile still stretched across her face. Ugh, absolutely obnoxious.

“I won’t let you down! Oh, and tell Rory to save me a seat!” Danielle said before walking away with a wave. Once she was out of sight, I rolled my eyes with a shudder and started walking to class again.

As expected, classes were already boring. One lecture after another, going through all those stupid, stereotypical ice breaker games. Your name, your birthday, your major, your entire life plan...

I didn’t have another class until noon, and that was about an hour and a half from now. To pass the time, I decided to pull out my script. The sun reflected off the white paper and instantly obliterated my retinas, so with a watery blink, I looked away and tucked it back into place in my backpack, vowing to look at it later.

There was...nothing left for me to do.

Wait, is this what people call a break? This is what breathing feels like? Wow, this is so surreal...

Something about the moment just felt wrong. I shouldn’t be idle like this.

Students were laughing as they walked by. I recognized a few of them, but only by their faces. Some I recognized from past classes, others from past ensembles, a few from Lafayette...

Then, though, I found a familiarity within the group.

Erin.

“Ajay,” Erin smiled, looking relaxed as she sat next to me, “didn’t expect to see you sitting here.”

I gave her an eye roll. “Is it...illegal?”

Her loud laugh drew the attention of people around. “In the book of Ajay, it definitely is. It’s almost concerning to see you so calm on audition day.”

So it was noticeable. Huh. Immediately, my posture straightened and I crossed my legs, prompting Erin to laugh a little.

“I guess it’s just weird coming from you. I’m not a drama nerd, but I know this isn’t how directors normally act when they’re hours away from auditions.” She slowly turned to face me before continuing. “Anyway, what brings you to this bench?”

Her voice was surprisingly even. She looked like she’d been doing a lot better, but I could still see the sadness and exhaustion in her eyes. Erin had always been extremely resilient and level-minded, but even she could only handle so much stress at once.

“My next class is at noon so I figured I’d sit for a little while.”

Almost immediately, she sighed. “Preach. I have psych, so I’m in for a treat.”

Then, silence. It was thick, deafening, excruciating...I quickly wracked my brain for a question to get rid of it. Her confession about her grandma came up, then so did something else.

I hated to bring it up, but my mind wouldn’t forgive me if I chose something else to talk about.

“Erin, what happened to your grandpa?”

The question was met with another sigh, but this one was heavier. Regret already plagued my brain, but it was too late now. Nice job, Ajay.

“Let me guess, Rory told you?” Her expression wasn’t much different, but it definitely solidified into a more serious one than before.

“Yeah, on the first day back. With your grandma and all, I was wondering if they were both...”

Before she spoke again, she took a deep breath. “No, no. You’re right to wonder. It’s nothing concerning, though. He just didn’t like the idea of being separated from my grandma while she gets treatment, and so he let out a lot of his frustrations on me in an argument a few days before I came here. Said he didn’t like everyone he loved leaving him,” she shrugged, shaking her head, “I called Rory afterwards, since his parents were the same way when he left for college, and that ended up being a three hour-long conversation.”

I nodded when she took a break, and in that moment, I wondered how she worked through this. It was terrible, especially when her family was so far away.

“It hurt when I left this time, of course, but I think it’s good for me to get away from them for a while. I just need some space to process everything.” She shook her head, almost like she was shaking the thoughts away. Instead, she changed the topic. “Did Rory say something bad happened to my grandpa?”

Another nod, and Erin clicked her tongue.

“Rory was just being a gossip like always, then. Pops is just adjusting,” A genuine smile came back to her face, which was always reassuring. “So, I heard you went to your mom’s house? How was that?”

I groaned. “Can we talk about something else?”

She laughed loudly and, again, prompted lots of attention to our bench. “That great, huh?”

I sighed. The weird feeling from earlier came back, slowly eating away at my thoughts once more.

Erin quirked an eyebrow. “You’re making a face.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, challenging her gaze. “I always make a face. Everyone makes a face. It’d be concerning if someone didn’t make a face.”

That answer only made her eyes narrow even more.

“You’re rambling,” With this realization, she looked me over, “are you...okay? You never ramble.”

I could feel my leg start to bounce. “I can assure you that I’m fine.”

She hummed loudly, and I noticed my hands were starting to sweat a little.

“Add that to the pile of other lies you’ve been telling Rory for the past week. He’s been keeping me in the loop since, y’know, you never text me,” her elbow nudged my arm with a force that made me let out an uncharacteristic squeak, “so I’m sorry, but I’m not buying any of that crap. I can easily tell something’s bugging you.”

“I’m just stressed and on edge for tonight. That’s all.” Was all I could say. Knowing Erin, she wouldn’t take that as a viable answer.

“You’re never on edge for auditions. You say it’s one of the most laid back parts of the process...” Erin’s voice was accusative. She could see right through me. Sadly, that had always been one of her talents.

“Sometimes auditions are easy, but this isn’t one of those times,” I heaved a loud sigh and rested my chin on my ever-so-slowly tightening fist, “It’s a big cast, and so that a lot of decisions need to be made.”

Erin was quiet for a second. I could hear her drumming her fingers against the cover of her textbook softly, and then she spoke. “Sure, I get that part, but you’re off, too.”

I whipped my head towards her and found a teasing smile growing on her lips. “How so?”

She cocked her head to the side and playfully squinted. “You’re not wearing a blazer, for one,” she was keeping a tally on her fingers, “you’re too relaxed, you’re bouncing your crossed legs, your posture is super straight, you’re rambling, you’re defensive, you’re even a little jumpy...”

I slouched back down at the mention, and this only made her smirk grow into a full-blown grin. “You’ve been pretty quiet about the show, too. By now, I’d usually hear you going on and on about them like a proud grandma.”

“Erin--”

“Oh, this scene will be so interesting to choreograph, and this scene will bring an audience to tears, and even this--” Erin’s voice was mocking. Of course she was fairly accurate, but it still got on my nerves.

“Okay, I get it,” A helpless sigh escaped me, and she had that knowing look in her eye that made me want to gag.

“What’s up with you?” Erin laughed, narrowing her eyes a little in curiosity. “Don’t leave a poor girl in suspense!”

The truth was something I could barely admit to myself. It was the thought of a feeling I never, ever wanted to experience again. Heartbreak.

“Ajay, you’re blushing...” Erin was smiling now.

And then it hit me. All hope was lost when she covered her mouth and squealed. I’ve never, ever blushed in front of her.

“Ooooohhhhh, do you like someone?” Erin started to cheer. I opened my mouth to stop her from getting too loud, but she was already squealing again. There was no stopping the stares from the passing students now. “Oh. My. God! And that someone is making you nervous, right?”

I grimaced, the reminder of why I kept quiet surfacing for the millionth time. People always make a big deal out of your feelings, so that’s why you never show any emotion.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t--” The heat sweltered on my cheeks, and I knew it was still visible when Erin clapped. She looked so relieved while I wanted the world to open up and swallow me whole.

“Oh, I called it! I so called it!”

I looked up at her and found her grinning with some emotion I couldn’t quite place. She looked like she was about to scream! “Erin, if you tell anyone, I swear to any and every deity in this damn universe--”

“Anyone does not include Rory. He needs to know!” Erin said excitedly.

“He does not need to know! That information is not on a need-to-know basis!”

And he’ll know exactly who it is!

“Ajay! This is awesome! It’s been so long since you liked someone!”

Awesome? Awesome?

“Awesome is one of the last words I’d use.” I could practically feel the blush on my cheeks slowly burn me from the outside in; it made me wonder if there were actual flames dancing on my skin. “They might be auditioning. I...can’t let something like that distract me from the show. You know what happened with Kelly.”

Finally, Erin let her smile turn into something more composed.

“That was two years ago. Plus, not to mention, it was with a girl who was as blind as a bat.” Erin lifted a hand onto my shoulder and patted it gently, “You’ve changed since then, so I think it’s safe for you to let that fear go.”

“I know I’ve changed,” I was basically whispering at this point, “but I guess I’m just...”

She patted my shoulder again. “You’re scared.”

Before I could bite my tongue, I blurted, “Terrified.”

She sat in silence for a minute, but then, that sly grin of hers was back. “Well, then.”

“What do I do?”

Erin placed her hands on my shoulders. “One of the healthiest ways to overcome a fear is through exposure therapy. So, maybe...you could tell me who they are?”

I searched her eyes, and much like her grin, all I found was warmth. It was the warmth that’d been missing from Erin since we’d arrived on campus. It was nice to see her start to heal from her summer and return to her normal self.

Still, I blurted the one word on my tongue. “No.”

She sighed, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “Ugh, fine. But just build the courage up sooner rather than later, please? I don’t handle anticipation very well and I’d very much like to know who made you this way.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You think I’m ready for that?”

Erin stood up, suddenly, and laughed. “That’s up for you to decide. Though, from an outsider’s perspective, I think you would’ve been just fine two years ago.”

Her gaze went soft for a second, but it was gone before I could decipher more. “Anywho, text me if you need help asking this mystery person out. You know I’d be happy to help!”

She was off with a sly wink before I could retort, already whipping her phone out to text Rory. Even if I didn’t want that to happen, I smiled.

My noon class was both a bore and a nightmare. Calculus was all gibberish - well, all math was - so I did my best to not pay attention to the professor. I needed to keep my head screwed on straight for later, so instead, I focused on reading through the script and notes I added in the margins. It ended up being quite nice, actually.

After the class spawned from the fiery depths of hell finished, I had a quick lunch consisting of a pack of rainbow goldfish crackers and hurried across campus to my next class.

Theatre arts was the perfect class for today, especially with it being audition night. Prime location and a great way to get back into the swing of things.

When I arrived, the auditorium entrance was buzzing with people. The drama building has never been a popular destination during the day, so what gives? Were auditions really something special this year?

Among the many faces, I spotted Rory, Skye, Leila, and Charlotte all huddled around a bulletin board on the front lawn. From the looks of it, they were...arguing, I suppose.

“...but wait! Skye, you’re good with computers!” Leila gasped, pointing at whatever was pinned on the board. “There are still tech spots available! And there isn’t an audition necessary for them.”

I watched Skye shake her head. Her hair was down, per usual, and she looked uptight. That was normal for her. But she also looked anxious when her eyes were looking at the bulletin board.

“Leila, you never need to audition for a tech spot,” Charlotte sighed, shaking her head, “can we please just let Skye make her own decision?”

“But there always needs to be more tech people! And it’d be fun to have another friend be at rehearsals.” Rory was pleading. He looked at Skye like she was his saving grace. “Please, Skye?”

It wasn’t an exaggeration at how small the tech crew was. Everyone in the drama program wants to act, not do tech. So, if anyone in the cast or crew heard about another tech, they’d jump at the opportunity and recruit them.

Skye gave everyone a look of dismay, then before she spoke, her eyes met mine.

“Ajay,” Skye said loudly, waving me closer. I hurried over and became apart of the huddle, and somehow fate was nice enough to put me next to Charlotte. “Does the drama program need more tech people?”

She was about to hate my guts.

“There’s never enough of them,” Memories of failing to do sound board last year flooded my mind, “don’t mind me asking, but would you be willing to give it a shot?”

That’s what made Skye groan. “Ugggg, you too?”

Her response made Leila laugh, but that was the only sound before a few moments of complete silence.

Finally, Skye sighed in defeat. “Depends. I’ll have to see what the software looks like first.”

I’ll take that as a yes...for now.

“Auditions are--” I started, but then Skye rolled her eyes.

“If I hear about auditions being tonight one more time, I swear...” Skye said, a hint of a smirk coming onto her face as she started to laugh. That was different, too; I don’t think I’ve ever heard her actual laugh.

“So does that mean you’ll do it?” Rory asked eagerly.

Skye smiled; it was small, but it was genuine. All the anxiety in her eyes vanished. “We’ll see.”

“Don’t feel forced to, though!” Charlotte squeaked, her voice cracking a little. “There are plenty of techs out there--”

“No! Don’t you dare rub her the wrong way!” Rory exclaimed, making Charlotte giggle.

It was cute. That thought alone made me blush a little.

Then, Leila gasped, her eyes widening in panic.

“Oh crap! I have to go!” Leila yelled, checking her phone. I decided to check my watch, and it read that it was almost two. Then she piped up again. “Skye, wanna walk with me?”

Skye let out a soft, surprised gasp. Her cheeks visibly reddened against her pale skin as she nodded.

“Sure,” Skye said, clearing her throat, “uh, maybe I’ll see you guys later,” she waved, allowing Leila to quickly drag her away by the arm, “jeez, lady, slow down--”

“Bye guys!” Leila yelled over her shoulder, then disappeared with Skye down the sidewalk and into a crowd of students.

Rory was the first one to speak, looking right at Charlotte. “Let me guess, you gotta go to the drama building?”

She nodded. “Whoa...it’s almost like I told you that when I got here...”

The two kept joking around as we started to walk into the building, but I kept thinking about what Erin had said about forgetting the whole Kelly situation. It felt like a great idea, but I couldn’t shake away all the fear associated with it.

It was another one of those things that’d eat away at my brain, but I guess that’d be okay. There wasn’t anything I could do about it now...

Theatre Arts wasn’t as boring as usual, but it was definitely a lot more chaotic. Commands for props here, calls for help with setting the lights up over there, and somewhere in between, lots of laughing coming from Charlotte and Rory.

It looked like Charlotte was blushing from here, but I couldn’t exactly tell. She and Rory were on the complete opposite side of the auditorium.

Professor Olson and I were skimming through the lists we had in front of us. It was hard to focus on the character descriptions I’ve read a gazillion times when I heard Charlotte’s vivacious laugh in the background.

“Alright,” Olson said, sounding exhausted already, “I’ve had some people hang posters around campus, so this shouldn’t be a hard place to find. Hopefully we get some new faces around here...”

Instantly, I looked over to Charlotte, still laughing at something Rory had said. Her smile brightened tenfold when she met my gaze, and she eagerly waved. With a small smile, I shook my head and looked back at Olson.

“That shouldn’t be too much of an issue,” I pulled out the form with all the auditionees on it and pointed to her name, “Charlotte Parker. Freshman.”

He nodded quizzically. “Anything unique about her?”

A lot, my brain immediately responded, though I shook the thought away.

“She performed at the Spotlite festival in London as a lead a few years back,” The professor’s eyebrows shot up, “and her school won. So I’d say she’s a pretty strong contender tonight.”

The fact that she was auditioning made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut by the universe. Exactly what I wished to not happen...happened. Though, at the same time, I couldn’t help but be a little excited to see what she could do on stage.

“That’s quite the accomplishment. Is there anyone else you know?”

As we ran through the list once more, a few names stuck out like sore thumbs; Rory, Danielle, Natalie, Clint, Jordan, and some frequents I’ve seen over the past couple years.

What finally tore my attention from the conversation was a gleeful scream.

“Skye!”

Charlotte. Duh.

Then, rushed footsteps up the aisle and towards the doors. A collision, then a groan of “why”. My guess: there was a hug and it’d been extremely one-sided.

That was Skye, alright.

Wait, my thoughts started to jumble together in panic, it’s already four?

Sure enough, I checked my watch. It was already a quarter til four.

“I hope you’re ready. It looks like this’ll be a long one.” Olson gestured back to the doors where Skye and Charlotte had still been talking. Several people were starting to flood into the seats, all with scripts in hand, and began to mingle.

“Jesus,” I mumbled.

As the start time approached, I got a little more nervous when thinking about the inevitable crashing and burning of this show if I let my feelings come before my job as a director.

Then, a loud timer rang off of Olson’s phone. He leaned over and whispered. “Show time.”

“Next, please!”

Already an hour in and we’d only made it through half of the list.

Jordan was on stage and running through their lines. They had a great way of controlling their emotions, but it all felt a little bland. However, it could’ve quite possibly been the scene they chose; a scene of the princess or prince daydreaming about the knight.

I knew it’d be a popular scene for auditions; it really goes into the character of the princess or prince by going through ranges of emotion, from happiness and love to humiliation and regret. The scene is extremely captivating and is a great choice for actors to showcase the abilities they could bring to the table if they got the role.

What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was the majority of the people auditioning for the role to use the same exact scene. Especially Jordan, who was usually someone who chose scenes that’d be risky for others.

Strange.

“Alright, thank you, Jordan.” Professor Olson said, composed as ever. It took him a few moments to finish writing in notes next to Jordan’s name, but then he finished and glanced at the auditionee list. “Next, I’d like to see Danielle. Start whenever you’re ready.”

My eyes rolled. She scampered up onto the stage, script in hand, and started with a completely different tone than the millions of other scenes we’d heard. I quickly searched for the passage she’d been reading from in the never-ending stack of papers on the table.

She was reading for the witch, surprisingly enough. Her voice was startlingly dark. It was deep, it was evil, it was rich, it was...what we’d been looking for in a witch. However, her downfall was the lack of control over her emotions.

“Alright, Danielle, thank you.” Olson held up his hand, jotting a quick note down next to her name. Voice: dark, brooding, menacing. Emotions: uncontrolled.

During the transition, I took a glance back at the list to see who’d be next, and my heart stopped. It’s like I couldn’t feel it beat in my chest; it’d felt like it stopped entirely-

“Kelly, whenever you’re ready.”

My eyes snapped up to the stage, and there she stood. For the most part, she’d been the same Kelly I fell for two years ago, but this time, I didn’t get the butterflies in my stomach. Instead, the sight made me a little uneasy. Obviously it wasn’t her appearance, because that was the same, but her very presence.

The only feelings I had were irritation and sorrow and cowardice and regret--

“Ajay, are you ready?” Olson asked. The room was silent, and so I realized they’d been waiting on me.

“Oh. Um, yeah, go ahead.” My voice was rushed, but I barely noticed as the nostalgic feeling of her chocolate brown eyes burning into my being washed over me. It didn’t make me nervous like it used to, nor did it render me speechless.

“Right. Um.” Kelly said anxiously, fiddling with her script before she started to repeat the average line for the prince and princess roles. I noticed that her voice had the same lilt, but something didn’t feel right with it.

It’s not for the right character, that’s why.

I tapped Olson’s shoulder and pointed to another character on the list, watching as he nodded.

“Kelly,” He interrupted her mid-sentence, and a look of fear glazed her eyes, “have you read over any lines for the witch?”

She shook her head, the look of fear melting into one of utter confusion.

“Flip back a page in your script and choose a line from the witch, then read it as you see fit. Take your time.”

I was so happy Olson was the one doing all the talking. I’d probably just tell her to move on at this point.

After a few moments, Kelly nodded and took a deep breath. Much like Danielle, she had the sharp undertones we’d been looking for, but they weren’t as clear as Danielle’s. Kelly, though, did have more control over her emotions.

I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but I hoped Danielle would have more advantages over Kelly. I just didn’t want to work with her again, not after what happened.

“Alright, Kelly, we’ll consider you for both options. Thank you.”

At this point, Olson sounded exhausted beyond belief.

Kelly left the stage with a nod. My eyes met hers just before she vanished, and there was some emotion in them that I couldn’t quite place. Guilt, annoyance, confusion...I really didn’t know.

When she left the stage completely, it felt like there was a heavy weight lifted off of my shoulders.

“Well...let’s see here...” Olson mumbled under his breath, taking a sip of his coffee before he pointed down at one last list of names. “Only a few more left. How’re we looking?”

There’d been several great candidates for each role; this was always great, since then we’d have understudies and members for a complete ensemble.

“Like we’ll have some decisions to make, for sure,” I ran a hand through my hair as I read through the notes I made for each auditionee, “especially for a few of our veteran actors.”

It was true. Some were better for other roles, some didn’t have the strength or spark they did last year, some were improving...

“People change, scripts change, expectations change. It’s just a new journey to start,” When the exhausted professor smiled, the faintest purple bags beneath his eyes deepened, “and new journeys require a fresh and open mind.”

Somehow, Charlotte was the last to audition. When she was called to the stage, it was almost eight. Everyone in the house seats looked like they wanted to go home.

A familiar fluttering in my stomach appeared when she looked at me from beneath the stage lights. She looked like she’d been in her element, her smile shimmering and her eyes sparkling as she looked around at the red velvet seats in front of her. The script she held was neat and shook a bit, but her resolve remained calm and composed.

A good stage presence, I noted.

“Alright, Charlotte, because you’re new, do you have any questions I can answer before you start?” Olson’s voice gave way to his fatigue from asking the same question all evening, but Charlotte shook her head.

“All of my questions were answered throughout the evening,” She smiled, her voice smooth, “but if I have any, I’ll be sure to ask.”

That was an answer that made Olson blink in surprise. He wasn’t someone to be speechless, but those few seconds were definitely silent. It was clear she’d impressed him with just a sentence.

I definitely know the feeling...

“Excellent, so I believe you’re ready to go,” Olson wrote a few notes on his paper, then looked back up, “any specific role you’re auditioning for, or are you open to any?”

Charlotte cleared her throat and glanced at me before she focused on Olson once more. Her posture visibly straightened.

“I’d be open to any role. Lead, understudy, or ensemble.”

Jeez, she really does carry herself well.

“Sounds good...” After another scribbled note, Olson waved at her to continue. “Alright, whenever you’re ready.”

Her shoulders rose with a deep breath and she closed her eyes. It stayed that way for a second, and I couldn’t help but continue to admire her. It took strength to be that calm in front of a crowd.

She’s looks so natural up there, almost like that stage was built for her...

When her eyes opened, it’s like she’d transformed into an entirely new person. Her expression radiated innocence and her eyes filled with life, even more so than usual.

Then, she started to speak from a scene we hadn’t heard at all today. It was one where the prince or princess would come across the witch for the first time; this was a powerful and somewhat challenging scene, as the actor needed to portray multiple emotions at once while still keeping themselves under a neutral mask.

A minute passed, and then two, and then maybe even three. I had no idea. But, what I did know for sure, was that her acting was out of this world.

From what she’d put forth so far, it looked like she’d barely broken a sweat. Her voice was perfect and her control on her emotions was even better. She wasn’t overconfident, but calm. She was a force to be reckoned with on that stage, and it was equally empowering and terrifying. She had so much power, so much passion, so much potential...

She had everything we were looking for in this role.

Olson leaned over with wide eyes. “Wow. I...would like to believe we just found our princess.”

I couldn’t help but smile when the response left my mouth. “Absolutely.”

Then, the sudden horror dawned on me.

Princess. Charlotte...was princess.

It’d only been about ten minutes after she left the stage with a polite bow and dazzling smile that the entire auditorium started to empty out. Only a few stragglers were talking by the stage or the exits.

One of them in particular smiled and sped over to me.

“Ajay,” Charlotte grinned, “hi.”

“Charlotte,” I responded, “how’re you?”

She puffed out her rosy cheeks before letting the air out in a long sigh.

“So tired,” She was lightly laughing now. It was a little out of place, but it was cute. “Since I just decided to audition a few days ago, I’ve been pulling all-nighters with Leila to get my lines right.”

I feigned a smile and let a white lie slip through my teeth. “I’m glad you decided to audition.”

“Me too. I’m excited to see your directing skills in action,” She said this with a wink, “because it’s all I ever hear about from Rory.”

“Really?” Why does he talk about my directing...?

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He gushes about how great of a director you are, like, all the time. You really haven’t heard any of this?”

I gave her a deadpan look, and she huffed out a laugh.

“Well, you should ask him about it. I’m sure he’d gladly tell you about how amazing you are,” she said thoughtfully, “he looks up to you, you know. It’s easy to see by the way he talks about you.”

I can’t imagine why...

“That’s surpris--” Before I could get through my sentence, I watched Charlotte stumble forward into me. Everything felt like it’d been in slow motion; her eyes widening slowly as her arms opened to hold onto me. Without another thought, mine did the same, wrapping around her small form carefully.

“Whoa!” Charlotte gasped with her arms tight around my torso and cheek pressed against my chest. I felt my heart start to pound, so I started worrying she could feel it thumping against her cheek.

The sound of laughter could be heard behind her, and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of Danielle and a few others sauntering away. I glared at their backs, my grip on Charlotte tightening by a fraction.

Danielle better keep to herself from now on, because if that happens again--

The thought made a snarl appear on my face, and I quickly shook it away.

“You okay?” I asked, instantly feeling her rapid nod against my chest. I expected her to move...but she didn’t.

“Y-Yeah, just caught off-guard, um, I’m good.” Her voice sounded panicked. She pulled away from me slowly, looking up into my eyes with a deep red blush. “Thanks for not letting me fall.”

“Well, you didn’t really give me a choice.” I teased, watching her eyes widen for a second before she looked away.

“Right. Well. Uh, I should probably get going. I already have a ton of homework,” she hummed, smiling once more, “I’ll see you...sometime this week?”

I nodded, returning her smile. My heart felt like it was floating.

“Of course. Good night, Charlotte.”

“G’night,” She smiled and waved, awkwardly walking out the door. This whole goodbye thing felt like the new normal - that is, watching her run off while I stay glued to my spot, still living in the previous moment and imagining her eyes, her voice, her smile--

“Ajay! C’mon, man,” Rory shouted from the stage, “let’s go get dinner before we starve.”

It was like I snapped from a daze when I blinked.

The effect she had on me was maddening, but I realized I couldn’t get enough of it. Everything about her was just so frustratingly perfect--

“I’m in the mood for some absurdly overpriced pizza,” I said abruptly, walking with Rory out into the cool September night air. He laughed, nodding in agreement.

“Ohhhh, me too!”

I could swear the scent of her perfume drifted along in the breeze, but that was probably just my mind playing tricks on me.

It was hard to fall asleep that night. Maybe...maybe greasy pizza wasn’t the best idea.

I kept flipping over, hoping to find that one magical position and miraculously succumb to sleep.

But I just couldn’t get her out of my head.

This shouldn’t even be happening. Why did I let this happen? She was definitely involved with the show now. My rule still applies to me!

But...Charlotte. Sweet, kind, talented Charlotte.

Ug. The temptation to scream into my pillow was terrifyingly high.

For the love of...

Then, a thought. With a blink, I reached over to grab my glasses and a pen. After I turned my phone’s flashlight on, the feeling of a leather book from underneath my pillow brushed against my fingers. At the feeling, I sighed.

September 17th, 2020

Dear Diary...

Why does life have to be so complicated?

It wasn’t anything extensive, but my brain felt tired after writing all of that. So...short entry it was. Oh, did I sign it?

Too late. It was already closed.

I still felt like I was going to explode, but it was less severe than before. Progress. Maybe I could fall asleep now.

When I put everything back and folded my glasses, my head dreadfully hit the pillow with a soft thud. To make matters even better, I thought about her audition. How it was breathtakingly powerful and absolutely stunning. About how her voice was perfect for the part. About how...

It’s going to be a long night.

#high school story class act #ajay bhandari #rory silva #erin ward #skye crandall #mc: charlotte parker #oc: leila maciel #ajay x mc #skye x oc #chapter ten! 🥳#<< why do i still use that tag #no idea #brief dementia mention #choices stories you play

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deadgirl-requiem · 4 years

Text

On Boundary - Pt. 1

💧// angst ⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒⭑⭒

I ran, as fast as I could. The wind whipped past my face, my lungs burned, and my legs felt unstable. I needed to get away from, away from that house. I knew they were behind me, they had to be.

... It was sunlight, the sun was glaring down, the breeze was light, the grass crunched under the wind... no, that's not right. I rolled over, my hands bracing under my chest, and my toes and knees ready to go. When I looked in the direction of the crunching grass I saw a long-haired man. His hands raised slightly from his side. We made eye contact for a second before I bolted.

My eyes caught the blur of 2 other people to my right and my left. As I ducked a low branch and entered a clearing I was shoved to the ground and flipped over. Without even thinking I started screaming, trying to get whoever was on top of me off.

"Calm down, calm down please, we're just trying to help."

Almost on pure instinct I bucked my hips up and kicked my legs out, around the person above me, and brought them down next to me. As the 2 other people caught up to us I just slid back under the shade of a nearby tree.

"Please miss, what's- can you tell us your name?" It was a taller white man; he seemed older than the other 2.

"Did she have to slam me down that hard?" The one that tackled me down was a thin lady, blonde hair.

The man with long hair had approached me and looked at my face, my appearance. I probably looked like death. Running through... wherever here is, without shoes on.

"Here take this, please, you must feel cold." The long-haired man stepped closer, his jacket in his hands.

Right, I forgot to dress appropriately. I reached forward, my hand, well all of me shaking as I grabbed his jacket and slipped it on.

"Th...Thank y...you."

They looked like an odd group; the long-haired man was dressed a bit differently from the other two. Not to mention his face, he seemed almost familiar.

"I'm Sheriff Walt Longmire, this is Mathias he's police chief of the tribal police over on the res, and this is Vic, my deputy." My eyes fluttered around, as the older man spoke, to each person he gestured to, the blonde and the long-haired man.

"Why don't we get you somewhere a little less exposing? What do you say?" Mathias spoke up.

I nodded softly, stood on the balls of my feet, and limped forward, "I guess running barefoot out here isn't a good idea."

"No vine aqui por eleccion. Puedo obtener un poco de ayudu por favor?"

I didn't come out here by choice. Can I get a bit of help, please?

Mathias, Vic, and the sheriff stopped as they heard my hoarse voice, "What- What was that?"

"Are we gonna need a translator?" Vic looked at the sheriff as he walked back towards me.

"Look we'll take her to your station and get her comfortable see if she can tell us anything. But until she says for sure she didn't come from the res, I'm coming with you." Mathias stepped forward, ushering me softly down between a few trees.

The Sheriff and Vic climbed into one an SUV-style vehicle ahead of us and Mathias lead me to his. He helped me climb into the passenger side and then we were off, driving back down the dirt road. I just stared out the window at the passing trees, "Ya' know, if you told us your name it'd help not just us but you too."

"Sabes que mi nombre no me ayudaria." You knowing my name would not help me.

He turned and glanced at me, "If you're in any trouble, scared about someone coming after you, they can help you."

I had to stop talking; I had to stop thinking about myself. It wasn't just me.

When we reached the station in town, I kept my head down, I looked at the cement, like the cracks in it were so fascinating. Getting inside the office, I was met with a new face. She seemed so gentle; her name was Ruby. She handed me a pair of grey sweats and a zip-up to put on.

"You can change over here dear," She lead me away from the other 3 and to a door labeled 'Reading Room.'

I stepped in and pulled off the thin tank top I had on, zipped up the sweater, and then took off the pajama shorts I had on and put on the sweats.

I opened the door and stepped out to see Vic waiting on me, "Sorry, they're just waiting inside here," she led me through the next doorway and I was sat on a couch.

Vic handed me a small glass of water and said she would be back. I looked around the office, wood, wood, and more wood, not to mention bookcases as well as gun cases. Shortly after that, I heard what was supposed to be hushed arguing. I could hear them bicker back and forth, they went on about- about me. I tried to listen but my ears felt like they were full of water.

I had my legs crossed under me when the door pushed open slowly, "We just wanna ask you a few questions. Figure out how to get you home. Now, if there is any way for you to communicate with us, that'd be helpful too." Walt spoke softly as he pulled up a chair to sit in front of me.

I shook my head fervently, "I-I do-don't uhh... remember."

"So she does speak English," Vic commented from the back.

"Could you tell us your name?" Mathias spoke up from behind Walt.

"Usted sabiendo mi nombre no ayudara," I cleared my throat, they can't find me based on just my name, "It won't help you."

"C'mon, it won't hurt to try." Mathias looked so sincere when he said it. I gave in.

"Veaha- Nevaeh. My name is Nevaeh Blackridge."

"Alright Nevaeh that's good, now can you tell us, is Spanish your first language or English?" Walt asked.

"English..." I shouldn't be saying this," We speak Spanish at my home..."

"Ok, Nevaeh, it'd be super helpful if you could tell us what happened last night why we found like that this morning."

I shook my head again, tears in my eyes, "I-I do-don't remember. I-I re-really do-don't. All I-I know is feeling a burning in my chest, and an aching in my legs... it was dark and then it was light..." My eyes snapped open, I didn't even realize they were closed. Tears streaked down my face.

"Nevaeh, we found you 8 miles from the res' boundary. Do you know if you were running to of from there?" Mathias crouched in front of me.

"I-I think so..."

Vic brought over a map of the land near the res' and near where they found me, "We found you here, do think you could get us close as to where to start looking?"

I nodded softly and looked at the words on the map and tried to remember anything told to me before last night, "There... I think"

Mathias and Walt looked at where I pointed and it was close to where they found me but it was still on res' land. They shared a look and then back to me.

"Nevaeh we're gonna take you to the hospital to get checked out ok? It'll be quick, we'll get you some real clothes and some food too." Walt spoke softly.

I shook my head, the tears at bay again, "No I'm fine please..."

"Nevaeh your feet are cut pretty badly. You have cuts up and down your feet as well as your arms. We just wanna make sure you have no other injuries and that these ones get treated." Mathias held his hand out.

I nodded and grabbed his hand.

At the hospital the nurse was sweet, she seemed very genuine. She asked me to undress on a white paper and put on a medical gown. I did as she asked and as I pulled off the sweats I saw newly formed bruises up and down my legs, the same as on my torso when I took the sweater they gave me.

When I stepped out from behind the privacy wall the nurse cleared her throat and apologized for what she had to do next. She photographed the bruises, swabbed my cheek, checked under my fingernails, and then she asked me to lay back on the examination bed. What she did next, I couldn't help but cry.

As she finished she sealed up some bags as well as envelopes and sent them out of the room. She dressed the more serious of my cuts and wrapped the bruises around my torso, something about a bruised rib. When she left the room she told me the doctor would be in shortly. I nodded and she handed me a tissue. I looked at the room I was sat in, it was so clean... there were posters of the different body parts and health warnings.

When a man walked in I'm assuming to be the doctor, he smiled solemnly, "Hi Nevaeh, I'm Doctor Weston. I have a few results I wanna share with you and some questions I wanna ask you."

"Do you have any friends or family the sheriff could call?"

I shook my head; he's not looking.

"Nevaeh, some of the injuries you suffered indicate that someone did this to you. You don't have to protect them anymore."

"I'm not... I just... can't remember."

"Before I release you, we got an early result back that shows you may have been pregnant recently."

My breath hitched in my throat, "I-I ... My baby didn't make it... I used to do a lot of gymnastics... High stress sport and I didn't know how far along I was... My stupidity." It was what I told myself all the time; it sounded true.

"Alright, Nevaeh. I'll let them know outside you're ready."

After the doctor left it was a few minutes before Vic entered. She brought a change of clothes and fresh undergarments and some shoes. She left the room and let me change, had me come out when I was done. They were just down the hallway from the door.

"So we're gonna take you back to the station till we can find you a place to stay," Walt spoke.

"When we get to the station... can I talk to you guys." They were actually trying to help; maybe they could help me.

Mathias and Walt exchanged a looked and then nodded. Back at the station, I was sat back on the couch; the sun was getting ready to set.

"What's on your mind, Nevaeh?" Mathias asked, his arms crossed as he leaned against Walt’s desk.

"Look, I do want your help but, I don't remember. What I do remember is that he wouldn't let me outside, and I can't forget the smell."

Mathias sighed, "Nevaeh, I'm sorry but, that doesn't help us."

"I'm saying if you can get me there, I can tell you whether or not I was there."

Walt and Mathias agreed it would be better if they worked it together, and as for where I would be staying, they didn't know if whoever left me in the woods would try looking for me so they sent me to a mutual friend.

Mathias drove down the road, the night sky looking beautiful, lit with stars.

"So, where am I going?"

"It's a bar, the owner has an apartment upstairs. Henry is a good man, you can trust him. He'll check on you a few times to make sure you're comfortable. He can be a bit serious but, that's him being friendly."

"Got it. Uhm... so tomorrow, are we gonna go back and check the woods where you guys found me?"

"No. We are, you are going to stay with Henry, get better. Try and remember anything you can about last night."

I sighed in defeat; if I was going to find them, I would have to do it on my own.

Arriving at the bar, it looked just like a roadside barn on the outside. A man a bit taller than Mathias walked towards the SUV. As I hobbled out he offered to help me, "Thanks."

"Mathias tells me you need a place to stay." Henry smiled softly.

"She'll be okay here for a few days?" Mathias asked as he rounded the hood.

"She'll be fine."

"Will you be back?" I asked as Mathias turned back to the SUV.

"... Yeah. Walt or I will be back tomorrow to check on you; let you know what we come up with." Mathias nodded.

Henry led me up the steps, slowly, to the apartment entrance. He let me comfortable. He showed me where everything was and offered me dinner. I said I just wanted to rest after being poked and prodded all day. He nodded and said he'd just be downstairs. He said I could ring him at the bar if I needed anything, to not go outside unless it was important.

I laid on the bed letting my body rest, my side ached, and my muscles burned. I wished I could remember what happened, but all I could think about was laughter... Cutesy, little giggly, laughter.

My eyes snapped open when I heard the doorknob jiggle. I rolled over to the far side of the bed and onto the floor. The space was small, so was I. When the door opened the lights turned on and all I could see were the boots of the person who entered. My mind was going a mile a second; I couldn't hear anymore. It was like my ears were full of water again. mysterious boots rushed around the room and then stopped. My eyes widened, and I tried to hold my breath. The person who came in dropped to the floor and I nearly screamed.

I scouted myself deeper under the bed, and against the wall the headboard rested against. Henry disappeared from my sight; my mind was racing, my chest was pounding, I couldn't breathe. The next thing I knew, I saw Mathias; he was reaching out towards me, saying something.

I reached out slowly and grabbed his hand; he carefully slid me out of my hiding spot and to his chest. The look on his face and Henry's; I just broke down. The ugly sob that left my throat, The tears that ran like waterfalls down my cheeks. It wasn't pretty, but pain never is.

It took me a minute to calm down, to get my breathing back to normal, to slow the tears and my heart. When I did, I felt embarrassed, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause such a -be a hassle. I didn't even mean to doze off. and the door- it scared me. I just panicked-"

"Nevaeh. It's ok. It's alright. Henry was just coming to check on you. He didn't mean to scare you." Mathias cradled my face and looked me over.

"I am truly sorry, I should have announced myself before I opened the door." Henry looked ashamed.

"Nevaeh, breathe. Just take a breath in and out."

It took me a good while to calm down and before Mathias let go. He sat me on the bed and pulled up a chair from the table, "Nevaeh, I need to ask you just a few more questions."

I just nodded, my fingers picking at one another.

"Doc estimated you were around your late 20's, you're 5'4" yet you're small enough to fit under that bed."

"And? What are you asking?"

"Nevaeh, I'm trying to figure out how far back we need to look for possible kidnappings-"

"Mathias, all I remember is the inside of that house and looking out one window wishing I could be outside."

"Ok, Nevaeh, you should try getting some actual rest. Henry, let her know when you open that door." Mathias gathered a few things and headed for the door.

"Vaeha- you can call me Vaeha."

Both of them nodded and Mathias left through the door. Henry brought me a glass of water, shuffling a few things around here and there.

"Uhh- Henry, do you think you could stay up here with me... I feel like I'm too jumpy to be left alone."

Henry nodded and gave a quiet of course. He went to finish locking up downstairs and I settled back in, seated on the bed. I fiddled with the bandage wrapped around my calf, zoned out. The silence of being on the roadside was peaceful. Every once in a while I could hear Henry moving around downstairs, putting stuff away.

When he came back upstairs, we settled into a slightly uncomfortable silence. I could never sleep by myself. Especially in a different place, I've never been anywhere else.

"Vaeha, if I may? Did you know who was hiding you all this time?"

"Uhh... Not really, I mean it wasn't like I was born and never let out. My childhood was pretty, well kind of normal. Then one day, my dad said 'I can't let the world take you from me too', he was so paranoid. Sometime later another man joined him..."

"I'm sorry, that sounds rather troubling."

"I got used to it. I stopped asking to go outside. I took advantage of the one window I had access to. It wasn't easy or fun, but I ... lived."

The next morning I found a new stack of clothing and a note from Henry;

Went into town, should be back by noon Help yourself to something to eat and a shower. -Henry

I showered first, basked in the hot water. It felt good to get clean. After getting out of the shower I threw on the jeans and tank top that were left for me. I grabbed the zip-up from the bed and looked at the time. 10:30. I didn't feel hungry but I did feel like getting some air. They didn't want me going outside but I wanted more than just opening a window.

Fuck it.

I pulled on the shoes I had and left the apartment. I walked to the tree line behind the bar and took several deep breathes. I took a seat and threw myself back into the foliage. I stared up at the morning sky, the treetops, and the clouds.

I heard the familiar hum of an SUV and just closed my eyes, "Vaeha? Vaeha, what are you doing out here?"

"What does it look like, Mathias. I'm getting fresh air, I'm focusing on breathing."

"You could open a window." He sounded frustrated.

"Why don't you come focus with me. You seem a little irritated."

He huffed and crouched next to me. "Ya know when what I was stuck inside all that time, all I had was a window. Now I have the option to go outside... I'm gonna sit out here. If I die, I die."

"Look, I am a little irritated, but it just feels like we're going in circles... and I can't shake this feeling that I should know you, your face."

I chuckled a bit, "Tell me about it, my memory feels like a swirling drain that won't empty. Just round and round it goes. Not to mention you. The second I saw your face, it seemed familiar."

"Oh so it's not just me?"

I shook my head, "Nope. I appreciate that you're worried and you want to help me."

Mathias stayed with me for a bit as I dozed off under the sun. When Henry got back we dusted ourselves off and I headed back up to the apartment. Mathias looked torn, they were really trying to help. I didn't even tell him or Henry that I recognized this bar...

Henry came up and asked if I was hungry and I nodded. He led me into the bar and made us both lunch.

Henry cleared his throat as he sat down with me, "I don't mean to pry, but how is Mathias with you?"

"Erm... He's nice, he seems genuinely sincere about helping me. Why?"

Henry looked at me with an honest smile, "Mathias is very much about our people, and knowing that you may be from the res' he feels the sense to right that wrong. Then there's how the two of you look at each other."

His words caught in my throat as I chewed. I coughed and looked at him quizzically, "What? I don't- Mathias and I don't look at each other anyway."

"Vaeha, I'm not blind. The others may be oblivious to it but not I. Mathias wouldn't care as much as he does, come here in the middle of the night if he didn't care. He also does not usually work cases with Walt."

"So what are you saying? Should I be careful? Should I not trust him-"

"No no- I'm saying you should definitely trust him. Let him in, let him help you." Henry said earnestly.

I chuckled a bit at his words, "Henry when you're hidden from the world. Told that everything and anything will try to stomp out the flame you have inside; trusting people doesn't come easy."

"I can see it in your eyes, for you, trusting him is easier than you think."

"I don't think I like being read like a book, please stop." I chuckled.

Henry lifted his hand as he took my empty plate, "I didn't mean to overstep, I just think it'd be good for you to have someone you can have there for you."

"Wouldn't that be crossing a line... I mean I'm a victim." Calling myself that didn’t feel right, I didn’t feel like one...

"It's technically Walt's case, Mathias and his department don't have to funds to handle a case like yours."

"Are you encouraging me- us- whatever you're reading into."

He chuckled but didn't give an answer. I rolled my eyes, told him I was heading back up to the apartment and to bed. Still tired from yesterday.

I put on the pajamas Henry had brought me from town and laid on the bed, my back facing the door. I dozed off, the sound of Henry opening his bar and the chatter of people below, lulled me to sleep.

My eyes snapped open, the sound of giggling ringing in my ears. I rolled over slowly, scanned the room, and didn't see anything, I didn't see Henry either. I could still hear the noise of people downstairs, he's still open.

I stood from the bed, my breath hitched, and my muscles ached. I couldn't hear the noise anymore, the dullness was back. Just on instinct, I start moving; I walked out of the apartment. I walked down the steps and down the road. I walked through the opposing treeline till I heard the sound of water sloshing. It broke through the dullness I looked up from the dirt path and saw water. I've been here before. My legs gave out from under me, landing me just inches from the water.

"The sky is so pretty..."

When I woke up in the morning I knew I was in trouble. I could hear my name being called out, "Mierda."

I slowly dusted myself off, some of the mud proving rather stubborn now dried. I hobbled my way up to the tree line towards the dirt path when I ran into Henry, "Fuck!"

"Vaeha, what happened to you? Where have you been?"

"I uhh-"

"There you are!" I heard their voices in unison.

"Ah shit." I dropped my head.

Walt and Mathias practically jumped on me when they caught up, "Wanna tell us what you were doing out here? You were gone all night, you know how dangerous that was!?"

"What Mathias- I had a... a weird dream... I heard something, and I took a- midnight stroll. I'm sorry."

"Midnight stroll? Nevaeh, do you know how far you are from the Red Pony?" Walt asked as he handed me a clean jacket.

"Wha- isn't it just through the trees right here?"

They all looked at each other and then at me, "No, Vaeha, what kind of a dream did you have that led you out here?"

"Well, I just heard laughter, and I figured that I was either crazy or something and you all were busy so I'd just take a walk."

Walt's other deputy came up beside him and told him he had a call. He walked a few steps away and took it.

"Vaeha you can't keep doing stuff like this, you know that right?"

"Why Mathias, does it make me look suspicious?"

He didn't say anything to object to it and I just stared at him, "Really? Oh, didn't know the battered woman you found shattered to pieces could look that suspicious."

I stepped around him, that hurt more than I thought it would. As I hobbled back down the dirt path Walt stopped me.

"I think there's something you need to see."

"What?"

#Longmire #mathias #mathias clark #henry #henry standing bear #vic moretti #the ferg #Mathias x oc #female character #deadgirl-writes #on boundary #on boundary pt. 1 #pt. 1

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by calligomiles)

“Good morning, Doctor!” Grani walked into his office and gave him a salute. “Officer Grani reporting as ordered!”

The mask on his face smiled at her. “Morning, Officer Grani. Have an assignment for you, should you choose to accept it.”

“Should I choose to accept it? Well, of course I’ll accept it! What can I do to help?” No doubt in her mind, whatever it was, she could take care of it.

“It’s not police work, or crime-stopping, or anything super flashy, but I know that’s not what you’re about anyway.” He opened a drawer, pulled out a file, and showed her a picture. “Do you know Rosa, by any chance?”

The Kuranta shook her head. “Not personally, no, but I’ve seen her around before.”

“Good, that’s better than nothing. I want you to be her friend.”

“...That’s it?” She chuckled. “Shucks, I thought you were going to give me something challenging, the way you built it up. Rosa, right? We’ll be besties even if it’s not a mission, and you can count on that.”

The Doctor nodded. “Keep in mind, officer, I wouldn’t give you this assignment if I expected just anyone to be capable of-”

“I should probably go and find her now - it’s nearly lunchtime. Bye, Doctor! Have a good day!” And with all the speed her little legs could carry her, she was gone.

“And she’s gone.” He sighed. “She’ll probably be fine, but I’ve never seen her run off like that...”

Ran off she did; Grani initially planned to check everywhere for the Ursus, but after some more thought, she realized where she’d seen her: at the Logistics desk, shuffling paperwork. Making a beeline there paid off, as Rosa was in fact at that same desk, moving paper from one box to one of two smaller boxes. As the Kuranta entered through the double doors, the noble pulled together a smile. “Good morning; how can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m not here on business. Are you taking your lunch break soon?”

“I will be, yes.” Rosa cocked her head. “May I ask why you wish to know that?”

The officer flashed her a far more genuine smile and a two-for-one coupon for a Siracusan pizza place. “I can’t use this coupon by myself, so I was wondering if you like pizza. My treat!”

“Hmm...Miss Dobermann was saying I should watch what I eat more closely, but I suppose a few slices couldn’t hurt. I’m ready to leave when you are.” She stood up from her chair, grabbing a purse from behind the desk and sliding it over her shoulder.

“Awesome!” Grani walked over to her, offering her arm. “Let’s go!”

Natalya took her arm-in-arm, although somewhat confused. “Officer Grani, is it? Why do you need my arm?”

“So I don’t lose you on the way there, of course. Off we go!” And at a nice gallop, she sped off, noble in tow.

‘What is going on here?’ The Ursus thought to herself as she was whisked away to Pizza Castle. ‘I barely know who she is, and here we are, racing off for lunch together. Then again, I’ve read a few romance novels that worked like this, but that couldn’t be it, could it? Hmm...We’ll see, I suppose.’

Parked at a table, sharing an outwardly-facing booth that might as well have been a couch, her suspicions only seemed to cement themselves as the Kuranta started up a conversation. “So, Rosa, how’s the office treating you?”

“I admit, I was anticipating more field missions after becoming an official Operator, but Logistics suits me well enough. Are you working on a case, officer, or...”

“Huh? No, I’m off-duty for a while; Doctor told me to take some time for myself.” She cheered when the pizza arrived. “Alright! Thick or thin crust, Rosa?”

Rosa was reaching for the pizza cutter as she asked. “I can get it myself.”

“You’d have to reach over the table to reach the cutter, though, right?” Grani already had the other that’d been brought to the table in her hand.

“True, but...Alright. Thin crust, please.” Wait, how was she in a better position to do this when she was so noticeably smaller? “I’m still a bit confused on the reason you asked me to come with you.”

The Kuranta smiled as she handed her a pizza-piled plate. “Well, there’s a saying where I’m from: a stranger’s just a friend you haven’t met yet. I wanted to meet you today.”

“...Why, though?” Still wasn’t computing.

“Well, that’s a good question.” The officer took a bite of veggie supreme, taking her time with it. “I guess because I want to be your friend.”

Was she messing with her now? “Yes, but why?”

“Oh! That’s what you’re confused about? I mean, there’s really not another reason; I want to be friends because I want to.”

“Ah.” Rosa, realizing she had nothing to add from there, simply nodded as she enjoyed her sausage pizza. “I only know one other person who can think like that, but we’re both so busy nowadays...”

Grani gave her a pat/rub on the shoulder. “Well, I’m not going to be busy for the next couple weeks, so you can count on me!”

“Right.” The Ursus didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, but she still didn’t know this woman from a Knight-

“Here; that’s my cell number.” Did she just carry around cards with her number on them? “If you need anything, anything at all, just give me a call, and I’ll come running.”

She took the card and pocketed it; it’d be rude to put her number in her phone at the table with her. “I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Great! Oh, hey, waiter? Can we refills, please?”

‘Oh...When did I run out of water? And how did she notice before me?’ Natalya looked at Grani curiously. ‘And why me?’

-----------

Several hours later, as the sun began to set after a long day of work, Rosa was in her apartment, lying on her couch, looking at the card she’d taken and wondering what would happen if she called the Kuranta right now. Surely she’d be tired, too, but maybe she’d be free to talk?...That would be nice. She decided to take the chance, pulling out her phone and clicking in the digits. Less than one ring later, “Hello, Officer Grani speaking?”

“Good evening, Grani-”

“Rosa! Hi!” That was...much more enthusiasm than expected. “Want me to swing by?”

Huh? Well, honestly, “you’re not busy?”

“I might be off-duty, but my brain doesn’t know that yet. Heh. See you in a minute?”

“Sure thing.” Actually, while she was out, the noble had an idea. “Would you mind grabbing some vanilla ice cream?”

The officer chuckled. “You read my mind. I’ll be right over!”

“Thank you, Grani!” When was the last time she’d cheered like that? This- This had to be love, right? All the books said this was how love was supposed to feel, didn’t they? But how? They’d only known each other for a few hours now…

“Hey, Rosa, I’m here!” Knock knock. “Can I come in?”

The Ursus roused herself from the mental fog that’d slowly enveloped her enough to open the door. “Good eveni- that’s a large tub of ice cream.”

“I thought you might like leftovers!” It was at least two gallons of ice cream.

“That’s a good point. Thank you.” Why was she so damn cute? Was it the sheer enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that even her sweatpants had the thigh cutouts? “I must admit, I’m still not used to the thought of you being so...available.”

Grani shrugged as she went to the kitchen, ice cream in tow, and rummaged around for an ice cream scoop. “Just part of the deal, I guess. Hey, where do you keep your ice cream scoop?”

“Oh, I don’t have one; I eat from the tub itself usually.”

“Oh! Convenient.” Two spoons later, and the Kuranta was sitting on the couch, ice cream on a TV tray between them. “So, anything you wanna talk about?”

Rosa shook her head. “Not particularly, no. I just was...lonely, I suppose. After lunch, I didn’t see another person while I was at the office.”

“Not a one? That must’ve been awful.” Stupid TV tray blocked her from anything more than a pat on the shoulder. This would’ve been a great time for a hug.

“The strange part is that normally I’m used to it,” the noble replied. “I spend a great deal of time in my own head, but after we left, it took barely a few minutes before I missed you.”

The officer blinked, setting her spoon on the tray. “You didn’t call me, though?”

“I didn’t want to be a bother. Of course, now that you’re here, I see how silly that was, but at the time, it made sense.” She sighed, a faintly self-deprecating smile glued to her face.

“Well, shoot. If I’d known, I never would’ve left.” Grani chuckled. “Honestly, I thought you might need a little break, but it sounds like you hadn’t had enough of me yet.”

Natalya turned to look at her, and the words fell out of her mouth. “How could I possibly have enough of you?”

“I mean, some people think I’m a bit high-energy-”

“But that’s what makes you so precious!” There were two thoughts in Rosa’s mind at this point: ‘Stop playing all your cards, damnit!’ and ‘Heheh, pretty horse compliments go brrrr.’

That did elicit a blush from the Kuranta. “Precious, eh?”

“Absolutely...I don’t know what came over me just then,” she muttered once she was back in control of her own voice.

“Aw, that’s alright.” The officer stood up and sat down on the other side of the Ursus before giving her a side-hug. “Much better~”

As Grani set her head on her shoulder, Rosa suddenly felt tears coming to her eyes. “Grani...”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, darlin’. I’m not going anywhere.” Especially not now holy shit she made a great pillow.

“...Good.” The noble’s fingers found their way to the Kuranta’s hair. “I didn’t know people could fall for each other so fast in real life.”

The officer would’ve replied to that, asking what she’d meant by ‘love,’ but honestly? Being this close to her right now, she understood exactly how she felt.

#arknights #grani (arknights)#rosa (arknights)#arknights fic #it's almost like writing these takes as much free time as there is available on a given day :P

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madamebaggio · 3 years

Text

Note: My dear friend Ully requested -as a birthday present -a modern AU with Gilbert and Anne from “Anne with an E”, just so they’d have a good excuse to properly kiss (You know, since the series has this sweetness and innocence to it).

So, here it is.

****

“Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“Why are you fighting with me? I’m literally on your side!”

Anne took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” She grumbled. “It’s just… I can’t believe this debate exists.”

Gilbert sighed. “Trust me: I get it. But I’m just telling you an argument they might use. I’m not saying I believe this.”

Anne groaned. She loved debates -she really did -but this thing about climate change was making her truly angry.

Miss Stacy had brought to class the discussion about climate change. Anne -foolishly, now she could see -had assumed it was a given and that there was nothing to actually discuss about it, just its very real effects.

How wrong she was.

Billy Andrews -because who else would it be? -had raised his voice to say it was FAKE NEWS!

Really! With those words!

Climate change was fake news. Alarmism. A communist invention against capitalism.

Anne would’ve loved to say she was exaggerating the whole thing, but unfortunately, all of that had been quite real.

So at some point she started arguing with Billy inside the classroom and Josie Pye had risen to defend her precious boyfriend, and Gilbert Blythe had sided with Anne, and…

It’d turned into quite a mess, and Miss Stacy was not happy.

Once she managed to calm her students down, she proposed a proper debate for next class. They’d have to do research, she’d mediate, and that would be it. No screaming, no ‘that’s my opinion’, real information.

At that point, Anne had approved of the idea. That was until Miss Stacy declared she’d be pairing up with Gilbert, since Josie and Billy were clearly a team.

Why? Why did she have to be paired up with Gilbert?

If things were like they were in freshman year, she could go on pretending to hate him. But they weren’t! Now in senior year she…

She might like him.

She wasn’t saying she did! She just might.

As a remote possibility.

Yet to be confirmed. But very unlikely to be!

Nope. No feelings there. None whatsoever…

“Can we take a break?” She asked, her voice a bit louder than strictly necessary.

“Sure…” Gilbert agreed easily enough.

They were studying together in the living room, as Marilla was preparing dinner in the kitchen and Matthew was still at work. Gilbert had been invited for dinner, since Marilla had a huge soft spot for him.

Anne had tackled the task with gusto: she found all the information she could, searched for trustworthy sources, researched the name of scientists and their works and then went even deeper, looking for simple examples -like unprecedented natural phenomena around the world.

Gilbert had been playing devil’s advocate. He was bringing every possible counter argument he’d found, so they could have the answers to them. Logically, Anne knew he was just making sure they were prepared, but every time he said something to discredit what she’d just said she felt like hitting him with a book.

Ever since Anne started noticing that she might like like Gilbert, being around him was complicated. When she was still competing with him for grades, it seemed much easier. Besides, back then, she’d been pretty sure he also didn’t like her very much.

Time and maturity -and yes, a few years in high school did count as maturing -made her realise he’d never really competed with her. He was just amused by the back and forth. Diana and Cole were certain that Gilbert had a crush on her, but Anne had never seen anything that confirmed those absurd claims.

Honestly, most of the time, she couldn’t even phantom what he had on his mind. If Gilbert did like her, he kept his feelings very much under control.

Which convinced her that there were no feelings.

Like… Why would he even like her? She was a freckled redhead. She wasn’t a beauty, and she was okay with that. Things were what they were. Gilbert was really good looking; he had great eyes, fluffy hair and a perfect smile. He could have any girl he wanted. There was no reason for him to like her.

“I’ll get us some lemonade.” She decided, needing a bit of space. She left before he could say anything.

She opened the fridge and found the lemonade, but no Marilla anywhere in the kitchen.

“Marilla?” She called, looking around.

Then she found a note on the counter, saying that Marilla had gone to Rachel’s house for a little bit.

She was alone in the house with Gilbert.

It wasn’t a problem. At all.

She got back to where Gilbert was and offered him a glass. He thanked her and they drank in an awkward silence, sitting side by side on the floor, all their work sprawled in front of them.

Anne was really bad with awkward silences.

“I think we’re going to be okay.” She suddenly said. “I doubt Josie and Billy are putting this much thought in this.” She told him nervously.

“You’re probably right.” Gilbert chuckled.

“I mean, they’re probably just using this as an excuse to make out.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Anne regretted saying them. It felt wrong even saying ‘make out’ in front of Gilbert.

And she was pretty sure he’d just choked on his drink because of it. “Right.” He said, but it came out strangled.

“Not that they’re shy about making out in public.” Anne continued rambling, even though her brain was screaming at her to stop. “I mean they just go at…” She finally managed to stop talking, feeling her face on fire.

Gilbert was extremely quiet, but his shoulders were shaking and after a minute she realised it was because he was laughing.

“Shut up.” She groaned in misery.

He finally started laughing out loud. “I’m sorry. It’s just… This is so weird.”

“Shut up.” She said again, this time with much less heat.

“We should be thankful to them.” He teased. “If they spend all the time making out, we’ll crush them in this debate.”

Anne scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Right. Since we’re here studying and there’s no way we’ll make out so…”

They locked eyes, and Gilbert wasn’t laughing anymore. He wasn’t even smiling.

“We won’t.” He said softly, his eyes focused on her face.

And for some stupid reason, Anne’s eyes fell to his lips, before shooting immediately back up. “That’d be ridiculous.” She tried to force a laugh, but it came out sounding strained.

“Downright absurd.” He agreed.

She narrowed her eyes. “Ludicrous.” She said, remembering their past squabbles over who was the smartest one.

“Preposterous.” The corner of Gilbert’s mouth ticked up.

Anne bit her lower lip. “Outlandish.”

She didn’t know when she’d gotten this close to him, but the next time Gilbert spoke, the words fanned her mouth. “Like a dream come true.”

Anne couldn’t even process those words, because his lips were right there, and then they were on hers and she was…

She was kissing Gilbert Blythe.

It was slow and tentative, only their lips touching and discovering. It was simple and even sweet, until Gilbert cupped her face, and Anne gasped into his mouth.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and Anne noticed he tasted like sweet lemonade.

Which made her think about Marilla and immediately pull back.

Anne scrambled away from him, making her glass of lemonade tumble in the process. “Oh no!”

She pushed the papers away from it, looking for something to put over it.

“Anne.” Gilbert called.

“Marilla is going to kill me! Lemonade on the carpet!”

“Anne.”

“I need to get something to clean this.” She got up in a flash.

“Anne, wait.” Gilbert stood after her. “We need to talk about this.”

“No.” She turned to him immediately. “We really don’t.”

“We do.” He insisted. “I didn’t mean to kiss you…”

“Of course you didn’t.” Anne scoffed. “Why would you want to kiss me?”

“This wasn’t what I meant. If you let me finish…”

“There’s nothing to say.” She insisted. “We just got caught up and… And…”

His shoulders sagged. “So it meant nothing to you?” He asked, sounding defeated.

“I didn’t say that.” Anne defended herself fast, because she didn’t want him thinking she went around kissing boys just because they were there.

“Then what are you trying to say?” He asked.

Anne crossed her arms. “Why did you say ‘a dream come true’?” She threw back.

Gilbert took a deep breath in. “Screw this.” He marched in her direction, and Anne couldn’t move for the life of her.

And then his mouth was back on hers and she was stumbling back, her body hitting the wall.

Now it wasn’t that innocent anymore; it was intense and open mouthed and Anne had never been kissed like this before. She could only think of him, and his smell and his hands on her waist, her face, her hair -everywhere at the same time.

She sank her fingers on his hair -like she’d always dreamed of doing -and pressed her body tighter against his, wishing there was no more space between them.

She could feel this tingle on her body, something that was growing bigger and hungrier with each shared kiss, until she could only think of Gilbert.

Pulling apart was almost impossible, and Gilbert himself was having a hard time stopping with the kissing. He kept going back to her mouth for one more kiss, one more peck.

It felt like forever before they finally broke apart.

“I meant this.” Gilbert spoke, before clearing his throat -because his voice sounded wrecked. “This is like a dream.”

Anne thought she couldn’t blush more -all things considered -but his words and the way he was looking at her made her blush even harder.

“And now we…” She started then stopped talking, because she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to ask him.

“Now we could try going on a date?” Gilbert offered, although it came out much more like a question.

“A date? Like a real one?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, a real one. Just us.”

“Sounds nice.”

They shared smiles.

“We can also continue…”

“Studying?” Gilbert suggested.

Anne bit her lower lip and shook her head.

Gilbert opened a huge grin. “Ok, that too.”

They went right back to kissing.

And they still destroyed Josie and Billy in that debate.

#madame baggio #one shot #posted on AO3 #modern au #gifs not mine #anne with an e #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #anne x gilbert

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xncasi · 4 years

Text

EDIT: jdkdjfkdkd I DIDNT WRITE A TITLE & also cuz someone requested i will deliver: a pt 2 will follow!

just a short snippet of writing i felt like doing, based off the song “Butterfly’s Repose” by Zabawa :) i edited as i went along so it might be a bit messy, i’m sorry >>>

Dr. Spencer Reid x shy!reader

length: 11.2K

warnings: a LOTTA angst, small fluff, emotional abuse, death

—————————————————

Dr. Reid is one of many things, as y/n has noticed, but she’d never say that he was overtly emotional. From the time that she started working for the BAU until now, which has been about five years, she’s come to know this enigmatic man.

Not only has she gotten to know him though, but she’s begun to care about him. Sure, she cares deeply about the well-being of the team; which of its members wouldn’t? But this strong surge of emotions came early on and have since remained.

She can vividly recall the first case she’d worked on with her new coworkers, back when she was fresh to the BAU. The unsub’s signature had been riddles that apparently would reveal the location or subject of his next attacks. They’d spent night after night poring over those puzzles, and she can practically taste the bitter, old coffee that the station had offered them. But more fondly she can recall Dr. Reid’s furrowed brows, the way he’d sat for hours in front of papers, trying to write down new ideas that came to mind. Y/n can remember the way his eyes lit up when he finally pieced it all together, the quickness of his words and the way she struggled to understand.

Morgan had tried to jokingly explain Dr. Reid’s genius prior to her first case, but it wasn’t until she saw it in action that she truly understood. And, to be honest, she was intimidated.

Sure, she’d done well in her classes throughout her school career, but she’d fought so hard to reach her dream job. The endless late nights of studying and bitter tasting coffee had pushed her through all the required class credits she’d needed; y/n had never stopped working, never wanting to possibly even entertain the idea that she couldn’t make it. And to finally be able to say she’d succeeded, and then to walk through the doors of the FBI and BAU after a few years of working in the field; it was a dream come true!

And yet...she couldn’t ever quite understand how the genius was just so smart without even seeming to try. He could read full books in ten minutes, recite statistics he’d only read about once, and was able to piece together puzzles that saved countless lives. She wasn’t jealous, per-say, but she yearned to know how he did it and who he was.

And so, the quiet and reserved y/f/n watched. She wasn’t a woman of many words, and yet she’d still been able to contribute to a variety of cases. Hotch knew that despite her lack of words she was still a valuable asset, and that’s really all that mattered to her.

But that’s besides the point.

Around the year mark of her joining the BAU, something happened. Dr. Reid and her had been assigned by Hotch to interview the supposed unsub’s father one last time; they’d arrived thinking it’d be another simple interview, but the father ended up pulling a gun on them both and managed to shoot him in the leg. Something about “protecting his son” she believes, but one way or another it didn’t matter.

Dr. Reid had been bleeding so heavily that y/n had thought his femoral artery had been pierced. She’d shot down the father and then fallen beside her partner, doing her best to apply pressure to the oozing wound. Those few minutes they spent together had been filled with talking, something which she hadn’t been very good at. Who is she kidding, she STILL isn’t good at it!

But anyways, getting back to the point--

To keep Dr. Reid alert, y/n had made small conversation with him. She’d asked about his favorite books, and then his favorite lines from those books. She questioned his music taste and took mental notes on all of it. So was it a surprise to him when he’d woken up to her asleep next to his hospital bed, one of his favorite books laying haphazardly in her lap?

She isn’t sure.

After that, their friendship blossomed. Dr. Reid would talk about his favorite books, music, or movies and y/n would listen. They’d often meet up for coffee and walk to work together, and they often were paired up during cases because of their efficiency together. Y/n favored the quieter, library-like settings of a cafe and Dr. Reid would follow suit; bars were never exactly his thing anyways. They shared coffee and tea recommendations, they’d converse about classical literature, and sometimes he would accidentally spoil books for her because of how fast he read.

(She’d never forgive him for spoiling the ending of “A Farewell to Arms.”)

The friendship between the two of them was strong, and it grew to a point where y/n might’ve even considered him to be her best friend.

In her third year at the BAU, though, y/n had started dating a guy outside of work. At first it started okay; they’d go on romantic dates to fancy Italian restaurants, the ones where Frank Sinatra played in the background of a dimly lit, large room. He’d brought her her favorite flowers, and he even tried to drink the tea she liked. And Dr. Reid had put up with it all, only crossly wondering to himself WHY he felt so agitated whenever y/n would bring her new beau to their bar nights. Why wouldn’t he be happy for her? Y/n was his best friend after all, and she deserved to have a man who loved her.

Around the third month of their relationship though, he began to notice how much more exhausted y/n had become. She often was late or didn’t show up to get coffee with him in the mornings, and she was unusually silent towards everyone when working cases. Whenever she had to take phone calls she’d step outside, and Dr. Reid had to simply pretend like he didn’t see her strained expressions when she entered the room again. This continued on for a good two months before he finally stepped up and asked y/n what was going on.

It was their first fight.

He’d simply asked if she’d been doing okay, and y/n snapped. The dark bags under her eyes and the frazzled appearance she had screamed that no, contrary to whatever she was saying she wasn’t alright. There wasn’t anything he could do though, not when she raised her voice at him for asking about her well-being. So he dropped it.

He hadn’t expected her to reach back out so soon again though, especially not the exact same night of their squabble. Dr. Reid had been flipping through the pages of an old book he was rereading when his phone began to ring. Surprised at the thought that anyone would want to talk to him at this hour, he’d picked up his phone only to hear her sniffling on the line. She’d quietly apologized many times over, but no matter what he said he couldn’t get her to tell him why she’d called. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice yelling in the background and a yelp of fear that he understood.

Promising to be over soon, Dr. Reid threw his heavy jacket over his shoulders and headed out into the cold and rainy night. The whole way there he’d been touching his phone, wondering if he should’ve call again. What if something happened while he was making his way there? Should he have called the police before leaving? At least he would’ve known then that she would’ve been okay. As he pulled up to the front of y/n’s apartment complex, he spots y/n shivering miserably on the front steps.

It’s less than twenty minutes before she’s back in his warm apartment, in a dry, borrowed pair of pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts. He hadn’t asked her specifically what had happened, not wanting to dredge up any of their earlier fight, but she’d still managed to find herself talking. Dr. Reid had only just given y/n a steaming cup of tea when she’d broken down, salty tears running down her red cheeks and staining the borrowed shirt. He’d settled beside her on his couch, highly aware of the warmth emanating from her body and the way her tearful gaze avoided his. With some gentle coaxing he managed to get an explanation out of y/n.

Her boyfriend had been cheating for upwards of two months, but she hadn’t been able to leave because of his threats. They’d always changed from one night to the next, but most of them held the same message: if you leave me, I’ll kill myself or hurt you.

Now Dr. Reid had never considered himself to be an angry person; competition was something he avoided for the most part, and he was incredibly slow to anger. This, though, this made his blood boil.

And so the young man had gathered y/n in his arms, comforting his best friend as he remained fully aware of how close they physically were. He told himself that this is what friends did, and her? Well, she was too far gone in her own mind to possibly even consider what could’ve been passing between them.

Now, though, she’s fully aware of how close he is to her. Much like on that night, when Dr. Reid, no -- Spencer -- held her, she’d felt safe. Wrapped in the doctor’s arms she’d known nothing could’ve reached her, not if he didn’t want it to.

Pressed up against his chest, y/n can feel the past two years of uncertain flirting and the dancing around each other dissipate. The months of awkward glances and longing stares has finally reached a head, finally manifested into real touches and love-filled gazes.

She only wished it had happened sooner.

She wished it had happened long before this case, long before they’d flown out here to take on the serial shooter that’d been terrorizing this city. Because now, with her blood pouring out of her chest and abdomen, she knows she has no time left. There’s no more time for first kisses or late night talks, no more shared coffee breaks or reading to each other while curled up together under a blanket.

Spencer, her best friend who’d she’d loved for so long, has no time either.

He’s holding onto his best friend’s body, pressing her to his chest with tears welling in his eyes. Sirens sound in the distance, possibly growing closer, but they’re too muted for him to be able to tell. He’d heard the shots and had come running, but it’d been too late. Y/n had been shot four times, three times in the chest and once in the abdomen. She’d toppled over, shock written all over her face as her gun had clattered to the ground beside her.

And now, she can barely remember any of it. She can still feel the ringing in her ears, but now she’s beginning to realize how hard it is to breath. She can taste the metallic tang of blood, and as she coughs and splutters she can feel it running over her lips. It’s warm, too warm.

Fear begins to overpower her, and she finds herself uncontrollably shaking. “S-Spencer, I d-don’t wanna die,” she rasps, her y/e/c, tear-filled eyes turning to look up into his chocolate brown ones.

He has to swallow back his own tears, fighting to hold on as he looks down at the person he’s cared about for so long. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he shakes his head. “Honey, hold on for me, okay?” he asks gently, his voice cracking.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” he murmurs, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. Y/n whimpers as she begins to feel a tingling numbness move up her legs. “Spencer, I-I...I love y-you,” she whispers, her hand shakily reaching up for his face.

Leaning down into the body in his lap, Spencer Reid presses his forehead against his best friend’s.

Softly pressing his chapped lips to her bloodstained ones, he gently pulls away and rasps, “I know.”

As y/n’s eyes begin to flutter closed, she grasps onto her best friend’s hand for dear life and lets out one last, heart-wrenching sob.

#spencer reid #dr. reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm #dr. reid x reader #agent spencer reid #agent reid #spencer reid x you

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

The Two Fingers of Death || Morgan & Gabriel

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @bugbearnecessities & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Gabriel needs a snack and tries out a new scare in the English department offices, to unexpected results.

CONTAINS: slight zombie body horror

“I can't believe that bitch flunked me!”

Gabriel was not supposed to be in the ladies room, and he honestly felt bad about it. Normally he did his best to respect people's boundaries, especially those involving very intimate ceremonies like make-up fixing, gossip sharing and any other mysterious ritual that normally went on in the ladies' bathroom. But he had no choice, really: it'd been far too long since his last feeding, and between that and his natural instinct to just nap the winter away, his energy level was dangerously low, so he needed a little pick me up, ASAP.

And the ladies' room, he'd found, was the best place to get a quick fix: Gabriel only needed to hide in one of the stalls, conjure up the illusion of a giant spider and BAM. Instant snack, with high-pitched shrills on the side. But not this time, apparently. No, this time the two girls washing their faces were too focused on their angry rant against Professor Beck to pay his fake Charlotte any mind, not even when he made the spider dance. The girls sounded so genuinely pissed that for a moment Gabe forgot all about his hunger and just listened intently. Apparently Professor Beck hadn't been particularly impressed with Jessica's essay about The Tell-tale Heart, and frankly Gabriel hated the idea that Jessica could be turned off that masterpiece forever just because of a misunderstanding with her teacher. And truth be told, he was looking for a decent meal... Professor Beck was no murderer, but ruining Poe for young minds all over campus was two steps away from a federal offense, as far as he was concerned.

With that thought in mind, Gabriel waited for the two girls to go away and then he left the bathroom. A quick internet search later, he made his way to the professor's office, knowing that she'd probably be inside. He stood in the hallway in front of her door for a few minutes, waiting for the perfect moment and then, when no one else was in sight, he bent down to spy from the keyhole and focused intently, projecting his magic inside the professor's office.

Morgan cherished her office hours no matter what: if any of her students got over their anxiety enough to come visit, she had a chance to get to know them and put in enough help and suggestions to make whatever homework they turned in after more interesting; if they didn’t, she had some time alone to get her work done, have fewer things to take home, and listen to some her playlists that didn’t get as much airtime around the house. Today was the latter, and Morgan’s only concern was making sure she didn’t write down the lyrics to “Ivy” while she was trying to respond to her students’ questionnaires. There’s no shame in liking Twilight, she wrote, Looking forward to seeing what your thoughts will be when we get to Carmilla! She got through a few more like this, singing along under her breath since the Medievalist Bros were out doing stars only knew what. Her timer went off. Morgan jolted from the switch between Taylor Swift to the X-Files theme, hard enough that one of her earbuds fell out and rattled to the far side of her desk. Morgan chased it with her hand, only then noticing the bright, bleeding heart on her desk.

She yelped with surprise and scanned the room. “Hello? Is this, uh...for me?” Morgan hadn’t seen anyone come in with a special delivery. But then again, whoever had been tasked with it might’ve been too grossed out to ask questions or stick around. Deirdre was usually more discreet than this when she sent presents over, but sometimes she used her promise binding powers to be a little dramatic. Morgan laughed fondly, remembering a small candy box of eyeballs. “Babe, you shouldn’t have…” she sighed, and reached for the snack, which called to her the same way chocolate cake had when she was alive. Morgan reached and--nothing.

Morgan couldn’t stifle her whine of disappointment, but now there were more pressing problems. “Okay,” she called, louder this time and mildly irritated. “Now I know you’re hiding. Come on out!”

Gabriel had to stifle a villainous chuckle (or, well, the closest thing to a villainous chuckle he could muster) as he waited impatiently for the screaming and the flood of energy that'd follow. Alright, maybe a still beating heart was a bit much, but hey, she was a Lit professor, she had to appreciate the poetic justice in that, right? In any case he'd make it up to her somehow, anyone who listened to the X-Files theme couldn't be so bad after all, and...

Gabriel frowned. There was no screaming, no delicious fear. Why was there no fear, the woman had a freaking human heart on her desk! Granted, hearts were fascinating, Gabriel couldn't wait for the embalming classes to start just so he could maybe see one up close, but most people were at least a little squeamish about them. Was Professor Beck actually... Something else? Blood-thirsty murderer? No, it couldn't be: she'd also been listening to TSwift, and most comments he'd read about her on ratemyprofessors.com actually depicted her as a sweet, caring person. Then again, wasn't that what neighbors always said about serial killers? I never thought he'd be capable of something like that, he was always so nice...

The theory was starting to look more promising as Gabriel watched through the keyhole. She was trying to grab the heart, holy crap! And when her hand just passed through the illusion she looked... Disappointed? Gabriel was so confused that it took him a few moments to realize she'd called out to someone, to him. He hesitated. Should he just go away? That would be the wisest course of action, for sure. But then again, if Professor Beck was a serial killer wasn't it his duty to expose her? He, unlike most people, had the means to defend himself against a crazy murderer, after all. And also he was still so hungry. His mind made up, Gabriel took a deep breath and opened her door, his steps far more boisterous than he actually felt.

“I wasn't hiding!” Gabriel mentally slapped himself. Of all the things he could have said, that was going to be his first line to the very first potential serial killer he'd ever met? Lame. And then he added “Dude, you do realize that's a human organ, right? Like, from an actual person. With a hole in their chest. And it's bleeding all over your papers. Doesn't that... Scare you? Please be a little scared, please.” Even just slightly grossed out. And then he realized what he'd just said. “Uh, I mean... That's a human heart, professor.” Hunger was no excuse to ignore someone's academic accomplishments, not even those of a serial killer.

The door opened and Morgan reached for her bag. Salt, knife, iron, they were all still in there, even if she didn’t want to use them. A dozen different possibilities flickered past her head. Was this a trap? A hunter trap? Some magic critter she’d never heard of? Morgan was alone, and if it hadn’t been for her earbud falling out, she might not have heard anyone come in. This world was cruel and bloody and maybe she was an idiot after all for setting aside her combat training---But then the door opened a little wider and there was just a kid. A college kid, twenty-one at most. Not one of hers, although he did have that awkward intellectual vibe that her more enthusiastic boys held. But he didn’t flaunt that archetype like them, he hadn’t finished growing into himself yet. He wore his presence like a suit that hadn’t been tailored yet, a little oversized in some places and a little too tight in others. But maybe he was just flustered, and she was reading too much to give her mind something to do while she came down from the surprise. Morgan looked from him to the phony heart and back again. Scared?

“Uhhh…”

Granted, most people probably would. The Medievalist Bros absolutely would, even though they loved to posture about how ‘sick’ some of their favorite comic books were when it came to gore. But this was White Crest, people were weird, everything was weird. Please be a little scared, please. And it was only then that Morgan remembered the last time she had been startled by illusion magic: in her family’s old haunted house, the day she’d met Nora.

“It’s...so gross. Nasty, ooey, gooey, gross...thing! Aaaah!” Morgan eyed the boy as she tried to scream. But her heart wasn’t in the charade, she was too focused on the idea of there being another Nora in White Crest and what it was about her that made her seem so yummy to them. Sighing, Morgan deflated. “I’m sorry. I actually kind of…like this stuff.” Especially for dessert. “And it’s actually pretty good looking! More true to life than most movies. Actually, I was too caught up in the visual to know it was pulsing, but that is a really great touch. And um….” Oh, stars, he didn’t think she was being patronizing, did he? He was so young, and she didn’t want to crush his confidence. “Look, it’s not you. Really. Anyone more a...well, anyone different from me in this office and you would’ve really had something. And I’m not just saying that! But, if we’re going to be coming clean about our respective supernatural secrets, you should probably come inside and close the door.”

Gabriel appreciated the effort, truly, but Professor Beck's fake groans were doing nothing to quench his thirst for some genuine shivers. And in truth her act could even get him in trouble: someone might pass by, hear a teacher scream (albeit unconvincingly) and think he was attacking her or something. Which he was, technically, but not in a 'this might get you expelled' sort of way. So even though he was still more than a little disappointed his illusion hadn't sorted the desired effect, Gabe let out a sigh of relief when she apologized. And then, listening to her following words, he actually perked up, a tiny smile tentatively making its way on his face. “You really thought it was realistic? It's kinda tricky to really shape them from behind the door, and I focused really hard to get the rhythm right, but I figured it'd be like, uh... Shakespeare! Mess up the beat and the Bard is just not the same, right? Rhythm's important, so...” Gabriel's voice waned as he looked past the warm fuzzy feeling only a straight-A student could get from a teacher's praise and he finally realized exactly what she had said.

Slowly Gabriel took a couple of steps into the office and closed the door behind him, one hand awkwardly flying to rub his neck. “Wait. Respective supernatural secrets?” Wait, not the right word to stress. “Err, I mean- Supernatural secrets? I don't know what you're...” He didn't finish the sentence, he realized no one, lest of all Professor Beck, would ever buy it. Note to self: learn to come up with a decent lie when put on the spot. “Nevermind.” Gabriel blinked, once twice, three times as he felt the awkwardness of that pause weight on him like a heavy blanket. He drew little circles on the floor with the tip of his foot, unable to meet Professor Beck's gaze as he quickly added “Sorry. About the heart. I know you said you liked it -which we're totally gonna go back to eventually by the way... But, uh... Sorry about the intention behind the heart, I guess. I just...” His stomach chose right that moment to rumble loudly. “I'm really hungry.”

Morgan waited until the boy had closed the door and they were well and truly alone. She ached for her magic and good old fashioned silencing charms. Whatever confusion and discomfort she’d had around his trick was gone. He was too clumsy and good-natured for his own hunt. If she had been a hunter or some kind of heartless caster, he might be in a lot more trouble, and he put so much thought into his magic, he was so...eager. Morgan couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a young supernatural so positively engaged with their power and identity. She struggled not to smile as she said, “First of all, you really need to have your cover story in place before you do anything that might make a normie ask questions. You never know who’s going to turn out to be a hunter or an alarmist. You and I are fine, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it, but that may not always be the case.” She gestured for him to sit and reached into her bag for her pyrex, which had her brain stash, and her knife.

“Secondly, yes. The animal hearts I’ve seen are a little more purple-y, than that but not by much, and your average normie is definitely not going to notice any difference. And the texture of the blood? Amazing. We can and will circle back and it probably won’t take long because thirdly…” She eyed him warily. If anyone was going to not be terrified of what she was, it would be this kid, right? Nora hadn’t minded any, and whoever this boy was, he had her kind of fear magic. He thought bleeding hearts were cool, so maybe a whole zombie body might be something to feel excited about. Or at least...not something to flee in panic over. “Thirdly, first rule of supernatural club is you don’t talk about other people’s powers or species or whatever else without asking them. So I’m keeping this snack attack between you and me--well, I’ll tell my girlfriend, but I’ll leave anything specific to you out of it--and you’ll do the same for me. I uh, can’t help your food front, yet, but I can show you something about me that you might find….” Cool? “...Interesting.”

Morgan couldn’t help it; she smiled, she hoped. “How are you with real-life body horror? And how much would you like to see a real zombie…?”

Gabriel's fingers had a little spasm, desperate for a pen and a notepad. It was an automatic response, atavistic almost: when a teacher spoke, you took notes, and you listened and you learned. And man, was class fascinating today! Gabriel nodded, although part of him was so desperate to tell Professor Beck she didn't need to worry: he could become a 10 feet bundle of muscles and claws, he could defend himself. Then he remembered all those times his roommate had managed to draw penises on his face while he was snoring, and he realized that even an 800 lbs monster, when asleep, could easily be poisoned, suffocated, paralyzed... “Cover story is important, got it.”

As Professor Beck described the ideal heart, Gabriel tried to summon up a good image of it, but the result was somehow worse than the first one: less tangible, the heart illusion floated behind the professor, ghastly and practically see-through, such a pathetic attempt that he made it disappear without even showing the Professor. Gabriel frowned: why couldn't he do it anymore? Was it because he was running out of energy and needed a good scare? Or maybe it was because now he knew the Professor wasn't afraid of hearts, so his illusions would no longer be able to summon a heart for her? He would ask mami later, Gabe promised to himself: she was no bugbear, but with his father still doing his disappearing act she was the only one that had been able to give him any sort of info about those things. Until now.

“So basically supernatural powers or species is sort of like...” Gabriel paused, looked for the right metaphor, and then he perked up again. “S&M! Nothing inherently wrong with it, but some people don't really get or understand it so you gotta respect someone's choice to keep it on the DL.” Immediately he paled. Had he really just said that? To a professor? “Not that I know anything about S&M! I mean, that's not the point, the point is... Respect people's privacy, got it. I won't tell anyone about you, I swear.” Once again, Gabriel nodded solemnly, hoping that his awkwardness wouldn't make her doubt his sincerity as he raised his right hand up and made that promise, an oath he fully intended to keep.

Luckily for Gabriel, Professor Beck's next question brought the conversation back to a topic that was far more comfortable to him. “Body horror? Puh-lease! I'm majoring in Mortuary Science and yesterday I fell asleep watching The Hills Have Eyes... think I can handle some gor- Woah, wait, back up...” While during the rest of the conversation Gabriel's eyes had darted around the room, dancing between captive attention and awkward embarrassment , now they landed solely on the Professor, rudely staring. Normally Gabriel would have apologized about that, but all he could focus on right then was...“Did you just say... Zombie?” If the giant grin and wide-eyed excitement on his face didn't answer her doubts, the excited twitching probably would.

Morgan snorted with laughter at the boy’s comparison. More people knew about her species than the particulars of how she and her girlfriend frequently enjoyed sex together, and she didn’t know of anyone who was maimed for having a ball gag in their purse, but he was on the right track. “Oh, of course you don’t, totally just stuff you’ve heard around the dorms, strictly abstract, intellectual curiosity.” Her smile was knowing as she waved away the subject. There were a lot of things she was willing to speak to that other professors weren’t, but this wasn’t one of them.

The boy had put her so much at ease with his enthusiasm, she almost forgot to warn him. “What’s your name, by the way? This feels like a weird thing to demonstrate to just some kid in my office. But, anyway, brace yourself.” Morgan’s words were for herself too. It had been a while since she’d shown anyone this particular part of herself on purpose. She reached for the knife on her desk and raised it over her hand. She closed her eyes and imagined she was chopping carrots as she brought it down swiftly over her fingers.

There was a bite of pain, enough to make her whimper, but there were no tears, and by the time she opened her eyes and scooped up the two severed fingers to give to the boy, fresh white bone had sprouted from the sockets and red muscle and purple sinew were braiding themselves over it. The severed fingers did not bleed, per se, but dripped a few globs of black blood where they had been cut, but only when squeezed, like tube of toothpaste. “These’ll keep for about a day or two, if you want to stick them somewhere for somebody to find,” she said. “After that, they turn to goo.”

“Gabriel Rivera. Swear on mami's snake, I usually introduce myself before sharing secrets, but in my defense... Zombie.” There was still a hint of amazed incredulity in that last word, but any lingering doubt he may still have was quickly cut down with that swing of the Professor's knife. No matter how comfortable as Gabriel was watching gory movies or even studying the theory of preserving corpses, he still flinched out of concern for Professor Beck more than squeamishness. It was just a moment, and then he was back to enthusiastic curiosity. Without hesitation he grabbed the fingers and held them close to his face, squeezing a little and even sniffing them. He stopped short of tasting the dark blood and, after a few moments of enraptured studying, he looked up at the Professor again. “Did it hurt? Are you okay? Will they grow back?” She seemed pretty unfazed by the fact someone else was holding bits and pieces of her, though, so the questions continued rapidly, before she could answer. “Have you ever tried preserving them? I could stea- Borrow some embalming fluid from the lab and... Wait, is that offensive? Asking if I can keep your finger in a jar must be rude, I'm sorry. But just... Look at 'em!”

Gabriel traced the tip of her fingers with morbid fascination before closing his whole hand around them, like protecting some precious treasure. The Professor's words registered a second later. “Stick them somewhere for somebody? Wait, so you're saying you're not going to tell me I shouldn't scare people?” Not that he wanted to scare anyone, really, he just had to, as the waves of exhaustion made themselves known again. “Because I get it, it's not exactly nice. And, uh, I'd totally understand if you were upset about the heart or if, at the very least, you wanted me to just... Not scare people on campus. And I can totally do that, no feeding on school grounds is a reasonable rule! But since we're being so open I'll be honest.” Gabriel paused, a hint of guilt tinging his next words. “If you let me keep these I definitely will hide them somewhere. Pretty soon, too. And then I'll feed from whoever finds them. Kinda hoping it'll be Baker, since he's kind of an assh- A jerk. And then, after he runs away terrified and I'm no longer hungry I'll swoop in and retrieve them because I don't want the cops to close down the school to investigate your fingers. No need for a cover story if no one is the wisest, right?” Truth be told, Gabriel was proud of himself: between the pangs of hunger and the excitement of the Professor's revelations he thought it quite impressive that he'd managed to think ahead like that. Apparently moms with babies under cars had adrenaline bursts, teacher's pets trying to impress their new favorite Professor had bright ideas. “So, uh, if you want Baker to not see a severed finger maybe just...” It visibly pained him to finish that sentence and offer the fingers back, but he still did. “...Take 'em.”

“Yes, Gabriel, it hurt,” Morgan admitted, “But not to the same degree it would hurt you. And--” She waggled her hand in front of him. All the muscle had regrown on her once severed fingers and fresh skin was slowly growing from the knuckles upwards. “I’m fine. No need or interest in preservation. I can regrow anything but my head, which is great, because I can’t begin to tell you how many times my feet have been eaten by hungry critters here.” She determinedly kept up her blasé attitude, because at least this time she was in charge of what happened to her body. She didn’t need to feel like food or remember that to some creatures, even some people, she was only a thing. This was different. At least she and Gabriel were the same, and he understood the distinction between who she was and what she could do.

Satisfied, Morgan opened her pyrex and popped a brain meatball into her mouth, swirling it in some eyeball puree first. It would speed the re-growing process along and get the taste of fresh heart out of her head. “I should probably mention, the reason I wasn’t scared was because I kind of eat dead organs for dessert. Not really nutritious, but neither are candy bars, and that’s never stopped humans before. It’s like that.” She waved away Gabriel’s hand as he ate, insisting he keep the rather unconventional gift she’d handed him. “Oh, stars, what do you think I am? You’re, what, nineteen, maybe twenty? You’re a college kid, you need to eat! Granted, on campus is a big risk. But I understand that you need this.” And this gave her an idea. She scarfed down the rest of her food and ducked her head out of the office door. No one around, but there were some murmurs from the lower floors. Another class period had ended, and the Medievalist Bros’ lunch break was probably ending soon.

Morgan turned back to Gabriel, brow arched with a friendly challenge. “How do you feel about sticking a zombie finger inside a candy bar wrapper and telling a TA who still needs to respect women more that it came from a secret admirer?” She asked. “This will be easier if you have cash, but I don’t think my snack was so big that I can’t bust through some glass for a good cause. You can still save the other one for Baker. Also, side note, I really respect how fast you learn. But whatever you’re comfortable with, you should decide quickly, because my guess is we’ve got about five minutes to pull this off.”

Zombies were fascinating. Gabriel briefly wondered if there were any zombies working on movie sets, donating their limbs to get that perfect decomposing tint on the thousands of severed hands flying around during movies with a chainsaw-wielding maniac as the main character. Gabriel tried to listen to all the cool facts Professor Beck was spouting, but honestly it was hard for him not to get sidetracked by the gross, slopping noise of brains and smushed eyeballs being chewed. Not that it grossed Gabe out: he was actually memorizing it for his Scare Bank. “I'm 20,” He answered almost distractedly, with a small chuckle. “I only look younger thanks to my healthy diet.” Part of him was dying to ask about her diet: if organ snacks didn't cut it then what? Was the brain myth accurate? How come she was so present, so alert and aware? She moved like a living person, talked like one as well... Had she not claimed the title for herself Gabriel would have never guessed she was a zombie, not even after seeing her gulp down raw mashed livers. But something told him that was not a first meeting question, and the last thing he wanted was to upset the professor, so he kept those questions to himself. For now.

Gabriel's grin grew into a mischievous smirk as he listened to the Professor's plan. “Say no more, misogynistic dic- douchebags are my favorite meal! And it'll be the best two bucks I ever spent!” Acquiring the snack was easy, just a quick trip to the closest vending machine and back to her office, bless consumerism. Unwrapping the snack without tearing the plastic apart was a little bit trickier, but Gabriel was not going to ask the Professor to help, not after what she'd already done for him. Gabriel had finally managed to put one of the fingers inside the colorful wrapping. Not perfect, but hopefully the TA wouldn't notice. “Ready to go, just point me in that guy's direction and watch the magic happen.” He sounded more confident than he actually felt, but this time Gabriel's usual self-doubting and insecurities weren't enough to sully his excitement. “Also, do you want the candy? I'm not sure if you even can eat it. For all I know it's poisonous for you, like chocolate for dogs, and I definitely don't want to poison you.” The wrapped fingers almost fell as Gabe flailed and rushedly added “Not that I'm comparing you to a dog!!! And even if I did, hello, bear here! But, uh, what I mean is... You've been great, and I kinda feel like I owe you, so if you want candy it's all yours.” Another long pause. “Speaking of how great you've been, is this... Common for you? The whole reveal thing? Because it's a skill that might come in handy one day, really so I was wondering if I could maybe... Ask for your advice every now and then. Office hours only, of course!”

Morgan grinned, ducked her head out of the office door to listen. “Even better than that,” she whispered. She grabbed one of the spare chairs and tucked it near her own. “Have a seat here, and uh…” She grabbed one of the books stacked around her work and put it in front of Gabriel. “Look busy, or borrow it to read, if you want, I’ve got way more copies than I should really have.” She huddled near him. “The guy in question might be one of the people I share this office space with, so you can probably watch your handiwork play out if you really want. But, this is your scare, so you can do all the talking. Also, you can keep the candy. It’s not toxic, but it also doesn’t taste like much of anything to me.” She shrugged.

The TAs had made it to the hallway, making plans on how they were going to humiliate the competition on their next co-op game and how they were going to bribe the Anthro Babe into going out with Jeryn.

Morgan rushed herself, whispering rapid-fire, “And uh, about the reveals, I’ve only been dead nine months and I was a little depressed and graceless when I talked to my friends about it. I’ve been trying to work on it more recently, but you’re the first person I’ve told this month who didn’t feel the need to immediately run away. And I only made them check for my non-existent pulse.” She shrugged haplessly. “But, hey! Being dead is really different than eating fear. Maybe--”

Jeryn and his tweed wearing bros burst through the door.

“Maybe you should spend a little more time developing this post-colonial theory you’ve got!” Morgan turned to the TA’s, smiling sweetly. “Gentlemen. Nice to see you back.”

The shyest of the bunch flinched back, still traumatized from the time Morgan had threatened him with bloody murder. But Jeryn, the newest recruit to the program, was unphased. “Good day to you too, my lady. No girlfriend today? I came back early just to see you two.”

Morgan bit back her retort. Whatever she had to say wasn’t going to be nearly as satisfying as what Gabriel was going to do.

Gabriel sat down with his eyes glued to the book, but his mind was busy wrapping around Professor Beck's words. I've only been dead nine months. What do you say to something like that? The Grief Counseling classes included in his major often discussed how to talk to the family members of the deceased, the proper way to offer your condolences while keeping the professional detachment needed to help them through the trying process of accepting a loss, and yet Gabe had no clue regarding the proper etiquette to adress someone who had died. Luckily the door opened and spared him the awkwardness of replying.

When the TAs entered Gabriel was reminded of his high school's football team, only with tweed instead of letter jackets. Any hint of guilt he might have had at the fact he was about to scare, maybe even traumatize a young man was dissipated the moment Jeryn opened his mouth. Gabriel didn't need to look at the professor to recognize the target.

“Wait, it's you!” Gabriel did his best to sound surprised and annoyed at the same time as he stood up and approached Jaryn. “I thought Linda was making stuff up, but man you are something! Linda Blair, you know her?” Jaryn blinked. “The name sounds familiar, but I can't quite pla-” Gabe interrupted him. “She's been auditing your classes and just won't shut up about you, says her fingers literally fell off from refreshing your Facebook page.” As he spoke, Gabriel pretended to dig through his pocket for something, and after a few moments he produced the fake snack. “When I told her I had an appointment with Professor Beck she basically begged me to give you this. Think she wrote her number on it or something. Apparently the way you treated her made her feel things she just can't ignore, and she just has to meet you... Women, am I right?” The wink he offered Jaryn made him feel dirty inside, but it was for a good cause.

Everything on Jaryn's face seemed to scream 'Is she hot?' and sensing his reluctance Gabriel retreated his hand and started to tear the wrapper, raising it to his mouth as if to take a bite. It took all his effort not to gag as putrescine and cadaverine (They were decomposing already? So cool) assaulted his nose, but somehow Gabriel managed to keep his poker face on as he said “Hey, don't worry, you don't have to accept! I mean, honestly I was thinking about asking her out myself, so I was kinda hoping you wouldn't be here, I can tell her I-” Jaryn basically ripped the 'candybar' away from Gabe. “No need, kid. It'd be rude to refuse a thoughtful gift from... What was her name again?”

“Look inside...”

The female voice echoed through the office, repeating the name over and over, punctuating it with the occasional forlorn sigh. Gabriel's eyes were closed as he channeled his energy into the magic. “What the...?!” Jaryn and the other TAs looked around, tense. The more their panic grew, the easier it was for him to add whistles and bells to the trick. “Look what you did to me...” Jaryn turned to stare at the Professor, confusion and nervousness painted all over his pale face. “What's the meaning of this, Profe-” The door slammed shut. Or rather, the door sounded like it had been slammed shut, though it was all part of the illusion.

“LOOK!”

When a ghastly, disembodied voice barks an order at you, you obey. Or at least that seemed to be Jaryn's thought process. He went above and beyond the call of duty and clumsily tore the wrapper, revealing the two fingers inside. Gabriel had to hide a smirk. The smell of decomposition assaulted everyone in the room, magically enhanced by Gabe's illusions, and the sticky dark ooze coming out from the fingers added a layer of realism to the image of copious amounts of blood running down from the severed extremity. Gabe's magic couldn't give it weight or make Jaryn's hands actually wet, but Professor Beck's impeccable prop did the work for him. Jaryn's face paled and his terror... Man, his terror was prime. Gabe even let out a satisfied hum, almost a cat-like purr as he absorbed their fear, sharp and vibrant and oh-so-filling. After a few long moments Jaryn dropped the fingers inside a sizable pool of fake, intangible blood that had collected at his feet. Almost as if that were the signal they were all waiting for, the TAs snapped out of their petrified terror and trampled each other in a clumsy race to the door, their screams echoing across the hallways as they ran from the office.

With a satisfied sigh, Gabriel picked up the fingers, rubbed his belly and turned to the Professor, finally breaking down into a laughter that took a while to die down. Normally he would never be so informal around a teacher, but man he always felt ready to take on the world after an all-you-can-eat buffet like that. “So... Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Morgan did her best to keep her face straight, even disinterested, as Gabriel summoned the disembodied voice of a young woman into the room. She opened her laptop, watching Jeryn’s reflection through the screen. When he called out to her she looked at him confused. “What?”

The voice cried for everyone in the room to look, and Morgan, her face still bland and innocent as before, did. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself steady. His scream, shrill, throaty, and desperate, must have echoed through the entire hall.

“Aw, guys! What happened?” She called. “Come back, are you okay?”

When she could only hear their footsteps thundering to the bathroom, Morgan finally let out all the laughter she’d been holding in, tipping in her seat and covering her mouth to stop from getting any louder. “Are you kidding me? Gabe! That was amazing! I mean, the way his eyes looked like they wanted to melt! He sounded like a little kid when he screamed too! I’d be surprised if one of them didn’t piss themselves! Oh, stars, I can’t wait to tell him he screamed over a plastic toy when he comes back. This is way better than anything I could’ve done on my own. Seriously, you were--” She shook her head, speechless, and offered her hand up for a high five.

“Hang onto those so you can grab dinner tonight, or dessert,” she said, pointing to the fingers. “They won’t be any good after tomorrow, and I’d rather them go to a good cause than Besides, I can trust a fellow supernatural to look after them, right?” She smiled fondly at Gabriel, already certain that she could. “And, in case it wasn’t clear, I’m really glad you showed up to my office. I think you’d also like my lit seminar, but I hope this isn’t the last time I see you either way.”

Gabriel shook his head vehemently. He wasn't going to take all the credit, he was raised better than that. “Listen, you're the only reason it worked so well, it had weight! Lots of people can take the sight of horrible stuff because, well... TV, I think. But the feel of holding a severed piece of a human bo--teacher?! CSI can't prepare you for that.” Gabe nodded solemnly at his own words, as if he was the teacher and she the student. And then he finally realized her position. Was that a... Holy crap, it was. An actual high five! From a professor! It was almost surreal, but he'd promised to himself long ago he'd never leave anyone hanging. The high-five echoed through the office, to his ears even louder than his own illusions, and his huge grin threatened to split his face in half.

“I'm glad I showed up, too! Though now I better go, I kinda don't want them to come back and find me still here...” Truth be told, part of Gabriel was dying to just stay and ask her all sort of questions about herself, but he still wasn't sure he could trust himself not to put his foot in his mouth and ruin what felt like the luckiest meal of his life. “Oh, and by all means, mail me the deets on the seminar because I am so there...” It was only then that he realized, once more, that this was not one of his peers, this was a teacher, he shouldn't be so casual with her. Yet something about her demeanor had managed to put him at ease from the first moment, to the point where it was hard not to file the Professor under the Potential Friends category in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, that's exactly where she belonged.

#two fingers of death #wr gabriel #wr chatzy #wr gabriel chatzy #wickedswriting

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rubysunnday · 4 years

Note

Would you ever write a part 3 to Runaways? Maybe where the shelbys find them in America?

Runaways, part 3

A/N: Ask and you shall receive (I sound like a genie)

The first few months were hell.

The only apartment you could afford was a dingy, dark, damp flat in Harlem that never saw the sun. Finn struggled to find a job and you struggled to keep the only job you’d found - cleaning the apartments of the rich uptown.

It’d all changed when, four months after you’d arrived, an envelope filled with cash landed on your door matt.

“Finn?” You called, reading the scrap of paper that’d been included with the envelope.

“Huh?”

You handed Finn the envelope and the scrap of paper, wrapping an arm around his waist. “She knows where we are.”

Finn smiled. “Good. We can find somewhere in Greenwich or Uptown, now.”

“Or we could go somewhere else?”

Finn looked down at you. “Would you want to leave New York?”

You shrugged. “Well, there is this one house...”

Finn chuckled, kissing your forehead. “Ah, that’s the reason you want to stay, is it?”

You smiled up at him. “New York’s alright, I suppose. It’s got charm.” You chuckled. “It reminds me of Birmingham - and when I say that I mean all the bad things about Birmingham. The smell, the smog, the shit everywhere -”

“The rats?”

You giggled. “The rats.”

Finn sighed. “Do you ever miss it?”

“All the time,” you replied quietly. “But we can’t go back, Finn. Even if we wanted to.”

Finn nodded sadly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I know. But, if she knows...do you think everyone else has come round?”

“Maybe.” You paused, thinking. “Would you want to tell them where we are?”

Finn shrugged. “Maybe later, once we’ve moved.”

“If we move.”

“Well, you’re welcome to stay with the rats, sweetheart, but I would like to sleep somewhere that isn’t trying to kill me.”

~ 0 ~

The house you had your eye on was actually a small cottage on the outskirts of uptown. It was surrounded by beautiful fields filled with flowers and orchards and came with a stable.

You and Finn had bought the house and, with the left over money, bought two horses for the stables.

Two months after moving in, you discovered that you were pregnant.

Eight months later, you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

“She’s gorgeous, y/n,” Finn said softly as your daughter gripped onto his pinky finger. “She’s so, so beautiful.”

You smiled at your husband as he stared down at your daughter. “What do you want to call her?”

Finn looked up at you. “You’re letting me chose her name?”

“If you're sensible,” you replied, smirking.

Finn looked down at his daughter again, gently stroking her nose. “Peggy.”

You nodded. “Peggy Esme Shelby?”

Finn looked up at you, eyes filled with tears. “Are you sure?”

“She was just as important to me as she was to you. If John could be a female name I’d have called her that, my love.”

Finn kissed you, smiling. “We’ll just have to have another baby.”

“Ah, fuck now, I don’t really want to be pushing another 8 pound human out my vagina.”

Finn laughed. “Alright, alright.” He smirked. “I’ll ask you again in a year.”

~ 0 ~

“I cannot believe you let this happen,” you muttered.

Finn chuckled as he gently rocked his son in his arms. “I told you.”

“You didn't have to carry him around for nine months and fucking push him out,” you grumbled, stroking your two year old daughter’s hair as she slept next to you.

“I've been thinking,” Finn said quietly, sitting down on the bed next to you.

“Oh, we know that’s not good for you,” you replied, smiling.

“Shush,” Finn said, gently nudging you. “Would you be ok with his name being John Arthur Shelby?”

You paused. “Are you sure?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah. If you’re alright with it?”

You reached up and put a hand on Finn’s cheek. “Finn, my love, it’s your decision. I love the name and if you’re alright with it, then that’s what we’ll call him.”

Finn smiled, leaning up and kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, kissing him back.

~ 0 ~

“If Tommy knew about this -”

“He’d either find it hilarious or be deeply insulted.”

You chuckled as Finn struggled to get the stallion you’d just bought into the field. “I cannot believe you’ve named the stallion, the most stubborn horse I’ve ever met, after your brother.”

Finn laughed. “It’s only suitable. A stubborn arsehole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Tommy in a nutshell,” you summarised.

Finn finally managed to get the horse into the field and sighed happily as he shut the gate, walking over to you.

“Where’s Peggy and John?”

“In the field with the lambs,” you replied, nodding to where your five year old daughter and your two year old son were playing with the lambs. “Why?”

Finn sighed, his hand snaking around your waist. “I think we should go to Birmingham.”

You looked up at him. “Move or visit?”

Finn paused. “Visit. I love our life here, Y/N, I do but...I miss them.”

You nodded. “I know I didn’t know them for long but...I miss them too, Finn.” Your hand grasped his. “I think that Polly deserves to meet her grandniece and nephew too.”

“Are you sure?” Finn asked, resting his chin on your head.

“Yeah...it’s been almost six years, I’d hope they’ve moved on,” you replied. “And if it all works out, we can think about moving back. Because, despite what you say, Finn, my love, I know you hate America.”

“They’re so weird.”

“I know they are, Finn, I know.”

~ 0 ~

Birmingham hadn’t changed in the six years you’d been gone.

It was still as dirty, smoggy and as bleak as ever yet it still felt like home.

“Are you alright?” You asked, glancing at your husband as you walked down Watery Lane.

Finn nodded. “Fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I agree with mummy,” Peggy piped up.

You chuckled at your daughter. “See, Peg’s agrees with me.”

Finn rolled his eyes at you and Peggy. “I’m just nervous, it’s been a while.”

“And we now have a son and a daughter and a farm.”

“When did our lives get so weird?” Finn asked, shaking his head.

Number 6 Watery Land came into view and Finn slowed down slightly.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “We can do this, Finn,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I trust you.”

Finn nodded, squeezing your hand back. “Let’s do this.”

He stepped forward and knocked firmly on the black door. He stepped back and sighed nervously.

You glanced at Finn as the front door was unlocked and gave him a comforting smile.

Ada Thorne swung open the door and stare at you.

“Hi, Ada,” Finn said, waving with the hand that wasn’t holding his son’s.

“Holy shit,” Ada whispered, still staring. She took a step forward. “I...”

You smiled at her. “We were getting homesick and thought you deserved to meet your niece and nephew.”

Ada’s eyes turned to look at Peggy and John, moving back up to you and Finn. “Holy fucking hell,” she said again, stepping forward and hugging you and Finn tightly.

“We missed you too, Ada,” Finn muttered, resting his head on his sister’s shoulder as she hugged him.

Ada let go and crouched down, turning to face her niece and nephew. “And who’s this?”

You gently pulled Peggy forward. “This is Peggy Esme Shelby,” you said, your daughter hiding behind your legs slightly. “Peg’s, this is your Aunt Ada, the one we told you about.”

“Hi Auntie Ada,” Peggy said, smiling. She stepped forward and hugged Ada.

Ada looked up at you as she returned the hug and you chuckled quietly at the tears in her eyes. “Hi.”

“I’m John.”

You sighed. “Johnny, we’ve discussed this,” you said, glancing down at your son. “Wait your turn.”

Ada looked at John. “John what?”

“John Arthur Shelby,” your son said proudly, smiling as he hugged his aunt.

Ada glanced between you and Finn. “You named him after John and Arthur?”

“Finn’s idea,” you said, nudging him with your elbow. “Felt like it was the best name for him.”

Ada smiled as she stood up. “I can’t believe you’re here. I...I just can’t.”

“Ada, what the fuck is taking so long?”

You laughed. “Arthur’s still here, then?”

“Can’t fucking get rid of him,” Ada muttered. “Do you want to come in?”

“We came all this way,” Finn replied, shrugging. “And I trust you.”

“I’ve got your back,” Ada told you, nodding.

She led you inside Number 6, shutting the door behind you.

“Finally!” Arthur exclaimed, his voice drifting to you from the shop. “Who the fuck was at the door?”

Ada stepped aside as you and Finn stood in the doorway, staring at the Shelby family.

Complete silence fell over the room.

“Holy shit,” Polly whispered, staring.

“I thought swearing was bad, mummy?” Peggy whispered, pulling on your skirt.

“Yeah, no, it is, Peggy,” you replied, crouching down. “But, Great Aunt Polly is a bit surprised...well, most of the people in the room are, probably.” You looked up at the surprised family. “Peggy, John, these are the Aunt’s and Uncle’s we’ve been telling you about.”

John stepped out from behind Finn. “Uncle Arthur?” He asked, pointing at Arthur. “The one who stole my name?”

Finn laughed. “We named you after him.”

John sulked. “Bit rude.”

Arthur blinked. “Fuck me,” he muttered, staring at your son. “Is he yours?”

“I fucking hope so,” you replied, standing up. “We were getting homesick and thought you all deserved the chance to meet the new Shelby's. I’m sorry about what happened and how we left things but we want to try and make amends.”

“You two didn’t do anything wrong,” Polly said, stepping forward and hugging you tightly. “We did.”

You hugged your Aunt - in - law tightly. “I missed you, Pol,” you whispered, resting your head against her.

“We missed you too, sweetheart,” Polly replied, letting go and kissing your forehead. “Finn, you look amazing.”

Finn laughed. “Thanks, Pol.”

Polly hugging you and Finn seemed to break the surprise and tension in the room and soon the rest of the family stepped forward.

“I’m sorry about before,” Arthur said, standing in front of you.

You grabbed his hand. “Arthur, it’s all in the past, love.” You stood on your tip - toes and hugged your brother - in - law tightly. “Besides, you’re the only family I’ve got left.”

Arthur hugged you back. “You were always a Shelby, sweetheart. Just took us a fucking long time to accept that.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

Arthur let go as Tommy’s booming voice echoed around the shop.

You didn’t miss the way Arthur stood slightly in front of you and Peggy, evidently wanting to shield you from Tommy if things went ugly.

“Hi, Tom,” Finn said, standing up straighter.

“Finn, Y/N, you’re back,” Tommy said, taking his coat off. “With children.”

You looked at Tommy. “Look, Tom, we wanted you all to have the chance to meet Peggy and John, your niece and nephew.”

Tommy stepped forward, cigarette between his fingers. “You named him after John?”

“And Arthur,” John piped up, emerging from behind Ada and walking up to Tommy and extending a hand. “Hi, Uncle Tom.”

You pressed your lips together as you struggled not to laugh.

Tommy raised an eyebrows as he crouched down in front of John. “Hello, John. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tommy said, shaking his nephew’s hand. He put his cigarette between his lips and lifted John up into his arms.

“So, you’re alright with me now?” You asked, watching him.

Tommy looked at you with a hint of a smile. “Y/N, I apologise for what happened in the past. But I want you to know that you’re welcome here whenever.”

You visibly relaxed, sighing quietly. “I’m glad.”

“I do have one complaint, however,” Tommy said, walking forward. “Why’s my respective child?”

You chuckled, glancing at Finn. “Ah, he’s back in America.”

Tommy frowned. “Oh, why?”

Finn snorted as you paused, trying to think of a way to explain it.

“Well,” Finn began, “we thought two were enough, so...”

“Your respective child is the new stallion we bought a month ago who’s a stubborn arsehole,” you finished, smiling. “Thought it was suitable.”

Tommy shook his head, smiling as the rest of the family burst out laughing. “A stubborn arsehole horse,” Tommy muttered, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette. “Seems perfect.”

You laughed. “We thought so too, Tommy.”

Peggy suddenly ran forward and hugged Tommy’s legs. “Hi Uncle Tommy.”

You sighed, despairingly. “Now she likes you.”

Arthur laughed, patting you on the back as he kissed your cheek. “Welcome home, y/n.”

You shook your head as Peggy and John began bombarding Tommy and Michael with questions, talking a million miles an hour.

“I really need a drink,” you muttered, dropping your head onto Arthur’s shoulder as Finn went to rescue his brother and cousin. “Preferably more than one.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #finn Shelby x reader #finn shelby

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amanda-teaches · 4 years

Text

Middle of Nowhere

Summary: You take a road trip with your best friend to get your mind off a broken relationship. Will a man living in the middle of nowhere help you do just that?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Square filled: Free Space for @spnfluffbingo, Road Trip for @spndeanbingo, and “We’re sooo over.” “Fine by me!” for @spnquotebingo

Word Count: 3753

Warnings: Nothing major. It’s mostly cute, fluffy fun with a little humor thrown in. A little bit of angst and swearing, but I think it’s barely there.

A/N: A while ago, @supernatural-jackles, was holding these weekly writing challenges with prompts to inspire writers. I saved one of these prompts, even after all this time, and it finally inspired me to write this fic. So thanks, Jen, all these months later, for holding those challenges. They did help! If anyone else is looking for a little inspiration/encouragement, you can find all the weeks here. My prompt was “Hold my hand dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!”

It seemed like the further you got away from civilization, the clearer your mind got, but, even in the outskirts of the middle of nowhere, your mind never seemed to be able to escape him.

“What’cha thinking about?”

You glanced over at your best friend, Becca, who was staring inquisitively at you from across the car’s center console. Shaking your thoughts away, you smiled. “Uh, nothing,” you lied, turning your attention to the long, deserted road in front of you, surrounded on both sides by endless fields of grass. “Just wondering how much longer we have.”

Becca studied you closely for a second before her eyes widened. “Liar! You’re totally thinking about James.”

You blushed and shook your head. “I am not,” you objected, but the shake in your voice betrayed you. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“Y/N,” she sighed, her whole body rising and falling dramatically in a way that was so distinctly Becca, “the whole point of this trip is to get your mind off that...that...that ninny!”

“Ninny?” you smirked, struggling not to laugh.

“Yes, ninny,” she repeated resolutely, ignoring your amusement altogether and plunging on. “Besides, we’ve been over this. Dumping you was his loss. You’re wayyyyy too good for him anyway.”

You groaned. Knowing it was fruitless to argue, you decided to change the subject. “How much longer again, Bec?”

Becca looked down at the gigantic paper map in her lap and unfolded it one more time. “Well, according to this, we just passed a town called...Lawrence, which means that Topeka should be...uh…” She paused, turning the map upside down and her head to the side. “Soon?”

You sighed heavily, rolling your eyes heavenward. “Ugh, I knew we should’ve stayed on the interstate. Becca, we’re lost.”

Becca turned the map over a few more times, her speed becoming more frenzied with each turn. “No we’re not, we’re….” She looked up and let out a sigh. “Yeah, we’re lost.”

“Great,” you groaned, taking one hand off the wheel to pick up your phone. “And, there’s no signal out here. What are we going to do?”

“Just keep driving, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “Wait a second...I think there’s a house up there.”

You looked out the windshield, only just making out the outline of a house in the distance. “So?”

“Sooo, why don’t we stop and ask for directions?”

You let out a chuckle. “Are you serious? You just want to stop at some random stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere, walk up, ring the doorbell, and ask for directions? What if they’re dangerous?”

Becca laughed and shook her head. “Y/N, come on, this isn't the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It’s fine! Let’s just stop. It’s better than being lost for ten hours, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” you acquiesced, begrudgingly slowing the car and pulling off onto the dirt off-shoot that led towards the house. As you got closer and the house grew in size, you noticed two men working on the wraparound porch. “Let’s just hope they’re friendly…” you whispered.

Dean looked up at the sound of the car driving up, taking in the small white sedan with a frown. “Sammy, look.”

Sam glanced up at his brother out of habit before following his gaze to the car that had just pulled up. Leaving his sandpaper on the ground, he stood up and brushed his hands on his jeans. “You expecting company?”

“Nope,” Dean replied quickly, stepping in front of Sam with his legs spread, his shoulders squared, and his hands in fists at his side. “Who d’you think it is?”

“No idea,” Sam shrugged, stepping forward to join his brother as the car doors flew open. “But, I guess we’re about to find out.”

The two men watched as a 20-something, attractive brunette woman exited the passenger side. She had a wide smile on her face as she turned to look back into the car, talking to someone as she nodded her head. With a laugh, she spun around and began walking towards the porch steps, but Dean’s attention was drawn away from her to the woman stepping out from the driver’s side door.

She was absolutely breathtaking. Her hair was swept up in a messy bun that was somehow gorgeous and effortless all at the same time, and her simple white t-shirt and jeans fit her perfectly, showing off the curves she had in all the right places. “Damn…” he whispered under his breath, quickly closing his eyes and resteeling himself to hide the effect she’d had on him before she got close enough to notice.

Her friend got there first, bounding up the steps, her smile widening as she got a good look at them. “H...hi….” she whispered, stretching out her greeting, her eyes widening with interest at the sight of Sam. “I’m Becca, and this is my friend, Y/N.” She nodded her head back at her friend, who had stopped at the bottom of the steps, crossing her arms over her chest, just like Dean. “We’re on our way to Topeka and we seem to have gotten a little lost. Would you mind telling us the way?”

“Oh, sure,” Sam said, his smile turning easy and welcoming, drawing Becca in, much to Dean’s dismay. As he talked, Dean chose to ignore him, instead dropping his eyes to look down at the woman’s friend. Y/N. Her name was Y/N, and, judging by the glare on her face, she wasn’t the least bit happy to be here.

He liked her already.

“...yeah, so then once you pass the old barn, you’ll hit the interstate. Easy as that.”

“Great, thanks,” Becca said, lingering to stare at Sam. Dean could even swear he saw her eyelashes actually bat. “We realllly appreciate it,” she muttered, placing her hand on his arm with a wide smile.

As Dean began to roll his eyes, Y/N sighed loudly, practically huffing her exasperation, making him stop to crack a smile. He really liked this one.

“Come on, Bec, let’s go,” she pleaded, her eyes meeting Dean’s for the briefest of seconds before she looked away.

Becca’s face fell in disappointment. “Okay, okay!” she agreed, turning around, yelling back over her shoulder as she did. “Thanks again for your help!”

Dean watched Y/N retreat for a second before smiling slowly and speaking up. “You won’t be able to go that way.”

Becca and Y/N stopped in their tracks, spinning at the exact same time. “What?”

“Yeah, what?” Sam asked, turning towards Dean with confusion in his eyes.

Dean unfolded his arms and stepped forward, resting his arms on the railing. “I was just out that way this morning. The road washed out in last night’s storm. It’ll be at least a few days before it’s passable again.”

Y/N stepped forward, her concern at his words overriding her earlier standoffishness. “What do you mean a few days?”

“I mean a few days,” he answered casually, grinning at her. “The road’s underwater right now, so you definitely won’t be able to cross it anytime soon.”

She huffed as Dean chuckled, rolling her eyes at him before turning her head to address Sam. “Is there any other way to Topeka? Maybe back the way we came?”

Sam shook his head, his eyes turning sympathetic. “I’m afraid not. They’re doing construction on the road between Lawrence and Topeka, so it’s closed for the next month. You’d have to go the long way around, which would take you a full extra day of driving. The washed out road’s the only direct way.”

“Great…” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air as she turned to Becca. “What are we going to do now?”

She shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to head back to Lawrence and find a place to stay for the night.”

“You can stay here,” Sam volunteered, making everyone look his way in shock.

“What?!” Y/N stammered, at the exact same time Becca cried out, “We’d love too!”

In this case, Dean was firmly on Y/N’s side. He stepped over to his brother and grabbed his arm, turning his back to the women and dropping his voice so only Sam could hear. “Dude, what’re you doing?”

Sam shrugged. “They need a place to stay.”

“Yeah, they can stay in town. Just because you’re hot for the brunette…”

“Hey,” Sam objected. “I am not! They just need a place to stay.”

“Yeah, sure, Romeo,” Dean said, stepping away with a resigned shake of his head. “Let’s just turn our house into a quaint little B’n’B.”

Sam ignored him and moved down the stairs. “You’re more than welcome to stay here. It’ll be nicer than any motel you’ll find in Lawrence.”

Becca beamed and nodded quickly. “That’d be great! You’re so sweet to offe...”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Y/N interjected, pulling her friend back. She walked her back a few feet, away from Sam, and dropped her voice. Luckily, it wasn’t low enough that Dean couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“Becca, you can’t be serious!”

“What?”

“We’re not really staying here!”

“Why not? Sam said it’d be nicer than any motel.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what they all say…How do you know they’re not murderers?”

Dean smiled at that, unable to resist messing with her. “For the record, we’re not murderers.”

She paused to glare at him before turning back to Becca. “That’s exactly what a murderer would say.”

“Okay,” Sam said, stepping forward to interrupt the girls. “I promise we’re not murderers.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Wait, a second, how do you know motel owners aren’t murderers?”

Y/N whipped her head around so fast, he nearly got whiplash. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered, but he just laughed and winked, making her roll her eyes for the upteenth time.

Sam reached his hand out, playing the role of peacemaker. “Y/N, please stay. It’s a five bedroom house, we’ve got plenty of room, and I promise it won’t be that bad.”

Becca shot Y/N her best begging eyes. “Please? It’s only for one night.”

Y/N looked back and forth between the three of them before groaning. “Fine, ONE night, but I swear if we get murdered, I’m so haunting all of you.”

One night somehow ended up turning into five.

Sam and Becca quickly bonded, with Becca making every excuse in the book to stay and play house with him. You’d tried to convince her to leave, given that the whole point of this trip to Toledo was to distract you, but you didn’t really have the heart to make a big fuss, especially seeing how happy she was around Sam, so you stayed.

But, it wasn’t quite what you expected from your vacation. With Becca being all starry-eyed over Sam, that left you spending an awful lot of time with Dean. Less than a week ago, you would’ve thought that was the worst thing in the world, but it turned out to be the exact opposite.

He was weirdly funny, insanely silly, and surprisingly...caring. The first night, you’d been determined to avoid him, thinking the stay was only temporary, but once Becca had run off with Sam, you hadn’t been left much of a choice. And, Dean, Dean was fun. You laughed when you were with him, whether that was grilling burgers in the backyard, helping him paint the porch while he dramatically pretended to fall off of it, or spending the evenings curled up by the fireplace with him, listening to the deepest tracks of Zeppelin.

You tried not to read too much into it, the way you felt around him, relaxed and carefree and just so completely unlike how you’d been feeling for the last few months with James. Maybe it was a good thing he’d dumped you. Maybe, just maybe, a guy like Dean was exactly what you…

“Y/N?”

You shook yourself out of your reverie, glancing up to see Dean staring back at you. He was bent under the hood of your car, his face streaked with oil, looking up at you like you’d lost your mind. “Uh, you ok? You kinda went to a whole different place there.”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, looking down at the floor and crossing your arms over your chest. “Just tired, I guess. How’s it coming along?” you asked, eager for a change of topic.

He regarded you for just a beat longer, uncertainty clouding his eyes, before he looked back at the car, choosing to move on like you wanted. “Um, pretty good, actually. I’m just about done.”

He straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and grinned at you. “You know, you should’ve had your oil changed a long time ago. It was like a river of sludge in there. I’m surprised I didn’t drown.”

“Ha ha, you dork,” you laughed, playfully hitting him on the arm. “Besides, not all of us treat our cars better than people like you do.”

“Hey, Baby’s not just any car,” he corrected, feigning offense. “She’s a classic.”

“Mhmm,” you chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

You turned to walk away, but Dean ran to catch up with you, moving in front of you so he was walking backward. “Actually, I was just on my way to wash her. Want to help?”

You stopped walking and looked up into his eyes, thinking about it for a second. On one hand, you knew that the more time you spent with Dean, the harder it would be to leave, but, on the other hand, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him. “Sure, I’d love to.”

“Great,” he said, his whole face lighting up. He took your hand and pulled you along, and you couldn’t help the blush that sprinkled across your face. He led you around the house and straight into the back garage, where his black ‘67 Impala was waiting. “There she is!” he announced proudly, spreading his arms out wide. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, running your hand across the hood. “She’s beautiful, Dean.”

He studied you for a second, a small smile gracing his face. When your eyes met with his, he frowned and looked away, busying himself with something near his shoe. “Oh, okay, then. Let’s get started.”

He turned to the shelves lining the far wall and grabbed a bucket and some sponges, moving to fill it with water from the nearby hose. Once it was full, he added some soap and handed one of the wet sponges to you. “You take the left, I’ll take the right?”

“Deal,” you agreed, walking over to the left side of the car. You started sliding the sponge back and forth and smiled over the hood of the car at Dean. “So, when did you get this car?”

“A while ago. It was my dad’s. He left it to me just before he died.”

Your face fell. “Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s cool,” he said, continuing to stare at his sponge instead of making eye contact. “It was a long time ago.”

You watched as he moved his sponge slowly from side to side, lost in thought. You mirrored his actions for a minute, focusing on your side of the car before you stopped. With your attention on the sponge, you formulated a plan, grinning and looking back up at Dean. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?” he asked, but, the second he looked up, a large splash of water hit him in the face, courtesy of the sponge you were still holding in your hand. “Oh, you didn’t…”

“I did,” you nodded, grinning widely as you watched him wipe the soap away from his face.

“Well, you know what that means?” he asked devilishly, raising his own sponge while you shook your head frantically and started backing away. “This is war!”

His last word was raised in an enthusiastic shout, and he took off running towards you, his sponge held out like a weapon. You squealed and spun away, racing out of the garage and back around to the front of the house, but he was faster, easily overtaking you and catching you around the waist, lifting you up into the air. You struggled, laughing as he moved the sponge all over your face and shoulders, soaking you. “Truce, truce!”

His hot breath hit your ear, his hold not lessening. “Promise?”

“I promise!” you laughed, exhaling as he placed you on the ground, spinning you around so that you were facing him, standing chest to chest. You were both soaked and breathing heavily, but that didn’t stop your heart from racing when you realized how close you were. “Dean…”

“Yeah?” he asked, brushing his knuckles down the side of your face, his hand stopping to linger on your neck, playing with the strands of hair that were resting there. You stared up into his eyes and momentarily forgot how to breathe.

“I want…” Your attention was drawn by movement beyond Dean’s shoulder and you raised onto your tiptoes, instantly recognizing the approaching car as it drew closer. “To kill him, oh my God!”

“Me, too...wait, what?” Dean blinked, totally lost, but you ignored him, pushing past him to look at the car.

“I can’t believe he’s here! How’d he find me?”

Dean turned, still trying to work out what was happening as he followed your gaze. “Who?”

You groaned. “My ex, James.” You looked back at Dean, an idea forming in your head. “Quick, you have to pretend to be my new boyfriend.”

He grinned at that, his eyes widening. “I have to what?”

“Hurry!” you rushed, grabbing his arm and pulling him with you up onto the porch. “He’ll be here any second.”

You and Dean stepped up onto the porch’s landing just as the car stopped, and you turned around, yanking Dean at the same time so he was anchored next to you.

“Ouch,” he joked.

“Stop it, he’s coming!”

He smiled and leaned down, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I thought I was a murderer.”

“Shut up,” you shushed him, your eyes falling to his hand. “Hold my hand, dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!”

He chuckled but grabbed your hand anyway. Pulling you in front of him, he transferred your hand to his other one, wrapping both of his arms around you so you were leaning against his chest. Good, he was really selling it, you thought, resisting the sudden urge to breathe him in. Damn intoxicating man scent.

James was nearly to you now, his expression turning into a glare when he saw who you were with. “Y/N, who’s this?”

“None of your business, James. How’d you find me?”

“I still have your find my phone linked,” he said, holding up his iPhone. “Seriously, who the hell is this?”

You frowned, finding the anger you had stored inside. Stepping away from Dean, you confronted him head on. “He’s my new boyfriend, not that it matters. You dumped me, James. I don’t owe you any explanation.”

He pasted a smile on, but you could see the insincerity behind it. Standing in front of a man like Dean, you wondered what you ever could have seen in a man like James. “Y/N, I still love you.”

“Tough,” you snapped. “We’re over. Now, leave and never contact me again.”

He stepped forward. “Y/N…”

“She told you to leave,” Dean said, moving in front of you, his whole demeanor hardening. He crossed his arms across his chest, and, although you couldn’t see his face, you knew his expression must have been more than a little terrifying, based on James’ reaction. You were glad he was on your side.

“I just want to talk to her.”

“Nuh uh,” he growled. “You’re done here. Like she said, she’s with me now.”

James looked at the two of you, suspicion growing. “That doesn’t sound like the Y/N I know, moving on with some creep in the middle of nowhere so fast. I doubt you two are really a thing. Y/N, please, just drop this whole charade and let me explain.”

Dean chuckled, looking back at you. “You hear that? He doesn’t think we’re really together.”

“Yeah, I don’t,” James said, resolutely. “I know Y/N.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” you shouted before you grabbed Dean’s shirt and spun him around, pulling him in for a kiss.

He was surprised at first, you could tell, but he recovered quickly, his lips pushing back against yours with just as much fervor. He moved his hand down to your hip, drawing you closer to him with a growl, and you felt a shock of heat run straight through you. By the time he pulled back, you were breathless. Your hands were tangled in his hair, but you had absolutely no idea how they’d gotten there. Frankly, you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was kiss him again.

You completely forgot you had an audience until James cleared his throat. “Well, I guess you really are together. We’re sooo over.”

Not even taking your eyes off of Dean’s, you smiled, responding freely for the first time in a long time. “Fine by me! Bye, James.”

You heard him get back in his car, but it didn’t even faze you, your full attention on the grin spreading across Dean’s face. You laughed and tightened your grip in his hair. “So…”

“So,” he repeated, trailing his hand lazily up and down the side of your torso, “I guess this means I can’t murder you now, huh?”

You shook your head, laughing even harder. “Wow, you really are such a dork. I can’t believe...” But, he captured your lips before you could finish, kissing you long and slow, lingering like he never wanted to pull away.

“Oh my God, I knew it!”

You drew your head back, turning to find Becca and Sam standing in the doorway. Becca was smiling and practically jumping up and down, but Sam looked just as happy, taking in the two of you together. “I guess this means you’re staying around a little longer?”

You looked up at Dean, seeing the hopeful excitement in his face, and you nodded, intertwining your fingers with his. “Mhmm. I think I may have found what I was looking for.”

His eyes lit up. “Damn, I hope so,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, audience be damned.

Dean Tags- @akshi8278 @whimsicalrobots @dean-winchesters-bacon @adoptdontshoppets @alexwinchester23 @squirrelnotsam @deanwinchesterswitch

Forevers- @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @katymacsupernatural @impandagrl @impala-dreamer @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @be-amaziing @jalove-wecallhimdean @there-must-be-a-lock @mysterious-398 @hannahindie @emoryhemsworth @ohmychuckitssamanddean @wi-deangirl77 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @ericaprice2008 @masksandtruths @roxyspearing @squirrel-moose-winchester @sweetpeamoose @babypieandwhiskey @deans-dirty-writer @roxy-davenport @heyitscam99 @spnbaby-67 @mogaruke @atc74 @dolphincliffs @closetspngirl @maddiepants @pinknerdpanda @focusonspn @deanwanddamons @wonderfulworldofwinchester

#spnfluffbingo #spndeanbingo #spnquotebingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 158 prt 1

158

Lance’s scan went well. Their twins were doing well, better than Lance felt at any rate. He and Keith had gone shopping. Keith had sprung it on him after the scan results were positive. Confused as to where his boyfriend was taking him, as it clearly wasn’t back to the apartment or Garrison, Lance had started crying when Keith’s surprise became clear. He’d been worrying himself over what had been said in the toilets. Worrying that Keith would work it out, and no longer love him. Neither of them had been “gay” before meeting each other. Lance wasn’t sure what to describe his sexuality as. Men were hot. Women were hot. He could appreciate both, but Keith was a whole next level batting out of his league kind of deal. Keith might be tall, broad, grizzled and sexy as all heck, but he was so much more than that. He was funny. He was smart, funny, coffee addicted, and there wasn’t anything he’d change about his boyfriend.

Heading into the store, Lance knew it took a lot of courage on Keith’s behalf. The store’s car park had been pretty full, large signs in the windows declared some kind of sale. Keith grabbed a shopping cart, anything he liked his boyfriend wanted to buy. Lance felt the exact same way... Even if he was the more practical one of the two. The vampire only had a couple of rules for their shopping trip; practicality came first and they didn’t need super duper fancy when something simple would do the job.

Steered away from the cute onesies, Lance once again was clueless. There was so much to look at, his hands resting on his baby bump, trying to take everything in. That’s when he realised. Keith was leading him to maternity clothes and he could have kissed his boyfriend for it. There was absolutely no way to hide his bump now. The clothes Keith had bought him only just covering the roundness of his stomach. Tears rolled down his face, excited as heck for new clothes that’d fit his changing body. Keith misinterpreting his tears, trying to stutter out asking what was wrong as Lance tried to reassure him they were happy tears.

Though feeling self conscious as he looked at all the flowery and flowing materials, Keith urged him to pick whatever he wanted. He’d always dressed himself somewhat neatly, much preferring the fashion of now to short short and jeans that suffocated his testicles. He couldn’t help but blush hard at putting in a couple of maternity bra’s. He didn’t exactly have breasts, but he didn’t not at the same time. Keith seemed to love them. Especially during sex where he’d hold Lance’s breasts instead of his hips. His boyfriend was definitely more okay with the changes in Lance’s body than Lance was, but that was okay because it meant Keith still accepted him for him and not his body.

The next wave of tears hit hard as they looked at cots. Lance wanted a room the twins could grow in. Some place filled with love and comfort, he was hit with wondering if Krolia wanted the same when she was pregnant with Keith. She’d probably had so many hopes and dreams, without the thought of having to abandon him in the future. Noticing Keith staring down into the crib, he moved to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s waist. This had to be hard for Keith. To be wondering the same thing. To have spent years thinking his mother didn’t love him. Nuzzling into Keith, Keith turned his face to kiss Lance on the forehead. The gesture soft and sweet, making Lance smile with the amount of love he felt for his boyfriend. He loved Keith, and he loved being with him, but lately he’d found himself really needing time with his Gremlin. Pidge might not be overly maternal, yet she gave him a level of comfort that he longed for. That his sister would come to his house threw things out of whack. Pidge was more of a sister to him than his own sisters.

“You worried about being a daddy?”

Nosing Keith’s cheek, Lance knew he was. Keith had been acting a little strange in the way he was ignoring Krolia. Shiro mentioned Krolia called because Keith wasn’t picking up his phone. Lance left to wonder if it was because he wanted to go back to the house or if Keith had other things on his mind. He wanted to be able to chalk it all down to this planned surprise but that didn’t feel entirely right. The only logical conclusion he had was that Keith was internally panicking over being a daddy all over again

“I don’t know if I can be a good dad. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to choose a cot... like... what if I choose wrong? What if they die because I chose wrong?”

That was being a tad dramatic

“All of them have to conform to a certain safety standard these days. I was looking online a little and you can get cots that convert to toddler beds”

“That sounds like a smart idea. I’m sorry, this was my idea but I don’t even know where to start”

“We start with the basics. Shit, shower and sleep. So, cots, a baby bath, and I don’t think we really need a change table”

Keith snorted with laughter

“I don’t think you have to be so blunt”

“I’m just saying, they’re like the real basics we need”

“We haven’t even picked a theme or a colour for the nursery”

“Maybe we can choose it together based on the furniture? The only thing I was going to keep in there was the chest of drawers”

That made sense, right? Like repainting a wall to highlight a certain picture... Then again, decoration wasn’t Keith’s strong point. Red on black, with more black was how his boyfriend rolled

“But... like... bedding? How do we pick bedding?”

As long as it wasn’t black, Lance wasn’t fussy

“That’s easy. If it’s soft and nice it comes home with us”

“I don’t think it works that way”

“It does now. You’re going to be the greatest daddy to our twins. I know you don’t believe it, but I firmly do”

“I feel... out of my depth”

If only Keith could peek inside his mind and see how unalone he was with those thoughts. Keith was blissfully ignorant to his internal struggles with his boyfriend being labeled by an idiot. Shiro had been right. Each time he’d started to feel shitty about Keith being slandered, all he had to do was think about everything good inside Keith and how that idiot had no clue about his boyfriend

“So do I. I had a bit of practice growing up, before Luis became a dick. We’ll work everything out together”

And they did. Keith found a convertible bed he like while Lance found a change table he absolutely loved. There were drawers. Drawers and an inbuilt bin. The second he saw it he knew it was a game changer. Fluttering his eyelashes at his boyfriend, Keith snatched up to of the paper slips for the cots before jogging over to him. Lance hadn’t meant to wander away. The change table completely to blame as it lured him over.

Looking the piece of furniture up and down, Keith frowned at him

“I thought you didn’t want a change table”

That frown wasn’t bring down Lance’s excitement. If anything he was more determined to show Keith how fucking cool it was

“I didn’t know I needed a change table. Look at this beast! Look at it. There’s drawers. Drawers! They didn’t have this stuff when I was growing up and it has a bin!”

“What do we need a bin for?”

“Nappies, obviously! And wipes... Babe, I don’t think I’ve ever fallen in love with a piece of furniture so fast, and it’s white so it matches the beds”

Only in colour. The style was more curved, but with the right accessories it’d blend right in. Plus, he needed it. He needed it more than he needed blood. Every molecule of his being seemed to be vibrating with excitement over how much of game changer this really was. He loved his old drawer, but this... It was more a case of “Drawers? What drawers?”

Keith sighed at him in an overly exaggerated way, he was winning. Keith was caving

“If that’s what you want...”

Lance nearly squealed, yet as much as he wanted it... needed it, he wasn’t going to disregard Keith’s opinion

“Only if it’s what you want”

“They said online something about “Push Presents”. Do you want a push present?”

Lance knew he’d done plenty of research, and he knew Keith was the same, yet it still thrilled him Keith was researching all things baby. He didn’t really need a push present. Their twins were enough. Them alive and breathing, that was it

“I don’t need a push present, but I think I need this change table. No. I know we need this... I mean, look how practical it is! Babe, look at it!”

Keith laughed softly, Lance stepping back so his boyfriend could inspect the change table as he gestured wildly towards it. Keith’s eyes widening at the amount of space in the drawers as he checked the depth of the top two

“Seeeeeee. Think of all the supplies we could fit in there”

“We have to buy the supplies first”

Pffft. At this stage Lance was happy enough to buy it simply to look at it

“Good thing we’re at a baby super store...”

Keith tried to hide his smile, coughing to clear his throat, before giving up with a shake of his

“Alright. We’re doing it. Cross change table off the list. We’re getting one of these bad boys... Holy heck, the bin bit has a latch. Kosmo’s going to have a hard time getting past that”

Keith was hooked! Lance knew it! That squeal escaping out his nose, Keith raising an eyebrow at the weird sound. Pfft. Keith already knew he was dating a weirdo, a very excited weirdo

“I know! Whoever designed this needs a medal. So if we get this, then the bedding, and the supplies we need most when I pop, that’s like almost everything”

If he popped tomorrow they’d be basically prepared. Not that he intended to. He wanted these two to bake as a long as they could

“What else do you want to get?”

“A rug, and a bookcase... oh, and a chair. I definitely want a chair in there for nursing”

For nursing and “sleeping” in on sleepless nights. In his mind he could see Keith sitting in the chair, reading their twins their bedtime stories, or holding one of their twins for a bottle feed

“That sounds smart. Okay. Done. Where do we buy a chair from?”

Lance smiled at his boyfriend as Keith looked over the display of cots and bedding. With how large the store was, he wouldn’t be surprised if they did have rugs, bookcases and chairs, probably with a high price tag...

“From a furniture store. They’re not hugely necessary items, and we’re not going to have room in the back of the my baby once we get the boxes for the cots and the change table”

“Do you think they’ll deliver?”

The cots, or the chair? Either way, Garrison was outside of almost every free delivery zone. He knew from experience, but happy to spend the money if he really needed to

“If you want to pay a $250 delivery fee”

“Fuck that. I could probably ask Hunk if we can use his dad’s Ute”

Lance loved Hunk’s dad. He was as easy going as Hunk, but he didn’t want to ask for a favour without being there in person

“Or we could save it for the next time we’re in Platt, it’s only two weeks, and by then we should have an idea of colours to match with”

“That’s like super smart. Okay, so we need bedding next?”

“Mattresses too...”

“They don’t come with a mattress?”

“Some do, some don’t. I want to try and find one with a removable cover”

“They have removable covers?”

Keith seemed extremely shocked by this. Lance could only hang his head. It was like the first time Keith discovered the waterproof mattress protector on their bed. He’d been so confused until Lance had gently pointed out wet spots happened and he’d rather them not happen to his mattress. That and when Blue brought him presents he didn’t want squashed entrails on his mattress either.

Kissing Keith’s cheek, Lance then nodded

“Yep. Trust me, you’ll thank me the first time you have to clean shart sheets”

“Our twins are going to be perfect”

“Babies poop, babe. Fact of life”

“But they’re only small”

Boy was Keith in for a surprise. Good thing Lance hadn’t mentioned projectile vomiting and sometimes stuff came out both ends at once

“And sometimes they make a huge mess. I’ll save the first one just for you”

Wrinkling his nose, Keith looked as if the spell of excitement over their twins had been broken

“You don’t have to”

“Nope. You insisted”

“Well don’t let me do it again”

“I make no promises”

Garrison. Keith was grateful to be home again. Lance had been texting on the drive home, Keith finding out who when Hunk and Pidge had been waiting for them at the house. Volunteering Hunk to help unload, Lance was whisked away by Pidge. Keith somewhat glad Lance hadn’t insisted on helping with the heavy lifting. His boyfriend had loudly proclaimed he was beached this morning, while laying on his back with his belly out. The scan might have gone well, but Coran had done a lot of “ahhing” and “ohhhhing” and telling Lance to get plenty of rest, while not explaining anything to the pair of them. Though Keith had planned to take Lance shopping, he’d upped the schedule to distract his boyfriend from whatever Coran could possibly mean.

Opening up the back of the Bronco, Hunk’s eyes widened at the game of Tetris Keith had played in the back to fit everything in. Each cot had two boxes, the change table had three, then there were two mattresses, three tins of paint, a fly screen door Keith had no idea what for, plus the baby clothes, bedding, Lance’s clothes, the small amount of shopping they’d done for home, as well as nappies and wipes. Both of them had spent a fair chunk today, without buying the chair, bookcase, or rug Lance wanted for the room. Keith understood how Hunk was speechless, the hunter also somewhat speechless at the pile of shopping to be brought in and sorted.

Explaining the pile, Keith pointed as he talked

“The big boxes are for the nursery and the bags need to go to into the living room. Lance wants to wash everything before he puts things away. If it’s food, well, you know...”

Hunk cutting him off as he eyed the very top of the pile

“Is that a door?”

Yep. The stupid thing kept sliding forward to smack him in the back of the head every damn time he braked. Lance wouldn’t explain, saying it’d become obvious if he was patient

“Lance wanted it. He got distracted at the hardware store”

“I’m not going to ask...”

“You know he probably heard you ask”

Hunk groaned

“That’s not fair, man. And how dare you guys decide you’re staying in Platt without telling us about your date”

Lance had mentioned in passing that he missed his Gremlin. Unloading the bronco would leave Pidge and Lance to have some sibling time together. Keith knew he’d been thinking a lot about Lance’s sister showing up, which meant Lance had to be thinking about it at least twice as much

“I bet that’s what Lance is telling Pidge all about. Seeing you haven’t been to Platt, Lance brought home papers for Shay to sign. Basically the usual “she’s not going to tell anyone he’s pregnant””

“That’s usual?”

Okay, maybe not the usual... Lance said he’d sit down with Shay and explain things, and that the conversation was well over due. Hunk had dropped it on them so semi casually that old Keith would have flipped

“Nope. If you want to grab that top box, I’ll grab the one next to it”

Hunk looked the pile of shopping up and down

“That door’s gotta come out first. Did you guys just buy everything?”

“Not quite everything. Lance did get caught up looking at kitchen sinks”

Hunk didn’t laugh. Keith secretly quite proud of the joke. Lance would have laughed. He would have teased him about about understanding universal jokes better than he had when they met. Maybe even made a joke about “Who needs a kitchen sink when I can tap you?”. He missed Lance.

Talking as they unloaded, Keith found out he’d missed nothing much happening at the garage, other than Hunk’s dad looking for him when he hadn’t come in. Spending time with Hunk was pretty cool. Hunk knew enough to be a hell of a mechanic if he’d wanted to, so it’d been easy to discuss bike specs with him over Keith’s baby. The new exhaust pipe he’d ordered hadn’t arrived yet, the shipment delayed, but from the way Hunk filled him in he could tell the big guy had missed having him around. It was nice to feel missed, even if it twinged at him that Matt had gotten the job he’d hoped to apply for. Lance was right, he was made for being hands on.

There was a certain feeling of accomplishment that came with fixing each part of his bike up. According to Coran’s schedule he’d be starting back as a hunter in March. Coran hoped to have everything in place for summoning the demon out of Curtis by then, then he’d be a trio with Shiro and Curtis, instead of simply partners with his brother. Lance had asked Coran about what went into summoning out a demon, and Keith promptly became lost when it came to things that needed to be brewed.

He’d tried to pay attention for Shiro’s sake since it was his future brother-in-law’s life at stake, yet Lance seemed to have a better grip on how it’d all go down. He’d meant to ask Shiro and Curtis to come stay a few days before the summoning, yet forgot thanks to “baby brain”. The store had been pretty intimidating. As was the three missed calls from Krolia on his phone. Keith knew he couldn’t keep ignoring Krolia, but Krolia seemed to think he wanted to rush into proposing to Lance, leaving him agitated that she was meddling again.

Speaking of proposing, he’d also had a kind of crazy idea. Miriam’s rings were where they should be, but part of him wished he’d had them for when the time felt right to propose to his boyfriend. While Lance had slept, Keith had worked. He’d found every photo he had of Miriam, cropping things down until he had a clear mental picture of how her ring had been designed. His intention now was to save back up and find a jeweller in Platt able to recreate Miriam’s wedding ring, with his own tiny twist in it. Instead of three diamonds, he wanted 5 stones. 2 amethysts and two sapphires, with a diamond in the middle. Lance would realise the significance the moment he saw the ring. Or, at least, that was Keith’s hope. Never had anyone managed to reassure him about the unique colouration of his eyes like Lance did. Amethyst the closest stone he was probably going to be able to get, while he hoped he’d be able to find sapphires close to Lance’s own eye colour.

“Earth to Keith, you in there, Bud?”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Keith nodded as he straightened up. Having Hunk cut down on the number of trips up and down the stairs, but damn if he didn’t feel weaker than he had been

“Sorry, I was off thinking about the future”

“Was it interesting?”

“Mildly. What’s up?”

“I asked if I should just leave the bag of nappies up here? I grabbed them with the second mattress”

“Oh, yeah. That’d be awesome. You’ve got to see the change table when it’s set up. Lance is love with it. This thing is awesome”

Hunk chuckled at him

“I thought Lance was adamant about not having one. He told me he didn’t want one when we asked”

All their friends had asked what they wanted or needed. Being their firstborns, Keith and Lance both wanted to prove that they could support their growing family without the need of gifting. Keith particularly felt the need to overcompensate as he’d never had any real family experience until Shiro

“He didn’t until today. You should have seen the look on his face. He seemed ready to commit murder if he didn’t get the change table”

“I’m sure he wasn’t that bad”

Maybe not, but I’d been love at first sight for his boyfriend. Lance thinking he’d been turning on the charm to sway Keith, the joke on his boyfriend as Keith was very readily swayed by his lover

“He would have carried the one from the store home if he had to”

Hunk laughed openly as they both imagined that. Lance really would have. He’d probably even say it wasn’t at all heavy

“Is it bad I can see that? That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Keith snorted, smile wide

“Not really. Lance can be very determined”

“Man, don’t even go there. He’s almost as stubborn as you are about not letting us know about this date of yours. I know you took photos. Lance said there were photos”

“Only on my phone. We’re lucky half the zoo didn’t come home with us. Did you know he has no problem with snakes? He’s jus like “Yep, that’s a bit snake. I’m gonna touch it””

“I don’t need to know what you two get up to in private”

Keith was stunned. Slack jaw stunned. Their little Hunk was going there

“Oh man, don’t tell me I broke you”

“I’m not broken. Lance is going to lecture me about corrupting you with all the time we’ve spent together lately”

“You’ll have to talk to Shay about that one. No offence, dude, but she’s the one”

“None taken. If this is everything, we can collapse now, right?”

“Sounds good to me. I’ve got some ice tea in the fridge”

Keith hadn’t been an “ice tea person” until he’d met Lance. Lance barely made ice tea, but Hunk... Hunk was their culinary god. Not that he’d tell Lance. Lance’s cooking was so amazing he was sure he was getting fat. Fat and lazy... He liked being mostly a home husband without the whole constantly fearing for his life. He liked having good people to come back to, no matter how far he want, they always welcomed him back

“Hunk, you are a god... You know this right? I don’t know how I can thank you for everything. We keep up and leaving... but... you guys...”

“Aw, man! Bring it in!”

Hugging Hunk, they both wrinkled their noses at how sweaty they were from lugging everything upstairs

“Dude, we need showers”

That they did. A cold shower would be just the thing to wash away the heat in Keith’s cheeks. He and Hunk had hugged before, but this hug had him feeling a little self conscious. The day had been long, shopping wiped him out much more than than thinking about his dwindling bank account

“You can go first. I should check on Lance”

“I don’t mind if I do. The tea’s in the fridge, all you have to do is pour”

“Thanks... and thanks for helping. Lance probably could have done it all in one trip”

“I don’t know. I think even he might have struggled trying to carry everything”

“Well... maybe. He would have tried though”

“This is true. Okay, I’m gonna hit the shower. Don’t forget the tea”

“As if I could”

Being polite Keith grabbed out the serving tray, glasses, and pitcher of tea before carrying them to the living room. Lance was snoring his head off, laying with his head in Pidge’s lap, Pidge shooting him a worried look

“Keith... I think I broke him. He started crying then fell asleep”

Okay. Lance crying wasn’t that unusual. Keith was still learning that tears didn’t mean sadness. Sometimes they just seemed to happen. Lance had cried on the way home because he’d bitten a hole in the straw of his drink... Still, the tray shook slightly in his hands, Keith forcing himself not to rush to put it down on the coffee table and spill everything as he did.

Spilling the tea slightly, the hunter forced down a breath. Pidge was still staring up at him, her hand on Lance’s hair

“I didn’t mean to make him cry. We were talking and he started crying and I didn’t mean to...”

Keith hoped he hadn’t been making a judgemental expression. Pidge adored Lance, she’d never intentionally make Lance cry

“It’s hormones mostly. Should I be worried about what you were talking about?”

“He asked if his sister had been back, then told me how much he’d missed, started crying and fell asleep...”

“Ah...”

Keith mentally groaned. He was terrible at this “comforting people thing” when it wasn’t Lance

“I didn’t mean to”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve had a pretty long day, and this is Lance, he cried a lot even before he fell pregnant”

Pidge snorted before sobering. Keith tried not feel possessive watching Pidge stroke Lance’s hair

“Yeah... I just... didn’t mean to upset him”

“I doubt it was you. Some stuff happened in Platt... Some wanker hurt him for bumping into him and he realised a few things. Trust me when I say it’s really not thanks to anything you’ve done”

“Thanks, Keith. I love him, you know. And did you just say someone hurt him?!”

Lance whined in his sleep, Pidge clamping her free hand over her mouth as they both watched. When it became clear Lance wasn’t about to wake, she slowly moved her hand down, whisper yelling

“Someone hurt him?! What the hell happened?”

“He had a bit of a panic attack, and the guy didn’t appreciate Lance stumbling into him. He’s okay now, but... Actually, I have something to ask you”

Keith was still on the fence about returning to the house. Lance wanted to go. Keith didn’t want to go. He didn’t want Lance committing that place to memory and his nightmares getting worse

“Oh? Actually, I’ve got something to tell you. Lance fell asleep before I could talk to him about it... well, two somethings... You go first”

Pidge had something to tell him? Why did he get the feel he wasn’t going to be happy? She was smiling, but he knew how sharp her teeth could be behind that smile

“You’ve known Lance longer than I have, and I don’t want to fuck this up”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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