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albertasunrise · 3 years

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Too Late - 4

Masterlist

Summary: You arrived with Steve Murphy in Colombia to assist in the war against Escobar, both of you are partnered with Javier Peña. The tall, dark and handsome DEA agent has a reputation for being Colombia’s Casanova but you soon learn there’s more to him than meets the eye. You realise too late… that you’re in love with him.

Pairings - Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings - Smut, Angst, Fluff (Don't wanna put too many or it'll spoil it)

Notes: This timeline hops a little but it'll all comes together in the end.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

1 month later...

"I can make myself a coffee Bug," Javier grumbled as he tried to pull the jug from your hand.

"Javier I am here to help you." You warned "You need to take it easy for a while. You almost died a month ago."

"And I am doing so much better already thanks to your excellent nursing." He said sweetly as he pecked your cheek "But if we are to have any sort of future together cariño, you need to let me pour myself a coffee."

"Fine." You conceded, holding your hands up in mock surrender.

"Thank you." He replied, grinning at you as he poured the black liquid into a mug, kissing you sweetly when he leaned over to reach for it.

"How are you feeling today?" You asked as you followed him to the couch "Pain better?"

"Lots." He confirmed, humming when he brought took a sip of his drink "It doesn't really hurt anymore. Just twinges every now and then. I guess that's what happens when your insides get rearranged." He joked as he rested his coffee on his lap and rolled his head to look at you.

"I bet!" You agreed, taking a sip of your own drink before letting your head fall back against the back of the couch.

"How about you?" He asked, grabbing your attention again "The headaches eased off now?"

"Yeah." you replied with a smile "Still get a little dizzy but apparently that's normal."

"Good." He hummed, his smile crinkling the corner of his eyes "How about the dreams? They still happening?"

"Yeah." You confessed, your face dropping a little "It felt so real Javi. I... I grieved you. I fucked to try and get over you..."

"You what?"

You flushed as you realised what you'd said. Your eyes drifted to the textured ceiling above as you thought about what to say and how to say it. You'd never told anyone about what you'd dreamt of. It had been something you'd held close to your chest and you'd be lying if you said it hadn't been eating you alive.

"I woke up to the news you'd died." You started, eyes not leaving the ceiling "I went to your funeral. Met your dad and even held him as he sobbed whilst they lowered you into the ground." You continued, letting out a shaky breath as you remembered it all "I uh... I saw you everywhere. Didn't cope very well. Made some weird decisions but the worst one was allowing some guy to fuck me in the stall of a club so that I could try and forget about how you felt because you were gone Javi." You sobbed "You were gone and I was lost."

"Bug I'm right here." He said softly, taking your hand in his "Everyone deals with grief in different ways but you don't need to feel guilty because none of it was real." He placed your hand on his chest, smiling at you when you turned your head to look at him "Feel that?... That's me. Alive and kicking." He assured you "And as soon as I can, I am going to worship you. I'll show you how real I am." He promised and you smiled, nodding as you let one single tear fall.

3 weeks later...

"How are things with you and Javi?" Connie asked, her eyes drifting to the boys as they stood waiting to be served at the bar.

"Yeah, they're good." You replied, nodding unconvincingly.

"What is it?" She asked, her tone accusing.

"We uh... Well, we kinda got into a fight." You confessed, eyes drifting down to your cocktail glass.

"I uh... Well, one of his informants turned up at the door this afternoon." you started, noting the change in Connie's stature "She uh... well she asked if he was there. Told me she needed to 'talk' to him" You said, air quoting as you spoke "Javier came to the door and I swear this face went the colour of paper. I stormed out and he followed me. Promised me that he'd not been seeing anyone since we started sleeping together but I dunno Con." You grumbled, heart, sinking a little "We've been seeing nothing of each other lately unless it's at work. He's constantly working late into the night despite me telling him not to and when we do spend time together he never wants to have sex... and I know, sex isn't everything, but I just don't feel like he wants me anymore. I don't think he loves me anymore, hasn't said it."

"I doubt that very much," Connie reassured you and you scoffed at her attempt.

"Con, a few weeks ago he was all 'oh I'm gonna worship you when I can.' and then as soon as he's back to work... nothing." You paused, downing the last of your drink "I think perhaps Javi and I have run our course and it's time to end things." You finished, slamming your drink down as you looked back at her and noted her horrified expression.

"Well, it's good to know what you think." Said Javi from behind you and your stomach dropped, turning just in time to see him glaring back at you "Here's your drink." He finished, shoving it in your hands before grabbing his coat and downing his whiskey "Goodbye."

"Javi wait." You pleaded, tears falling down your reddened cheeks as you pushed yourself to your feet.

By the time you'd caught up with him he was peeling away in a cab, not sparing a look back as the car disappeared out of sight and you sobbed as your heart shattered into million tiny pieces.

"FUCK." You screamed, not caring who saw your breakdown as you slunk to the floor and sobbed.

You'd royally fucked up now.

2 months later...

If Javi hadn't been fucking his informants before he definitely was now. You choked back a sob as you heard the pleasured moans for a man and a woman float from his apartment almost daily. You'd managed to avoid bumping into him, both at home and in you were civil in the office but you'd not managed to get over him.

You'd not meant what you had said at the bar. You'd been upset, frustrated but mainly you'd been feeling insecure. You had never thought Javier would have settled for you. Not when he could have the pick of the quarry but he had chosen you and you had managed to screw it all up.

You'd just locked your door when you were greeted by Javier opening his. His latest conquest kissing him goodbye for leaving and all you could do was stand there and watch as he smiled at her and watched her go. He only noticed your presence when you let out a choked cry, his eyes flitting to you and his face dropping when he saw your face streaming with tears.

For a fleeting moment, he felt guilty and his heart ached to comfort you. To beg you for forgiveness and then he remembered what you'd said that night and the feeling dissolved, his expression steeling as he slipped back inside and closed his door. Leaving you to weep in the lobby.

You left for work, not wanting to remain a moment longer after what you'd just witnessed. You wanted to feel angry but how could you? You were the one who ended things, albeit accidentally. You walked a little slower, allowing your mind to reel as you hiccupped with each tear.

You had to leave. There was nothing left for you now.

"You seen Bug?" Asked Steve, noting he'd not seen you all day.

All week for that matter.

"Nope," Javier replied, popping the p.

"When are you two gonna sort your shit out?" Steve asked, rolling his eyes "You love each other."

"Correction Steve." Javier growled "We loved each other... Then she decided that we'd had our day."

"Javi you know she hadn't meant that." Steve groaned.

"Didn't she?" He growled, giving his partner an unconvinced look.

"Connie told me what she'd said at the bar." Steve started "I think you'd feel differently if you knew."

"I doubt that."

"She told her she felt like you didn't want her anymore." He stated and Javier looked up at him in shock, his stomach twisting painfully "Had you noticed that you stopped telling her you loved her?"

"What?"

"She didn't think you loved her anymore." Steve continued "You stopped saying it. I mean you can see why she freaked." He stated "You never wanted to fuck her. You stopped being her boyfriend Javi."

"We've all been busy Steve." He growled, he's drifting to your desk "Shit she's our partner. She knew just as well how stressed we all are. And we did have sex once!" He defended and Steve scoffed.

"Once... wow Javi sure you're right that should make her feel like she's wanted." He rolled his eyes as his partner. "Beings busy doesn't give you the right to stop trying. It doesn't mean you get to stop showing her how you feel." Steve replied shaking his head at his partner "I'm going to find her." He finished, leaving Javier to ponder his works.

Steve returned around half an hour later. His expression blank as he sat himself down at his desk and not a word was uttered for a straight ten minutes before Javier finally broke it.

"So?" He asked, eyes trained on Steve.

"She's gone." He replied simply, his attention then on the file he'd previously been flicking through.

"What the fuck do you mean she's gone?" He snapped "Gone where?"

"Back to the states." He clarified but he didn't look up. "Requested a transfer on Monday and flew back Wednesday evening."

"Why?" He asked, finally grabbing Steve's attention.

"Why do you think Peña?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes "The ambassador's exact words were 'She left because of that asshole Peña.' Apparently, she felt that she could no longer work with you."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because Javi the moment something goes wrong you start fucking your informants again" Steve yelled, face red and furious "Yes she said some shit but perhaps you two could have sat down as adults and worked through it but no... the next day your fucking some whore so loudly the whole of Bogata could hear. How the hell do you think that made her feel Javi hmmm?"

"I-"

"You didn't think about it." Steve interrupted, slamming his fist on his desk "That woman loved you, Javier." He stated, pushing himself to his feet "And you destroyed her but it's okay." He paused and Javier gave him a bemused look "She's another woman who's better off without you."

2 months later...

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound at his door pulled Javier from his work. Closing his file he padded across the kitchen to his front door, not stopping to check who it is before pulling it open.

His eyes widened when he saw you standing there, adorned in a loose T-shirt at leggings. You looked well. He couldn't help but notice and he was glad of it. He stood there in shocked silence for a few minutes, unsure of what to do or say until finally, you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

"Hi." You said softly, your tone wavering.

"Hi." He replied, an awkward silence once again reigning over you both "What are you doing here?" He asked finally and you shifted again as you chewed at your thumbnail.

Perhaps this had been a mistake.

"Can I come in?"

"You didn't answer my question." He pushed and you shifted again.

"I uh... I need to talk to you." You replied, eyes starting to water a little as you waited and hoped he'd let you inside.

He opened the door further and motioned for you to enter with his outstretched arm, watching from the corner of his eye as you stepped inside.

"Drink?" He asked and you nodded "Just water please."

You sat as he poured you a glass from the tap, thanking him as he handed it to you and sat across from you. Pushing the file to one side.

"Okay... talk." He said and you winced at his tone.

"I uh... well there's something you need to know."

"Can you get to the point?" He growled, unable to stand your stuttering.

"I'm pregnant Javier." You stated and his jaw dropped.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant." You repeated "Almost five months." You finished as you cupped your growing belly, your shirt hugging it.

"And it's..."

"It's your." You confirmed, watching him as he processed it all.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to wait until I was sure everything was okay." You answered "It took me a while to get a flight out. Not been easy getting leave to come out here but I felt it was best to tell you in person."

He nodded. Taking a moment to process before he finally looked down at your swollen belly. He felt his throat tighten at the sight, his eyes watering as he watched through rub it affectionately with your thumb.

"How do you feel about this Javier?" You asked, your heart racing as you awaited his answer.

"I uh... Well, it's a little unexpected." He stated and you nodded "I've uh... I've been a bit of a dick since you left. Made some mistakes."

"Javier-"

He held his finger up to stop you, his eyes then locking with yours.

"I don't deserve to be a father." He started, tears slipping down his cheeks "I've done horrible things to try and take Escobar down. Things you'd look at me differently for." He paused to scrape a hand over his face "And I should regret them... I should... But I don't." He paused again, his tears leaving glittering paths in their wake "The only thing I regret is letting you go. So this is the best news I've ever had Bug. This is... got this has made me so happy."

"We both made mistakes that lead to what happened to us, Javier." You said as you took his hand "I shouldn't have let my insecurities get the better of me."

"And I should have manned up and talked to you." Javier finished and you both let out a wet chuckle.

"Yes." You replied, resting your forehead against his "I don't want to do this without you."

"You won't." He assured you, kissing you sweetly "We're in this together... You're it for me Bug."

You smiled at that. Placing a tender kiss on his lips before pulling back to look him squarely in the eye.

"You're it for me too!."

"Fuck." You moaned, your hips rocking as you threw your head back in a silent scream.

Javier's grip on your hips tightened as your movements got more frenzied, the coil in your stomach tightening as you neared your climax. Your moans got louder as his length started to hit that perfect spot and you clammed down hard as you started to cum around him, soaking him with your release and that had him following closely behind. Yelling out as he painted your walls with his spend.

"Jesus guys, we didn't need to walk into that." Groaned Steve and you both jumped as you looked back at the door "Could have locked your door."

"Is it 7 already?" You asked, eyes shifting to the clock.

"Yup," Steve replied, smirking at you both.

"Shit." You breathed, collapsing against the back of the couch.

"Didn't realise dinner with the Murphy's was such a turn on." Connie teased, as she placed the take out bags she was holding on to the table.

"We're having a girl," Javier exclaimed excitedly and you barked out a laugh.

"Javier was really excited when he learned that we're having a daughter." You chuckled whilst trying to manoeuvre yourself so you could slip off of him without them seeing anything "Got a little carried away."

"It was a perfectly acceptable reaction to the best of news." Javier defended and you and the others burst into laughter.

"Of course baby." You teased, placing a soft kiss on his lips "Now put your dick away. I'm hungry."

He laughed at that. Tucking himself in before straightening the couch out and joining you and the others at the table. Groaning at the smells that assaulted his senses as Connie started to dish up.

"So it's a girl huh?" Asked Steve a little while later, leaning back in his chair as he supped at his beer "You're going to be outnumbered Javi."

"That's fine with me." He laughed, winking at you.

"You don't want a boy too at some point?" Connie asked softly, eyes flitting between you both.

"Maybe one day." You replied, grinning at him "Javi wants a whole brood."

"Really?" Asked Steve, his head shooting back in surprise.

"Fuck yeah!" Javi exclaimed, "Four kids minimum!."

"Minumum?" You squeaked and Javier laughed.

"Yes, Bug." He said sweetly, resting his hand on your swell "I'm gonna fuck so many babies into you."

"Awe that's so romantic." You cooed, rolling your eyes as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"I'll do it nicely!"

You all wailed at that.

When the laughter settled and you all retired to the lounge. Your heart felt full as you laid there in his arms, your hands over his as he cradled your bump.

You would give him all the babies he wanted.

Nothing would make you happier.

Tags: @hayley-the-comet , @mishasminion360, @ajeff855 , @pedritomando , @supernaturalgirl20 @dihra-vesa , @nicolethered, @practicalghost, @theanothersherlockian

#javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña #narcos fanfiction x reader #narcos fanfiction x you #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal Gif

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 3 years

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congrats on 500!!! 🥳

can i request boggie (romantic or platonic) and “can i hold your hand?” 🥺

Thanks bestie!! This is my longest prompt fill so far lol, it kind of got away from me. This is my very first time writing Boggie, and my first time writing in Reggie’s POV, so have fun. Also you asked for sensory overload Bobby but I didn’t think I could do that justice so I did migraine Bobby instead. This technically takes place in my headcanon universe of my longfic, but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. Hope you like it!

Bobby’s gone.

Reggie doesn’t think anyone but him has noticed yet. Luke and Alex are too busy arguing with each other (good-naturedly, with no real anger or malice; Reggie can always tell the difference, without even having to pay attention to what they’re arguing about, though this time he’s pretty sure it has something to do with which color m&m is superior).

But anyway, Luke and Alex aren’t paying attention to anything but each other, and Bobby slipped out twenty minutes ago with a pained expression and a mumbled excuse and he hasn’t come back yet, and apparently only Reggie has noticed.

He’s not sure what he should do about it, though. Reggie likes Bobby—he’s a great guitar player, and his movie collection is unparalleled, and one time when Reggie showed up at school with a black eye, Bobby got suspended for two weeks because he decked a guy who tried to make fun of Reggie for it—but as much as Reggie would like him and Bobby to be friends, it can’t be denied that Bobby is… well… Luke’s. And not just because Luke is even more touchy-feely with Bobby than he is with everyone else, or because Luke spends every other night sharing Bobby’s bed because he has nightmares (something Reggie doesn’t think he’s actually supposed to know), or because whenever Luke and Bobby are in a room together, they can’t stop looking at each other. But also because the only reason Bobby joined the band in the first place was because he was there for Luke when Reggie and Alex weren’t. He was Luke’s best friend when Reggie failed to be.

And Reggie hates to take sides (especially because Luke once got really mad at him and literally accused him of taking sides), but if Luke is on Bobby’s and Alex is sorta vaguely not, Reggie feels like he’s kind of statistically obligated to balance it out. So as much as they’re all a band, and as much as Luke will always be Reggie’s first and best friend, and as much as Reggie would love to get closer to their rhythm guitarist, sometimes they just can’t help pairing off, and when they do, Sunset Curve becomes, well, Luke and Bobby—Reggie and Alex.

But anyway. Reggie checks his watch. Bobby has now been gone twenty-five minutes, and Luke and Alex have moved on to discussing which animated m&m from the commercials they would date if given the option, and Reggie’s starting to get a little worried.

“Hey, guys?” he says, putting aside the bass he’d been sort of plucking at. “Can you shut up for a second?”

Luke and Alex immediately stop their bickering and turn to look at him, faces lit with matching concern. “Yeah, Reg?” Alex says gently.

“You okay, bro?”

Reggie manages a smile. They both know him so well. He gives a quick shake of his head to assure them he’s fine, their arguing wasn’t too much (later, once he’s sure Bobby’s okay, he might even put his two cents in, since the answer to both debates is obviously Green). “Do you know where Bobby went? He hasn’t come back yet.”

Alex frowns, and Luke looks around the studio as if he’s just then realizing that Bobby’s not still sitting on the couch next to him where he was half an hour ago.

“Where’d he go?” Luke gets up off the couch and clambers over the coffee table to cross the studio, past Reggie and Alex. He hauls open one of the doors and peers out into the driveway, then frowns back over his shoulder at them. “I don’t see him. He must’ve gone into the house.” A flash of something crosses his expression and he glances nervously from Reggie to Alex and back again. “I—I’d go look for him, but I don’t know if his parents are home, the car’s here.”

“I’ll go,” Reggie offers before it can become a thing, the fact that Bobby is Luke’s but Luke can’t even go after him when he leaves the studio because Luke is a missing person who Bobby’s parents don’t know lives in their garage.

“Thanks, Reg,” Luke says, and Reggie gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder as he passes.

Reggie doesn’t have to go far. He follows the path up from the driveway and catches sight of Bobby right away, sitting on his front porch with his face buried in his knees and his arms wrapped protectively around his head.

“Hey, there you are!” Reggie calls out without thinking, and then regrets it when Bobby’s head snaps up and he flinches with his whole body, a tiny whimper escaping his mouth just loud enough for Reggie to hear across the garden. Bobby’s face is so pale it’s almost green, and his eyes are hidden behind these thick dark sunglasses Reggie’s never seen him wear before.

Reggie’s heart lurches, and he hurries up the rest of the path. He sinks gently onto the porch step next to Bobby and asks as quietly as he can, “Bobby, what’s wrong?”

Bobby shoots him a shaky, unconvincing smile and whips his shades off. “Nothing, Reg, I’m—fuck.” Reggie gets half a glimpse of Bobby’s eyes—squinty and dull and full of so much pain—before Bobby goes another shade whiter, shoves his sunglasses back on, and presses his face into his lap with a groan.

Reggie’s concern spikes. He hovers a hand over Bobby’s shoulder, wanting to help but not sure if touching him when he’s like this will only make things worse. “Bobby? What—what’s going on with you, man? You’re scaring me.”

Bobby gives a miniscule shake of his head, still hidden in his folded arms. “I—it’s just… headache,” he mumbles, the words slow and slurred and muffled like even just opening his mouth too wide hurts him. He breathes heavily for a moment or two, then adds, “Really bad headache.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that’s… not what Reggie thought was happening here. Part of him relaxes some, even though his worry doesn’t lessen.

If Bobby were having a panic attack, like Alex gets sometimes, or one of those everything’s too much feelings that make it physically impossible for Luke to wear sleeves most days, then Reggie wouldn’t know what to do, how to help. Stuff like that is too personal, too individualized, and Reggie doesn’t know Bobby that well. But pain—physical pain—that, Reggie can deal with. That, Reggie knows all too well.

“Can I get you anything? What do you need?”

Bobby’s quiet for a moment, then: “Dark. Cold. Quiet… Maybe some medicine if I can keep it down.”

Reggie nods, even though he knows Bobby can’t see him. “We can do that. Is there a reason you were sitting out here in the first place? Probably easier to get dark and cold and quiet in your room, don’t you think?” He cranes his neck to see Bobby’s window above the porch roof. Reggie’s only been in there a handful of times, but if Bobby gets these headaches often, the blackout curtains on Bobby’s bedroom window suddenly make a lot more sense.

(Though, Reggie can’t help but wonder, if Bobby gets these headaches often, how has Reggie never noticed before?)

“Dizzy,” Bobby mumbles, and Reggie cuts his gaze sharply back to him. It takes a second to register that Bobby’s answering Reggie’s question and not necessarily describing how he feels now. “Couldn’t… stairs.” A pause thick enough for Reggie to get the sense there’s more, and then Bobby admits, his voice smaller than Reggie’s ever heard it, “Tried to ignore it too long. Been kinda coming on all day, but I didn’t wanna ruin rehearsal.”

Reggie’s heart gives a pang of sympathy. He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

But all that can wait. For now, his only priority is getting Bobby settled in bed with all the lights off and an icepack on his head. “Okay, Bobby, I’m gonna get you inside so you can rest, okay? But can I try something first?”

Bobby stiffens. “Try what?”

Reggie’s heart’s beating a little too fast, though he’s not sure why. He swallows, tries to ignore the fact that he’s definitely blushing, and says, “Can I hold your hand?”

Bobby’s silent and still for so long that Reggie starts to worry he’s overstepped. But before he can figure out how to backtrack, Bobby grumbles something unintelligible into his lap and flops a hand in Reggie’s face. Reggie grabs it, hoping his own hands aren’t too sweaty, and expertly applies pressure to the point between the base of Bobby’s thumb and index finger.

The effect is almost instantaneous: Bobby shudders, and his muscles relax like a ripple going through him, and he slowly sits up and raises his head. Reggie can’t really read his expression with the sunglasses still on, but what he can see of Bobby’s face looks less pinched, less pained, and he’s gotten some of the color back in his cheeks.

He stares at Reggie, mouth hanging open, and breathes, “Whoa.”

Reggie blushes, self-conscious, but doesn’t stop gently massaging Bobby’s hand. “Better?”

Bobby nods. “How—how did you know how to do that?”

Reggie manages a sheepish smile. “My mom gets migraines. And, well, hangovers. So I’ve kinda picked up some tricks. Coffee really helps her, too, if you can stomach it.”

Bobby’s still staring at him, and Reggie swallows, his stomach giving a weird little flip that’s not exactly unpleasant. Finally, Bobby looks away and gingerly pulls his hand out of Reggie’s to rub at his temples. “Well, thanks, Reg, that really helped. I’m gonna go inside before it gets worse again. Can you, uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’ll—tell the guys… something.”

Bobby gives him a shy, grateful smile, and then slowly pushes himself to his feet.

When the front door closes behind Bobby, Reggie lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He feels jittery and out of breath, like he just drank seven sodas or ran a marathon or something. His hands are tingly where they’d touched Bobby’s, and he can’t get the image of that last little smile out of his head.

Bobby doesn’t smile very often, and when he does, it’s not like that.

(And if it is, it’s not at Reggie.)

Reggie mutters a curse and copies Bobby’s earlier position, his face hidden in his hands. Because he thinks he might like Bobby.

But Bobby is Luke’s.

sorry bestie

Send me a pairing and a prompt to celebrate my 500th follower!

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rileymustdie · 4 years

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So yk how hawks lost his wings yeah so hm what if it was a different story and the reader was a healer and brought his wings back BUT it hurts her in the process that’s my request if u can do it :)

UGH YOUR MIND

•angst, death, manga spoilers

•you both were a very good match. you both got along together, plus the fact that you were a healer and he was a pro hero that was constantly in fights, yeah he adored you.

• when he would come home all bruised and cut up, you would heal him. it only caused you a small headache, plus you had a happy and snuggly boyfriend after, what could be the problem?

•you never told him that if you overuse your quirk, it hurts you. you didn’t want him to start ignoring his injuries just because he didn’t want to hurt you. the headaches weren’t that bad anyways.

•that is until he loses his wings. the doctors said there was little to no chance of them coming back he was so upset about it and you knew you had to do something. so, you offered to attempt to heal them. his eyes lit up at the offer and so you sat behind him on the bed, trying your best to focus your power on him. now you have a massive headache and nothing even happened. you tell him “maybe it just takes time?” he goes back to sleep, upset. he knows it’s not really your fault and he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up but the thought of having his wings back made him so happy.

•the next day you wake him up and ask if you can try again. you hate seeing him so upset, might as well take a few ibuprofen and get over it. he says yes so you try again, nothing happens. you lean your head on his back with a sigh. “sorry birdie, nothing happened”. he nods and you help him get up to go make breakfast.

•he notices while you were cooking that your eyebrows were furrowed and you looked a bit dizzy. he decides it’s just that you were tired. you go about the rest of your day like normal. hawks calls as many doctors as he can find to see if they can do something about his wings while you work on some household chores. you go to bed, still with the headache

•you continue trying for about a week with no results. finally, you begin to see two small bumps on his back. you tell him and he runs (stumbling a little bit) to the bathroom to see for himself. his face lights up and he picks you up and spins you around, thanking you. you stumble a bit when he puts you down. surely he didn’t put you down that hard, did he? he asks you if something is wrong, but you just brush him off and ask to go cuddle on the couch with a reassuring smile. he guesses he just put you down too hard and you both fall asleep on the couch.

•over the next month, you put more and more power into healing him. for every feather that appears on his back, another dark circle or bruise appears on you. he’s starting to get worried now, but you continue to act like you’re fine and blame it on low iron or just lack of sleep. he listens to you and you continue to heal him, but he keeps his worries in the back of his mind.

• after a few more weeks, he suggests that you should take a break from healing him. his wings are still small and not ready for actual flight, but it’s a large improvement from nothing. you tell him that you’re fine and that you need to keep healing him so he can go back to being a hero. he still tells you no, that he wants to wait until you’re feeling better. (keep in mind that you still haven’t told him that it’s hurting you) you agree with him and you go to bed that night.

•little did he know, you still healed him while he slept. of course not enough to where it would be noticeable the next morning, but you still wanted to help him.

•he started to notice that you hadn’t started to look any better over the past few weeks, and feeling so awful all the time took a toll on you too. every time you looked in the mirror, you saw the dark circles and bruises. how much weight you had lost. you looked deathly, compared to hawks. he was so bright, his muscles back to where they were originally, his hair so smooth. you felt like you should start listening to him and stop trying to heal him, until you heard him on the phone with the commission. “yeah! my partner has been healing me and my wings are coming back! i might even be able to go back to work soon!” oh no. he was no where near ready to go back, you had to work harder.

• you still continue to heal him little by little. you can no longer stand to look in the mirror or make eye contact with hawks for too long. one night before bed he’s holding you, and you start crying into his shoulder. he asks you what’s wrong, and you start explaining. you tell him how you’ve been healing him all this time, how insecure you’ve been, how sick you feel, how much you want to see him happy. you “forgot” to mention what your quirk does to you. he tries his best to comfort you and makes you promise to take a break.

•you decide to listen to him and you start to look a little better over the next few weeks. but unbeknownst to you or him, you’ve already caused permanent damage to yourself.

(also for plot reasons,, we’re going to act like hawks wouldn’t immediately take you to a doctor)

•you tell him that since you’re feeling better, you can start on healing him again. at first he shoots you down, saying that your health is more important to him than going back to work. but then he sees the look in your eyes, how you genuinely want to help him. “fine.” he says with a sigh, “once a week, but if you start feeling worse you have to tell me. deal?” “deal.”

•so, that next week you start again, and immediately you’re back to where you were. you know you should tell him, but he just looks so happy when he sees his wings growing. he only needs a few more weeks of healing and he should be able to fly again. you just have to hold on until then.

•one day, while he’s out getting groceries for the two of you, you start to feel more lightheaded than usual. you remember your phone on the couch and try to get over there to call keigo. you get to his contact, then the room goes dark. he comes home to you passed out on the couch, for a second he assumes you’re taking a nap and smiles down at you warmly. it’s only until he’s halfway through telling you about the new foods he got for the both of you to try that something was wrong. he walked over there and saw your phone was opened to his contact. he sat down next to you and asked if you were alright. no reply. he started to panic and picked you up, no response. you had a pulse going, a slow one. (a/n: i literally don’t know anything medical so i’m making this up and hoping it’s right) he immediately calls an ambulance, tears streaming down his face. “no, baby please don’t do this to me. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i should have payed attention more. please just be okay.” after about a minute of him sobbing into your shoulder, you start to wake up. your eyes barely open with a soft smile. he looks at you and hold you tight “what’s going on, what happened?” you give him a pained look as you start feeling numb. “i’m sorry keigo, i should have told you.” “tell me? tell me what? i don’t know what’s going on, i just walked in and you were passed out” he starts rambling, you use your last bit of strength to kiss him one last time. “you’re going to be a great hero keigo. i love you.” he stares while he processes what you said. “no, no please. don’t leave me. please there’s got to be something.” he grabs your wrist and checks for a pulse, vision blurry and shaking. nothing, you’re cold. he felt his breathing stop, his brain stopped working. the person he fell in love with so long ago, the person he spent long nights awake with talking about anything and everything, the person who greeted him with a warm and loving smile and dinner after a long day of patrol, the person who saw him at his weakest and brought him back up little by little, gone and never to return. he opened up his phone to do something, anything and there you were. the picture you had taken that day he brought you flying. your beautiful smile and that red shirt he got you for your birthday. he remembered how you said it looked so pretty next to his wings, he responded with “well, you look so pretty next to my wings” a silly response, yes, but it made you laugh and you kissed him on the cheek. he looked back at where you currently lay, grey and bony, no life left in you. all because of him. the ambulance finally arrived and they had to pry him off you. he finally got himself to stop crying so he could talk to them, but as soon as he saw them carrying you in the bag, his facade vanished and the tears started flowing again. that night on his way to bed, he saw the indentation on the bed of where you laid just that morning. he made his way to the couch, only to see your phone still on the coffee table. he started sobbing again, and fell asleep on the floor.

(tw: mentions of alcohol and suicide)

•your funeral was the next week, he went back to work the day after. he needed something to take his mind off you. he worked long hours, not caring how much his fragile and much smaller wings ached and how they could barely carry his weight. on his way home, he picked up the strongest alcohol he could get. he downed bottle after bottle and at one point, if he squinted hard enough, he could still see your sillouette.

• a month went by, he was miserable. some intern at his agency said “well, at least they died helping you. you can just get a different healer to finish the job, right?” he smacked the guy and retired then and there. he felt too much guilt, it was his fault you’re gone. just because he was too stupid to notice how bad you were getting. he stopped by your grave on his way home that night, the grass hadn’t even grown over the top. he looked at your name on the headstone. “heh, we didn’t even get to have the same last name yet. yknow, i had the ring in the drawer by the bed.” he looks down at the ground. “i know you worked so hard to fix my wings but, i hope you don’t mind too much if i joined you.” with that, he adds the roses to the growing pile of ones he brought before and heads home. the news the next morning read the title “Pro hero Hawks found dead after sudden retirement” He was with you again.

———————

okay okay i didn’t mean for this to be so long and so sad but here we are,, if you have any suggestions on how to edit it plz lmk! asks and requests are open and feedback would be appreciated! :)

#hawks angst #hawks x reader #bnha angst #keigo takami #keigo x you #keigo x reader #hawks x gender neutral reader #bnha headcanons #mha hawks

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 5

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, smut, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 5.2k

chapter rating | 18+

warnings | angst, smut (but it’s angsty smut lksjdflk help), nipple play, dry humping, alcohol consumption, someee intense jealousy

a/n | FIRST OF ALL im so sorry this is so incredibly late lskjdflkjs life has been extremely busy for me 😪 but it’s here!!!! thank you to everybuddy who’s been waiting patiently for this 🤧🤧 but i think this is one of the most angsty chapters of the series soooo 🙃

Namjoon’s an expert at avoiding uncomfortable topics, even if they’re massively serious. It’s something you absolutely hated and it was the cause of many arguments in your previous relationship, and perhaps was even the ultimate cause of your breakup.

But right now, you’re really beginning to understand the appeal.

The first time he swung by the museum for lunch after his birthday celebration - a paper bag in hand filled with bagels still warm and toasty from the store on the corner that you adore - you were caught entirely off guard.

Your mind jumps to the unread messages sitting in your texts and you regret ignoring them. Not because the guilt had hit you, but because maybe if you had been contactable, you would have received a heads-up that he was coming by.

Some might call it selfish, but you prefer to call it self-preservation.

To be fair, it’s not like you were going to leave them unanswered forever. You just needed space to collect your thoughts and make sense of your confusing emotions first, lest you begin the conversation prematurely and drag Namjoon down into the dizzying depths of your current state. As it is right now, your thoughts are like nodes floating in a decontextualized void, the web still unformed because you haven’t had the time to grapple with everything yet.

But here he is, inspecting the cross-section of each bagel Soo-eun pulls out of the bag, trying to identify which is which. Yeri’s at his side, gushing about how great the bagels from this place are. The three of them are crowded around the paper bag that sits on the wooden bench, the paint peeling from the way it’s been bleached by the sun in the museum’s outdoor area. Here he is at your workplace. With your friends. You can’t ignore him now, not without rousing your friends’ suspicion.

But what you can ignore is the issue.

It’s not the time nor the place to talk about this anyway. The atmosphere is warm and light, carrying traces of last night’s celebratory mood. The lunch treat is Namjoon’s way of appreciating the surprise you guys organized for him last night. And there’s a bagel stuffed full of salty sweet ham and sticky melty cheese waiting for you to sink your teeth into. Really not the time for serious conversations at all.

So when Namjoon’s eyes search yours, all wide and probing, as you step in to grab your share, you simply smile and thank him, before slinking away to join Soo-eun on the next bench. Not too far - barely five steps away - but far enough that it gives you space to breathe. Even if Namjoon notices your attempts at escaping, he doesn’t have time to call you out on it. Not when you slyly shoot Yeri a wink. Seamlessly, she catches the cue and sits herself down on the bench, tugging at his arm. For once, you welcome Yeri flirting with Namjoon.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving,” she says.

You don’t miss the way Namjoon’s gaze flickers between you and Yeri, but you ignore it and take a generous bite of the bagel in your hands.

“Mm, so good,” you say, and turn to Soo-eun. “Don’t you miss the days before this place got really popular?”

“No, because you and Yeri insisted on going there every day. I can only ingest so many bagels a week.”

“____ hasn’t changed one bit.” Namjoon chuckles. “This time in middle school, she ate tater tots every single day for three weeks straight. She had to be banned for a week.”

“Are you weaponizing my middle school past against me?” you ask amidst your friends’ laughter. “Too bad. I don’t regret it for a second. Tater tots are too delicious to regret.”

Lunch falls back into the easy rhythm of lighthearted jibes, the kitchen debacle receding for now.

Procrastination is a real bitch of a habit to kick. As soon as one reason to put it off expires, your brain churns out another two in its place like a modern-day Hydra.

As for Namjoon? Well, you’re not surprised when he makes no moves to initiate the difficult conversation. After all, you’re adopting his bad habit.

Eventually it gets to the point where you might as well not talk about it at all. Everything’s going fine so far without it. Or as fine as it can be with this beast looming in the backdrop.

You know you need to just get this damn conversation over with. But you can’t. Not till you figure out what exactly is going on with your emotions. Without it, there’s no way you can cauterize the wounds and invalidate your excuses for what they are -- excuses.

It’s not that you haven’t tried. But it’s presenting itself as a real Herculean effort. Mulling it over has you tossing and turning in bed, only leaving you with a headache and a steadily growing desperation. It’s desperation enough that you leave the comfortable warmth of your bed to sit at your desk, shivering as you pen the familiar words once again.

Dear Namjoon,

The words flow in their usual, unrestricted manner. Before, it had been like a dam breaking, the tight restraint that was normally kept on your emotions finally released and the wave of emotions gushing out till it reached a peaceful equilibrium. But now, your emotions are just a whirlpool and your words you pen mimic its spiralling, chasing your thoughts in endless loops.

You’re not over him. But so what? It’s not like getting together is an option. Not when he hasn’t grown out of one of the major things that caused the end of your previous relationship. And not when you haven’t even talked that out, if you ever will.

So what can you do now? Kicking him out of your life will mean having to deal with the loss that his absence will bring again. Going back to pretending the other doesn’t exist will mean dancing around each other again every time you bump into each other in this too small city. And with the way your social circles are intertwined now, that would mean a bunch of explaining to do.

But having him close yet holding him at arm’s length? Walking the narrow margin that is being friends with your ex? A misstep in either direction would be torturous but inevitable - too close and it’s alarming, but too far and it’s a painful reminder that he’s not yours.

Far from the illuminating effect you were hoping it would have, your letter to Namjoon only leaves you deeper in confusion. You throw your pen down. Giving up, you fold the paper up. Sealing the letter in an envelope doesn’t bring the same sense of relief it did before. The Hydra remains unslain.

And so the problem gets shoved away - the same treatment the letter gets as it’s roughly tossed into the desk drawer - into the same corner of the recesses of your mind that your breakup resides in.

You know that Namjoon’s confused. Heck, you are too. It’s a strange dance the two of you are involved in, caught between the compulsion to continue yet knowing the risks it bears. Neither of you are bold enough to take the lead. And so this strange stasis drags on as it has for weeks now.

It’s as if the kiss unearthed something in him. Actually no, it’s unearthed something in both of you. And the tension - the fucking tension - is unreal. The tells are so obvious that you wonder how neither Yeri nor Soo-eun have said anything about it yet. There’s certainly no subtlety in the way his eyes linger on your lips in the middle of conversations that you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it.

And when it’s just the two of you? It’s infinitely worse.

It’s hard to blame him. Touch has always been your love language and Namjoon knows it. Physical touch wasn’t just a thing of your previous two-year relationship. It was a thing of your decades of friendship too, the little touches so casual and almost subconscious. Rekindling your friendship without them had taken intentional effort.

You’re not sure who started it. Maybe both of you just fell back into it, the casual little touches slipping their way back in. But what’s not casual at all is the way your heartbeat goes erratic at the most simple of gestures. The way he blithely sweeps the crumbs from your lunch off your lap. The slightly too long side-hug he holds you in, the warmth of his arm around you permeating through the layers you wear and has you simultaneously freezing up while also turning your insides to goo. But it isn’t overtly romantic either.

At least, that’s the excuse you give yourself when the comfort of his touch gets too tempting and you end up succumbing to it. The familiarity of it all makes you feel like you’ve finally arrived home. As if you’ve been on this long, arduous journey and you’re finally here. You get to drop the heavy backpack and rest now.

But the voice of rationality in you tells you this wrong wrong wrong. You’ve got to get out of here.

And that’s how you end up here. White-knuckled grip tight on the edges of the sink as you stare yourself dead in the eyes in the bathroom mirror. The music outside thumps away albeit muted through the door to the ladies’. But the way your heart thumps has nothing to do with that.

Even without shifting your gaze, you can tell that your cheeks are slightly reddened and warm. You can feel it tingling. No, you don’t shift your gaze. It stays fixed on the intense stare that your reflection throws back at you like a challenge, the ferocity of it enhanced by the sharp eyeliner you’re wearing tonight, an uncharacteristic look for you.

Heck, this whole night is uncharacteristic.

You could take the easy route and blame it on Yeri. God knows she can be real persuasive - it’s why she’s excellent at her job. So getting you all out to the club on a Friday night to celebrate nothing other than the simple joy that - c’mon guys, we’re all young and alive and free and tell me that’s not worth celebrating and I’ll fucking fistfight you right here and now even with my freshly manicured nails - is no feat for her.

Still, no one really expected your simple reply, tone nonchalant and eyes still glued to your work screen, “Yeah, I could use a night out.”

Soo-eun had remained silent but you could feel her stiffen slightly beside you. Yeri had been surprised too but more elated that she didn’t have to get through your usual ten solid minutes of whining and half-baked attempts at slithering your way out of it.

But back to the present. Your bodycon dress - one of the rare pieces that survived not just your college partying days but also the wardrobe purge that occurred when you had to downsize everything to fit into the tiny apartment that’s quintessential to city-living - expands with your chest as you take a deep breath. Gripping the hem where it sits mid-thigh, you yank it down slightly. It’s been a while since you’ve worn this dress. And while the younger, more risque version of you that was your college self had been enthralled by the daringness of the dress, your current self has to dig deep to muster up that same boldness.

Relenting as you realize that this is the limit to how much you can stretch the length of your dress, you let go and your fingertips unintentionally brush your thigh as it falls back to your side. It elicits a shudder, the sensation of your own fingers too close to the electrifying feeling of someone’s thumb skimming across it. It was electrifying enough that your brain finally powered up again, voice of rationality sending you skedaddling away, out of reach of his touch, and pathetically seeking refuge in the washroom.

You roll your shoulders back and shake your head, dispelling the thoughts. Standing upright, you look yourself in the eye again. You can do this. You’re going to go out there, and you’re going to have a good time with your friends. You’re going to have a good time with Namjoon. With a nod of affirmation, you turn and saunter your way back to the club with a confidence that has your chin firmly tipped upwards.

You push the door open and look for your friends. The sight that greets you immediately punctures your confidence and your steady posture falls limp.

It’s hard to miss her silvery dress - the dress you knew she would wear and the dress that your very own was meant to counter. It catches the light and grabs attention. And at this moment, it grabs your attention so you can witness Yeri standing between Namjoon’s manspread thighs as he’s perched on the barstool, her hands all over him.

Whatever puffed up confidence you’d had is knocked out of you with that sucker punch of a sight. You turn away, needing to look anywhere but at them.

And that’s when your line of sight falls on a curly-haired man, oddly familiar, and apparently someone you know since he’s waving to you.

“____, hey!” he yells over the music.

“Dong-In?”

He nods and smiles at you. “It’s been a while.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “I was supposed to get back to you on brunch, wasn’t I?” Damn. You’ve been so wrapped up with Namjoon that you totally forgot about Dong-In. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been really caught up with things.”

“It’s no biggie.” He shrugs boyishly. “The exhibition, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sure, the exhibition. Let’s go with that.

“And nothing to do with…” he directs his gaze - and yours along with it - to none other than Namjoon who’s now drinking with Yeri.

Your gaze snaps back to Dong-In and his cheshire grin.

“Nah,” you feign a laugh. “He’s just a friend.”

“The hand he had on you sure didn’t look like just friends.”

“I said we’re just friends,” you snap, then gasp, taken aback by your own outburst. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I should be the one apologizing. I hit a nerve there, didn’t I. D’you wanna talk about it?” His voice is warm and mellow and oh so inviting. And you very nearly give in.

But you can’t pull him into your problems. It’s not his burden to bear.

“Not really. But thanks, Dong-In.”

“That’s cool.” He nods, and relief fills you. This is what you’ve always liked about Dong-In. He’s chill. “Well since we’re here, wanna get buzzed?”

You laugh. “I won’t say no to that.”

The bar isn’t too far from where you are, and it doesn’t take long before the burn of alcohol is sliding down your throat. Picking up the conversation again, you have to admit, you’d forgotten how easy it is to talk to Dong-In. He’s got that effortless charisma and an easy sense of humor that you can vibe with. Things are simple with him. There’s no line to be tiptoed. Flirting - now that you’re no longer obtuse and you’re finally aware that he is indeed flirting with you - isn’t accompanied by guilt or fear.

And after weeks of this complicated situation with Namjoon, simplicity is what you crave.

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” you ask suddenly. Surprise colors his features for a moment but he laughs it off.

“Is the conversation boring you? You could have just told me to shut up if you wanted me to,” he jokes.

“No!” You laugh. “There’s just a good beat going and-”

“I’m just kidding. I’d love to.” He smiles and grabs your hand.

The two of you weave your way through the mass of gyrating bodies. Lightly buzzed, the fog and the strobe lights blurring everything around you other than your dance partner, you finally find the courage you’ve been searching for this whole time. Dong-In hasn’t been very subtle about checking you out all night, and it gives you that extra boost of confidence that’s finally quelled the antsy thoughts and calmed the fidgety adjustments to your dress’s hemline.

So when his hands find your waist, you step in a little closer and run your hands through your hair, shaking it out and finally letting loose as your hips rock to the pounding beat. Dancing with Dong-In is much like conversing with him- easy and simple fun with just the slightest tinge of excitement. As your hips sway together in languid synchrony, you catch a whiff of the slightly intoxicating combination of his cologne and the undertones of his own natural scent. You give in to the giddying sensation of his hands running lightly over your body and press in closer, eyes fluttering shut, and just feeling. It’s thrilling. It’s risque. It’s-

A solid grip on your wrist yanks you forward and stumbling into a hard chest.

His voice is gruff as he bites out his words, “Get your hands off her.”

“Namjoon?” you gape.

“We’re leaving.” His eyes fix on yours, steely and piercing. A shiver runs down your spine - in all your years of knowing him, you’ve never seen him like this. He tugs on your wrist once more. “Now.”

Dazed by this brand new persona, you don’t even get to say goodbye to Dong-In, just pulled along by the force that is a quietly fuming Namjoon. Everything happens so quickly that it’s all a blur until you’re in the Uber with him, silently clutching onto your purse as an anchor in this sudden whirlwind of events. The anger emanates off of him even in the dimly lit backseat.

“What the fuck?” you whisper, but the shock diminishes the level of conviction in your voice.

He turns to you, the same hardness still in his gaze. “I should be the one asking that.”

“What?!” you snap. In your peripheral vision, you see the Uber driver jump slightly. Lowering your tone, you hiss, “What gives you the right?”

“What gives me the right?” he echoes incredulously, scoffing and turning away from you to face forward instead as he rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

The car slows to a stop and you recognize your apartment building. You scramble to get away from him. But it seems your confrontation is far from over. Namjoon unbuckles his own seatbelt to follow you.

Terse silence sits between you, the aggravated stomping of your feet as you climb the stairs the only thing that fills the sound.

You turn sharply round the corner, stalking off to your apartment door. “You don’t have to escort me y’know, I’m perfectly capable of getting home by myself.”

“Really?” He folds his arms and leans on the wall next to your door. “It’s hard to trust you when you go off getting drunk and throwing yourself at a random stranger in the club.”

“Is that what the problem is?” You finally ram the key in, and the click as it unlocks is as harsh as your tone. “Sorry to break it to you, but I have a life apart from you. He’s no stranger. His name is Dong-In, he’s Yeri’s friend, and he’s a great guy.”

You shove the door open. Your heels get kicked off and left haphazardly at the entryway, shoe cabinet ignored.

“Wow, some great guy he is,” Namjoon slams the door shut and his shoes get discarded off his feet in the same fashion, “drunkenly feeling you up in a club.”

“Fuck!” You turn, wringing your hands in your hair. Your glares rival each other. “You say it as if I was strung along by him. Well I wasn’t. I initiated it.”

His glare flickers for a moment. He stays silent.

“Just admit that you’re jealous,” you whisper. You unsling your purse and dump it on top of the shoe cabinet, never breaking eye contact.

“Fine.” Namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I am.”

He skulks forward and traps you between him and the cabinet, gaze holding yours. Namjoon’s always towered over you, but at the moment it isn’t his height that makes you feel tiny.

“Watching his hands all over you like this,” Namjoon’s hands slowly skim the back of your thighs and up your sides and you bite back a whimper, “makes me jealous.”

“And watching you respond like this?” He continues as a firm hand presses the small of your back to close the gap between your torsos. “Glued to him like this? It makes me jealous.”

“You don’t own me,” you whisper but it only elicits a sardonic laugh from him.

“You say that, but you know damn well that’s not the truth. Tell me. Are you jealous?”

“What would I-”

“Yeri.” Damn. Straight through the bullshit. With an eyebrow cocked, it’s obvious he knows the answer and he’s not budging, not even an inch.

“Yes,” you admit quietly. “I’m jealous.”

“Silly girl.” He traces the hemline of your dress. “I only want you.”

A soft keening noise spills out of you. “I’m so sick of holding back.” You tug on his dress shirt, and the feel of his plush lips finally, finally meeting yours snips the final frayed cords of self-restraint you possessed.

Namjoon is quick to reciprocate, and you moan as his tongue licks at your bottom lip. Hooking your arms around his neck, you pull him closer, needing nothing else but to have him close after all this time of distance. He hoists you up, and your legs circle his waist to aid him. The world around you sets into motion as he walks you to your bed, and you anchor yourself by pressing kisses to his neck.

With how tiny your apartment is, it takes no time for him to carry you from the entryway to your bedroom. The cool sensation of your unmade sheets envelops you as he lowers you down onto the bed. He barely gets a moment to appreciate the sight of you, hair mussed and lipstick smudged, lounging on the bed and waiting for him. Desperate for his touch and running out of patience, you gesture to the zip on the side of your dress. Hurrying, he pulls the zipper down as you tug your arms out of the thin straps of the garment. You sit up and let the torso of the dress fall to bunch up at your waist, revealing your bare chest to him.

The quiet gasp that escapes him as he beholds you is infinitely flattering. It’s but a momentary pause. He dives forward into action again. An arm looped around your back to support you as your chest arches upwards, he crouches over you to take one perked-up tit into the heat of his mouth, his free hand coming up to toy with the other. His tongue laves over your nipple in a slippery flick. The other gets pinched and rolled, leaving you gasping at the delicious sensations.

“Namjoon,” you moan out breathily, and it only eggs him on. You whimper as he begins sucking on the bud and wetness pools between your thighs. Your fingernails rake down his back, muted through the layer of his dress shirt.

“M-more,” you plead. He releases your breast and moves his mouth upwards, trailing gentle pecks till he kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Come here,” he commands, his words breathy and hot as they puff against the thin skin of your clavicle. He scoots back to lean against the headboard, and you follow hastily.

You clamber on top of him, knees bent and straddling his lap as he helps you hike the skirt of your dress up. But before you seat yourself atop the prominent bulge in the lightwash denim of his jeans, he holds you still with a firm grasp on your hip.

His thumb trails the lace detail of your panties, the patterns snaking across your hip bone, baby pink like your dress.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbles. His fingers wander to your clothed core, the material slightly sheer from the damp spot of your arousal. He strokes it tenderly with the pad of his finger, so light that it has you quivering as you hover above him.

His fingernail grazes your slit through the wet material and a gasp catches in your throat. You clench around nothing as carnal desire throbs through your core.

“Namjoon, please,” you whine.

Finally, he gives in to you and pulls you down. Your laced core meets his rough denim-clad one. The stiff material of his jeans pokes through the delicate fabric of your underwear, the friction rough as he drags you over his clothed bulge. The burn is delicious. His hands on you set a slow but steady rhythm that you follow easily, canting your hips in time. It’s enrapturing to watch the way you grind on one another, your clit rubbing up on the apex of his bulge in mutual pleasure.

A finger tips your chin up from the sight you were fixated on.

“Eyes on me.”

It’s difficult. Pleasure has your eyes drooping shut. But the intensity of his gaze compellingly holds yours and you manage, even if barely. His expression is stoic, and it’s only the twitch of his dick that betrays how affected he is. You, on the other hand, are completely abandoned to pleasure. Hands scrabbling across his upper back and up until they settle themselves as fists gripping tufts of his hair, teeth clamped on your bottom lip as moans spill out of you at increasing frequency as your pleasure climbs and climbs and climbs until-

Burrowing your face into the side of his neck, you pant as you cross the peak. Hips now stilled, your climax has you throbbing against his hardened member. You cling onto him with your arms around his neck as you free-fall in the subsiding pleasure. Bare chest brushing against the smooth material of his dress shirt, you catch your breath and yield to the moment.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit.” Louder this time. “Shit, shit, shit.”

The regret in his words yank you out of the heady fog of lust. There’s no time to bask in the afterglow. Reality comes crashing down hard and mercilessly.

Suddenly, you feel so small and so exposed. You read his regret as rejection. Your nudity and previous salacious actions make you feel stupid.

Namjoon attempts to extricate your arms from around him, but shame has you clutching to him tighter, hiding your face in his neck. You can still feel him under you, but it’s now an uncomfortable reminder of the act you just committed.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle now, pleading, “look at me? Please?”

You refuse. It’s impossible to look him in the eye right now.

“Fuck.” Even whispered, the panic laced in his tone is blatant. Gently, he maneuvers both of you to turn over. Feeling the mattress underneath you as you’re laid on your back, you release your hold on him and swiftly turn and tug your blanket up to hide away from him.

“____.” He tries. You grip the sheets even tighter as you feel him trying to pull it away from your face. “Please.”

Embarrassment. Guilt. Mortification. They overtake you and you curl in on yourself. You just want to disappear.

“____,” he tries again, hand stroking your head. But you don’t allow yourself to succumb to its comfort. “Talk to me. Please.”

Oh, now he wants to talk.

Why couldn’t you have just talked things out earlier? Why only now when things have fallen apart? Why now when you’ve just done something so stupid and so reckless?

Why now when it’s too late? What can talking possibly do to fix this now?

His pleas are met with silence.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says resignedly.

More silence. He sighs. You feel the mattress shift as he gets up. From where you’re still hiding in the stuffy darkness underneath your blanket, you hear his footsteps return and the muted thud of the glass getting placed on your bedside table.

The silence returns, but you can feel his presence. You imagine he’s staring at your blanket lump on the bed.

Finally, the heavy quietness is broken with a deep breath, and you hear him say softly, “Get a good night’s rest, okay? Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

The light clicks off and you’re plunged into lonely pitch-black darkness. In the distance, you hear the heavy opening and closing of your front door as Namjoon leaves.

Unearthing yourself to the coolness of the night, your dress an uncomfortable lump around your waist, your breasts slightly sore from his previous ministrations, you stare up at the ceiling as hot tears leak out.

It’s well into the afternoon by the time you drag yourself out of bed the next day. Sleep came intermittently and was far from restful, but waking up meant facing the nightmarish reality of what had transpired. So you hid under the covers for as long as you could. But you know you can’t stay there forever.

The buzzing notifications of your phone had woken you up on more than one occasion in the night. But you ignore it and leave your phone next to the glass of water - still untouched - in favor of washing up. It’s more pressing anyway, you surmise. You can feel your make-up, now icky and caked on your face. It’s awful. Your skin is probably revolting against you now and you don’t even want to think about the mess it probably left on your pillowcase. But last night, you were simply paralyzed by the weight of what you’d done, crying till sleep finally came for you.

You take your time going through an extensive skincare routine, even busting out the clay mask you had impulsively bought together with Yeri when it was on discount. You’re doing it because your skin needs the pampering and definitely not because you’re procrastinating getting to your phone.

But there’s only so many steps you can do with the limited skincare products in your apartment. And you know your friends are probably worried about your abrupt disappearance last night. Getting to those messages first, you quickly assure Soo-eun and Yeri that you’re safe at home. Looking at the remaining notifications, you sigh.

Missed calls Namjoon (8)

7 unread messages from 2 chats Namjoon: are you still sleeping? Namjoon: hey, you still asleep? Namjoon: text me when you’re up please? Namjoon: are you awake?

Dong-In: hey! Dong-In: not sure what exactly happened at the end there haha, but it was rly great seeing u again. Dong-In: i’m still waiting on that brunch reschedule, by the way.

Memories from last night come back to you. Dong-In runs his hands through his curls, an easy grin on his face as he leans in to listen to you over the loud music of the club. Things are simple with Dong-In. And, standing on the precipice of a mental spiral whenever you think of Namjoon, the same craving for simplicity from last night returns.

[2:06pm] ____: well it’s a little late for brunch right now

[2:06pm] ____: but you still up to grab a bite?

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 03 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part (02)

Next part (04)->

{Vikings Masterlist}

Icy Blue Eyes

For the first time in your life, you're wearing pants. And you don't feel less of a woman because of it, as they used to say in Wessex. Your upperbody is protected by a leather vest, Aslaug's idea since she doesn't like the idea of you trying to learn how to fight. You feel a little badass though, dressed like this, with your hair all braided up, away from your face. Hvitserk is already waiting for you, laughing at something this guy said. When he sees you, he quickly dismisses him, making his way to the middle of the open area.

“You look good. Ready to have your ass kicked a couple of times?” He says, a bright smile on his lips. He's having too much fun, but you must cut that off before you get badly hurt.

“Hvitserk, you gotta go easy on me, alright?” Raising both your hands at him, you tilt your head at the small deck behind you, where Aslaug will be. “Aslaug told me to pass it on to you that if you hurt me today, she'll wipe the floor with your face.”

He squints his eyes at you, taking a quick look at the deck. “Did she really–”

“No.” You burst out, giggling. “But really, I'm not used to it and I'm nowhere as strong as the women here so...” A man comes and hands both you and Hvitserk a sword and a shield before moving away. “Don't beat me up.”

“First of all, I was joking.” He starts, suddenly taking your sword away and throwing it on the ground. “Let's begin with some basic defense. I'll attack you, and you'll have to block me with the shield. It'll help you understand the amount of strength you'll need and how to avoid being cut down to pieces, alright?”

“Alright.” Fixing the shield on your arm, you hold it with both hands, keeping it in front of your body.

“I'll attack you from different directions so pay attention.”

“Alright.” When he starts to pace around, you do the same. You're on full alert, your eyes on the arm he's holding the sword. It doesn't take much time until he moves, bring the metal down on you. Thankfully, you think fast enough to lift the shield to protect your head, and the impact isn't as strong as you were expecting, so you managed to stay your ground. Hvitserk is holding back, obviously, and you're grateful he's being gentle.

“Good. You're fast.” He exclaims, and you giggle when you pull the shield down, staring at him. “I'll strike harder on each blow, alright? So keep in mind the next one will be worse. Protect your head and sides.”

Nodding, you're soon attacked many times. And he wasn't joking about that. Every hit is harder than the last, and you have to alternate between your skull and torso since the blows come from different angles. It doesn't take much until you start being pushed backward, and for some reason it makes you laugh.

Never in your life, you thought you'd be doing something like this. In a place like this, with people like this. They aren't mindless monsters, they're just people. They laugh, and love, and care about others. And, God, they live. They yell, and run, and fight. They're not restricted by some stupid made up rules. For you, right now, this is what means to be a Viking. To be free to do what you want, go where you want, be with who you want.

This is paradise on Earth, it doesn't matter how weird things still look in your eyes. As Hvitserk hits again, making you stumble back, a laugh escapes your lips as you realize you won't ever go back. Not even if Aethelwulf sent an army to rescue you. You wouldn't even consider it.

“Everything alright over there?” Hvitserk asks, and, still laughing, you lower the shield so he can see your face. He looks very confused but smiles anyway.

“Yeah, it's just...” Gasping, you shrug your shoulders. “This is crazy, you know? This is freedom. I'm doing this because I want to and if I want to stop, I will. And nobody will come and say I should or shouldn't do it.” Running a hand through your hair, you push some loose strands away from your face. “I feel great. My arm already hurts, but I feel–” You're cut short by another blow, quickly raising the shield again to block it. And another laugh escapes. “Shit, that was tough.” Regaining your balance, you mutter.

“Your reflexes are very–”

“This is not how you do it, little brother.” Bjorn's voice cuts in, and both you and Hvitserk turn to look at him. “If you want to teach her, do it properly.” He quickly takes a sword, walking fast over you. “Focus on your legs. Stand your ground.” He's barely even done speaking when the sword comes crashing down.

The same moment you raise the shield, his sword connects with the wood. But it's way too strong, and you're caught by surprise. You feel the shield slipping and hitting your head as you stumble down, falling on your ass. Using one arm to sustain the seated position, you close your eyes tight when you feel like the whole world is spinning insanely fast, and you feel what can only be blood flowing out. Throwing the shield away, you feel arms around you, and a voice slowly breaking into your head.

“(Y/N), talk to me. Hey.” A snap makes you open your eyes again, finding Hvitserk crouching before you. “There you are. Can you stand up?”

“Yeah.” You notice some people gathering around, so, despite the headache and the dizziness, you push yourself up, holding onto his arm for support.

“(Y/N), I didn't mean to–”

“To crack my head open? Yeah, I bet.” Cutting him off, you give Bjorn a look, raising a hand at him when he tries to approach, making him stop.

“Let's get you some water.” Hvitserk guides you away from the crowd, to a half construction near the deck. Lucky for Bjorn Aslaug isn't here yet, or else you're sure she'd lash out at him.

“That was certainly a show.” The voice makes you roll your eyes, and it shoots a sharp pain through your skull. Ivar's giggle makes you even angrier, but you can deal with it later.

He's seated on a piece of wood right beside the table with some buckets filled with water. “Here.” Hvitserk gives you a cup and you take a few sips from it. “I'll get something to clean the blood. Are you alright standing on your own?”

“I'm fine.” Nodding, you watch as he quickly disappears behind a corner, putting the cup down, and closing your eyes when you feel dizzy again. Using the table as a support, you feel your body falling, unable to sustain its weight.

You're ready to collapse on the floor when you feel hands grabbing you, tightly holding your waist. It takes a while until you notice it's Ivar, and when you use his shoulders to support yourself, your face ends up too close to his, close enough to feel his breath. His eyes, ice blue, in a shade you didn't even know existed, burn right through you, and... It takes you by surprise how Ivar doesn't push you away, violently, as you were expecting. Instead, it feels like everything slows down, and you stay there, balance regained, but his hands still holding you.

“Everything alright?” Hvitserk's voice snaps you out of it, and you awkwardly step away from Ivar, moving towards the table.

“Yeah, I'm alright.” Nodding you watch as he damps the small piece of fabric on one of the buckets before starting to clean up the blood. But when he starts to get closer to the wound, you start moving away. “Ouch!”

“Stop flinching.” He tells you.

“Yeah, stop flinching,” Ivar repeats, and you feel his hand on the small of your back, forcing you to stand still.

Roling your eyes before closing them, you decide to ignore it for now. But what you just can't ignore is how his touch burns, making itself known, felt, it doesn't matter how hard you try to pretend he's not there. It takes way too much time until Hvitserk is done, putting the fabric down and giving a better look at the wound.

“Well, it's not as bad as I thought it would be, but–”

“What happened?” Aslaug comes out of nowhere, pushing Hvitserk away and cupping your face, angry eyes scanning through the injury.

“Bjorn showed up.” He answers as you use the table to balance yourself when you feel dizzy once more. “He hit her so hard that the shield went right to her head.”

“He will listen to me. Come. You need to lie down.”

You were going to just walk, but the moment you move away from the table you feel yourself falling again, so you grab Hvitserk's arm, and you don't even have to ask him, he puts an arm around your waist to help you get moving again.

It still takes you by surprise to know Aslaug actually likes you. She makes her slaves have this patch made with some herbs to help the healing process and forces you to stay in bed for a while. The headache makes it easy to just do as she says.

The bad part is that there's pretty much only one thing in your head, and it's not how pissed you are at Bjorn. It's Ivar. Maybe the hit on your head is driving you crazy after all, but you swear he was... Different. Not anger as he usually seems. It takes two days until the headache starts to surrender, and you decide to spend another one in the calmness of your bedroom with no company other than Aslaug, who's often talking about her husband and their issues, or Hvtiserk, who comes to check on you at least once a day. He started to teach you to play Hnefatafl, and you soon learned your way around the game, even beating him a couple of times. The only reason why Bjorn hasn't come is that the Queen forbade him, and you don't mind that at all. He's the last person you want to see right now.

But then, it's time to finally leave the bedroom, only the ghost of the pain hovers over. It's almost time for dinner, and you're already hungry. Walking through the place, you find Hvitserk and Ubbe chatting, and they both look up from their drinks when they see you.

“Look who decided to show up,” Ubbe exclaims. “Feeling better?”

“Very much. I really enjoy walking without feeling dizzy.” Moving to the table, one that hangs from the ceiling by four sets of chains, you take a cup and the jar, pouring some drink for yourself before passing it to the guys. “Actually, I kinda need to steal your brother for a while, Ubbe. I need to talk about something.” Carefully not to make anything fall, you push yourself up, seating on the table and feeling as it softly swings.

“It's alright. Gotta get some stuff done before supper anyways.” Ubbe sighs and gets up, taking long sips straight from the jar. Then, he gives the now empty thing to his brother and leaves.

“So.” You start, taking a deep breath. “Take a chair and sit here.” Moving further to the center of the table, you tap the space on the wood on your left. “The last thing I need is anyone else listening.”

Hvitserk makes a face at you, squinting his eyes before getting to his feet and grabbing a chair, placing it on the place you gestured. “Is it some plan to kill Bjorn?”

“What? No.” Shaking your head, you suddenly realize what you're about to say. And for a moment you reconsider. But if you don't get this out, it'll keep annoying you. And Hvitserk will probably say you're getting everything wrong, so you'll let it go. “It's not about Ragnar's oldest son... It's about the youngest.” Lowering your voice, you stare at him, taking in the low giggle as he looks down at his hands.

“I knew it.”

“No, you didn't. Now shut up and listen.” Moving to playfully punch his arm, the table swings. Hvitserk nods with a dramatic eye-roll, holding the piece of wood to make it stop. “I... May be going crazy, but when you left me with Ivar that day, I felt dizzy and almost fell.” Looking down at your cup, you drum your fingers on the top of it. “And, I don't know, it felt... Weird.” The memory comes back, and for a moment you can feel his hands again, around your waist.

“Define weird.”

“A good kind of weird.” You mutter, drinking what's left and putting it down beside you. “He looked at me, and damn it, Hvitserk, it didn't felt like he hated me or something.” Whispering, you lean closer to him. “I've been trying not to think about it, but I that's everything I think about. Am I crazy?”

Hvitserk seems thoughtful for a while, and when you're just about to ask him to say something, he looks up at you. “Ivar's normal behavior would be to let you fall. Then he'd laugh.”

“Well, I didn't fall and he didn't laugh. So.”

“I don't know.” He shrugs his shoulders. “He hasn't mentioned you to me yet, which is a surprise by itself. I was expecting him to give me a hard time since we're kinda like friends now.”

Good. Neither of you can understand Ivar. “Great. Nobody knows what the hell is going on.”

“Am I getting this wrong or do you like Ivar?” Hvitserk leans backward, crossing his arms and resting his back on the chair.

“No...?” It sounds like a question as you mirror his position, arms crossed. “I mean, he's... Handsome...” Blushing, you look away. “I noticed that I'm not blind. But it doesn't mean I like him.”

“Who is it you like?” The other voice makes you turn to the hall immediately, watching as Bjorn comes from the main hall, pushing the leather curtains away.

Taking a deep breath, you jump to the floor, holding the chains to make the table stop swinging and then fixing everything that you dropped. “What do you want? Try to crack my skull open again?” Hvitserk hands you two cups that fell on his lap.

“I hope you can forgive me.” Bjorn comes over you, standing only a foot away, a hand grabbing one of the chains sustaining the table. “I thought you wanted to learn and–”

“I wanted to know how to defend myself and I was having a good time until you showed up.” Eager to put some distance between you two, you walk around Hvitserk, who's looking down, pretending as if he's not here. “I don't enjoy being hurt.”

“But in a real situation, you'd–”

“It wasn't a real situation, alright?” Running a hand through your hair, you feel your head getting a little worse.

“I'll leave you two to talk,” Hvitserk mutters as he stands up, giving Bjorn a look before disappearing somewhere behind you.

“That was the first time in my life that I got to hold a shield. You can't possibly think I had the strength or ability to deal with a stroke like that.” With both hands on your hip, something gets your attention. Entering the main hall, you see Ivar, standing this time, walking with the aid of a clutch. You don't know why you're biting the inside on your cheek to suppress a smile. Why do you want to smile in the first place?

“It's just that you look like one of us now and I forget that you're a Christian princess.” Bjorn's voice makes you look at him again, but it takes a while for you to bring sense to his words.

There are a lot of things you could say. That it's not about being a princess, or that you're not trying to look like them. But you don't feel like extending this argument. “Alright, Bjorn. I forgive you. Just leave the training to Hvitserk.”

“That's fine by me.” He nods, a small smile on his lips. The truth is that Bjorn didn't do that on purpose, this is just their way, and you're the one who's not used to it yet. So you feel good forgiving him after all.

“Alright.”

“But now, who were you talking about with Hvitserk?”

“Oh, that was just–”

“You two,” Ragnar calls from the main hall. “Come eat.”

You want to hug him for interrupting this conversation, so you immediately follow him, settling down next to the fire. Today it's just Ragnar's family, and at first, you do feel like an intruder. But with time, as they include you in the conversations, you feel better. You even tell a little about yourself, about your life in Wessex. It doesn't take much for you to feel Ivar's eyes on you. You try hard not to look too much, but it's like a freaking battle. Those blue eyes have some kind of power, and it's difficult to resist.

“And so it'll be until the twilight of the gods,” Ubbe says and everyone laughs, but you don't, unable to remember what they were talking about.

“Ragnarok,” Bjorn exclaims.

“Until Ragnarok. That asshole won't be coming back here.” By the tone of his voice, it sounds like there was a fight. Aslaug told you about a man that came into town, stealing and destroying things. Ubbe must have taught him a lesson.

“Ragnarok.” You mutter to yourself, playing with your empty cup.

“As if you knew anything about it.” Ivar sounds a little pissed, and you honestly don't understand why. “Don't speak as if you do.”

Chuckling, you stretch your arm, hand hovering above the flames. “There will be three severe winters.” You start, and for some reason, probably given the nature of the subject, a silence falls on. “And summers of black sun.” Retrieving your hand when it gets too hot, you fix your eyes on Ivar. You already had enough of him teasing you, and it happens that you know exactly what Ragnarok is. “Those will certainly be terrible times, and Jörmungandr, the world serpent will come lurching from the ocean, bringing up the tides until they flood the entire world.” Smiling, you lean forward, elbows on the table. Slowly, Ivar does the same, those powerful eyes not leaving yours. It feels like there's nobody else here, just you and him. “Fenrir will break loose of his invisible chains and the sky will open, so Surt, the fire giant can come, blazing through the bridge to face and crush the gods. Odin will come to battle one last time against the wolf Fenrir, and Thor will fight the serpent. He will kill it but die from its venom. And at last... The giant wolf Fenrir will swallow the sun, and the world will be forever in darkness.” Your lips break into a smile, and, at the same time, Ivar's lips do the same. He looks at you the same way he did a few days ago, only more intense. It's like he sees you now. “This is Ragnarok.” You add, voice barely a whisper.

“Perfect,” Ivar mutters, and everyone finally starts moving again.

“How did you learn all that?” Aslaug asks as Ragnar fills her cup once again.

“I was allowed to learn about your culture. Language, traditions.” Shrugging your shoulders, you feel when Hvitserk kicks your leg under the table, so you glance at him. Discreetly, he tilts his head towards Ivar, and you can't help but look straight at him. He's staring.

“That's interesting. But it feels like you're not really paying much attention to what we're saying, are you, Princess (Y/N)?” Aslaug holds back a smile, and by the look on her face, she knows exactly what's going on. And that's good, perhaps she can explain it to you later.

“Uhm...” Your eyes fall on one of the jars, which you know it's empty. “I'll get some more.” Moving quickly, before Aslaug can send one of her slaves, you grab the jar and walks to the kitchen. The girls there help you out, refilling the jar. But it happens way too fast, so you decide to go outside for a while, breathing in the cold night air.

Raising your head to look at the night sky, you take a deep breath, closing your eyes. But when you do, it's Ivar you see, his ice blue eyes shining against the darkness. Something is going on with you, and you wish you could understand. If you were as sure as you were before that Ivar absolutely hates you, I'd be easier. But now... You don't know anymore.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla

#ivar the boneless imagine #imagine ivar #ivar vikings #ivar the boneless #vikings ivar #imagine ivar vikings #imagine ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #ivar vikings imagine

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thewriterowl · 3 years

Note

For the numbered ask thing: bobadinluke, 38, 39, and 41?

38: Oh yeah, they're kinky. They do a lot of stuff in the bedroom. They sometimes switch around, but Luke is primarily the bottom and primarily the one in the middle. Din and Boba just aren't quite as in love with one another as they are with Luke. Their biggest kinks are each other lol really though, Luke does something cute or feral or strong and the Mandos have to drag him to the nearest private corner. But i think the Mandos do love tying Luke up and sort of controlling him. He's such a firecracker and is just always doing dangerous things that there is almost a comfort to do that. Massive daddy-kink, breeding kink, praise kink, and possessive kink for them. Boba and Din also probably love throne sex.

I don't think they really are into role-play of like "i'm gonna pretend to be this pirate" thing. If Din and Boba are feisty, they will play "chase" and tell Luke he has like a three hour head start. The longer he manages to hide from them, the more he is rewarded (they also see it as good training to keep him safe) so they may really get lost in the hunt and call Luke their quarry or prey.

Neither Mandos are big on the idea of pain-play. They all have had enough pain in their life. A bite here, rough-housing there, Luke falling cause they had to tackle him or wrap him in their metallic rope during a chase is one thing...but actually hurting is not really something they want to do.

39: I think Luke and Din are a bit shy so Boba was the one that initiated it. Din was the one who said they should just be together. And Luke probably gave the first kiss. Maybe after a battle or he was just so happy things were going ok or he wanted to comfort one of them...he probably kissed them both first. I think they all fell hard pretty fast. Luke was the first to realize it. He's very self aware and has to be very involved with his feelings and thoughts. He probably confessed first too. Surprisingly, Din was second to realize but he didn't act on it. Boba took the longest to realize.

41: Boba back in his thirties was. Now in his early forties and living through what he went through, he's just meh about it. But he likes it far more than the other two. He still wants to use Jabba's palace to its full potential and will hold stuff on occasion (gives him an excuse to get some more liquor). Luke has not attended many parties. He doesn't really know what to do at them. But he likes people watching and listening in on gossip and stories. Din hates them. Straight out. No parties. Neither Boba or Din really drink in public. They don't trust people enough to do that. They'll drink like they're at a party when alone tho. Luke drinks at parties. And then drinks afterwards. He's from Tatooine. The guy holds his alcohol like a champ.

When Luke does meet his limit he is just a sleepy drunk. He's just dozing off. His hangovers only make him, still, tired. He just needs some water, aspirin, maybe some bread, and a day's worth of sleep and he's good.

Din is a very clingy drunk. He is all over Luke when he's hit the bottle. He is holding him, caressing him, slurring out adorations and pet names, carrying on a possible one-sided conversation cause Luke is asleep, and just needs to hold him. He deals with the worst headache afterwards that lasts for the rest of the following day and sometimes leaves him dizzy and sick.

Boba is a loud drunk He is telling wild stories, looking for attention, and basically screams when he talks. He is ready to fight anyone. He is also the one most likely to fall head first into a bush or keep walking into the same door cause he just can't get his vision and mind right. He probably pukes three times, needs a nap, but is then good without a hangover by 10am the next morning.

#dinluke #bobaluke #inbox

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kitkat1003 · 4 years

Text

Everything is Blue

Chapter 1: His pills, his hands, his jeans

MK just wants everyone in his life to be safe and happy, to never leave him. He'll do whatever it takes to make that happen.

And, luckily for him, the voice in his head has the perfect plan to make that happen.

(Or, the author contemplates how slow the possession was for DBK in episode 10 and considers how MK would fall)

Ao3 link

This is a 13k monolith of a first chapter, but I'm very proud of how it turned out! I threw it together in 4 days with the help of my beta reader @imnotcameraready on tumblr, famous for the Chivalry is Dead sanders sides au. Give it a read, it's on Ao3 and tumbr! It even has a sequel! Seriously, she’s a great writer and edited this thing in like 2-3 hrs after I threw it at her. A godsend.

Anyway, happy reading!

When MK knocks the canisters off of DBK’s back, he thinks that’s the end of it. He wasn’t exactly given the rundown on how the cannisters worked, nor does he know why whatever was in them caused DBK to go crazy, but at the very least he only had to fight the one guy instead of the entire family. It was weird to fight with Red Son and Princess Iron Fan (shouldn't she be Queen, at this point? She's married to Demon Bull King, after all. Do they not have the paperwork?) but not unwelcome. He wishes they could be on the same side all of the time.

Because he was raised on stories of Monkey King’s adventures, which frequently discuss the Demon Bull Family, and he’s always thought they were interesting in those stories. He thinks Princess Iron Fan is super cool, even though she’s scary and actively wants him dead. Red Son is...well, he wasn’t what MK expected, but that isn’t exactly a bad thing. If anything, MK thought he’d be older. He doesn’t understand how demon aging works.

Tangents aside, he watches them disappear in a gust of wind and groans, flopping forward as he bemoans the fact that they left again, when he’d just beat them. Well, he hadn’t actually fought all three of them, this time. DBK had fought more people than he had.

He jumps as the cave begins to crumble from all the damage that it took from the fight, scrambling to find a way out, when—

A New Vessel?

A voice curls into his ear, a soft whisper.

Young. Powerful. Weak. Freedom.

He looks down, and he sees a white light sink into his skin. Cold seeps into his every pore, bone, and nerve, his muscles tensing as the temperature drops. His teeth chatter, and when he lets out a startled breath he sees white air drift in front of his face. The warmth of his powers—his Monkey King powers—is smothered, and soon all MK feels is the cold that keeps him in place, rooting him to the spot. It’s a miracle he’s even standing.

What is this?

What’s happening?

His eyes dart to the cannisters. The empty canisters. There was something in there, earlier, right? Where did it go?

Is this? Wher e it w e n t?

Wha t i s . . . ?

It’s hard to think. His thoughts are newly cracked ice upon a lake, pieces crashing slowly against each other and fracturing further, splintering into nothingness.

New Vessel. Rest.

His eyes slide shut, out of his control, as his consciousness, like everything else, is smothered by the chill.

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He wakes up on the shoulder of the Monkey Mech, as the last rays of sun are streaking across the steadily darkening sky, like a lighthouse beam against the dark sea. He sits up, staring far into the horizon, as confusion pulls him out of the just woken up daze. How did he get here?

“MK?” He jumps, startled, and turns to realize that Mei is right next to him, a concerned smile on her face. He stares at her, trying to figure out why she’s here, how she got here. Then again, he doesn’t even know how he got here. He feels dizzy just trying to remember.

“You alright, kid?” Pigsy’s voice comes from his other side, and he forces himself not to jump, turning to look at his boss. Tang and Sandy are there too, and Sandy waves while Tang smiles in greeting mid slurp, bowl of noodles in hand.

“What happened?” he’s missing time. He defeated DBK, and then...then nothing. There’s a feeling of coldness, at the thought, but the memories don’t come.

“I found you on the ground after the Bull Clones all sort of fell apart. I figured you passed out after trouncing DBK, so I picked you up and got you out of there.” Mei doesn’t seem concerned, but MK is, just a little. He’s never passed out after using his powers; rather, using them often results in him getting an energy boost. He thinks back on it, trying to remember any time this has happened before. Macaque comes to mind but even then he wasn’t tired once his powers returned.

His ruminating on the ordeal is cut off by a bowl of noodles being shoved unceremoniously into his hands. He blinks down at it, and then turns to Pigsy

“Here, kid. Eat. You look pale, and skinny as ever. Can’t have my employee lookin’ half starved.” He smiles at Pigsy’s attempt to hide his soft side, picking up his chopsticks with a grin.

He eats, and the loud conversations of what they’d just accomplished arrests MK’s attention so that the questions about DBK, the cannisters, the voice that he swears he can hear in the back of his mind, fall away like sand in an hourglass, time never able to be reclaimed.

The sun finally vanishes and stars dot the sky like sequins on a gown. MK curls in on himself, hunched over the bowl a little, missing the sun's rays and the finished soup’s warmth.

He shivers, but there’s no breeze.

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The bonus of living in such a technologically advanced age is that city reconstruction is pretty fast. Hospitals are rebuilt first, people are brought in en masse. MK spends his time volunteering there, because noodle shops are low on the list of things to be rebuilt and he needs to be useful.

MK tries not to be too guilty about the wreckage, though most of it had occurred because he was late to stop DBK. He'd been kept at Flower Fruit Mountain for a few weeks because Monkey King was worried after the incident with Macaque. Wanted to be sure MK's training ethic wasn't too messed up, wanted to be certain Macaque hadn't left any lasting effects or impressions.

It was a punishment, MK knows, for being a two timing student and for making Monkey King have to deal with a demon enemy when he’s made it clear that he’s retired. Doesn't matter that they only ever trained in the morning and early afternoon, then spent the rest of the day hanging out. MK has watched Monkey King: The Animated Series fifty-three times now, most recently with Monkey King during the duration of his solitary confinement at Flower Fruit Mountain. They'd both piped up with commentary, MK about the production and animation, and Monkey King about the inaccuracies that MK filed away for his sketchbook.

But even so, it was a punishment for MK’s failings. Why else would Monkey King keep MK close, keep him away from his family and friends, keep MK away from the outside world?

It takes two and a half weeks after the battle with DBK for MK to go back to work delivering noodles. He'll sometimes buy extra and drop it off at a random hospital nearby, for the medical staff. They're overworked because of him, because he was away for so long.

He has to be better next time. He doesn't know when DBK will be back, doesn’t know how to sense him. Is he able to do that? Can he learn to sense when his enemies are nearby? That would solve a lot of problems, near rid him of worry. Maybe Monkey King knows?

That thought has him swinging by Flower Fruit Mountain on the weekend, with a promise to Pigsy to be home before midnight. MK is an adult only by age, after all; Pigsy still treats him like the 16 year old he found half dead outside his shop.

When he steps onto the mountain’s sand, though, he feels unwelcome.

The mystic energy that had beckoned him in the first time he’d arrived has shut its doors, like a silent way of saying

Leave.

Not a single monkey comes to greet him, but he can see their eyes, hidden in the trees. They regard him with suspicion. He frowns at them in confusion.

He hears a hiss in the back of his head and winces at the ensuing headache, stepping forward in hopes of pushing past the pain. Every step he takes makes the pounding in his head louder and more painful, and MK closes his eyes and focuses, reaching for the well of power he knows he has, the power that makes the staff feel lighter than air.

It’s like sticking his hand through a well of ice, and his wrist is paralyzed by the time his fingers brush that warmth, the light curling around his palm. Gold sparkles in his vision, and the unwelcome air starts to recede, as if the island recognizes him again. He heads in deeper, and lets out a breath as the headache ceases.

He doesn’t have to head in too deep, because Monkey King comes through the waterfall in a rare moment of MK’s mentor leaving the inner sanctum of the mountain. The waterfall itself moves like a curtain out of Monkey King’s way and the sight has MK focusing on that rather than the expression on Monkey King’s face, until he looks up.

Monkey King’s eyes are sharp, darting around, an expression MK only recognizes from the suspicion and distrust Monkey King gave Macaque. MK fidgets beneath that gaze, though it isn’t directed at him, uncomfortable. He hasn’t done anything wrong, has he? He wracks his brain for any new missteps, but finds very little. Still, his anxiety skyrockets by the second.

The look vanishes, though not completely, when Monkey King’s eyes catch on the sight of MK.

“Hey bud! Impromptu visit?” Monkey King greets.

MK tries not to shy away from the air of suspicion that colors Monkey King’s tone. Is MK really that untrustworthy? He did mess up badly by trusting Macaque, and Monkey King is right to distrust him. He bites his lip and tries to ignore the swell of guilt that sets like a stone in his stomach at the memory.

“Yeah, just-uh-just wanted to train, y’know? Don’t know when DBK is coming back.” He shrugs, and Monkey King nods, only half listening.

He still looks on edge. “Cool. You uh...you bring anyone with you?”

Now that’s concerning. MK scrambles to find a supposed intruder, hands gripping his staff tight in preparation for battle. “No? Unless-Oh no, is there someone here? Is it a demon guy?” What if he led a bad guy here? What if he messed up again?

He jumps as a monkey lands on his head, picking through MK’s hair in typical grooming fashion, and then Monkey King laughs, loud and almost relieved. MK turns back around to face him.

“Nah, must be my nerves. Maybe DBK left something on you, messed with my senses.” Monkey King waves a hand, nonchalant, and MK perks up in ease at the reminder.

“Oh! That’s actually why I’m here!” He takes careful steps forward, trying not to jostle the monkey on his head. “I was thinking-I didn’t know DBK was in the city and destroying stuff, and a lot of people got hurt. But! If I could sense him, like you can, I could stop him quicker! Right?” He’s bouncing on his toes, nervous and excited all at once, and Monkey King smiles down at him fondly.

“Sure, why not? If you’re up for some meditation, that is,” Monkey King turns, waving at MK to follow.

The monkey on MK’s head hops away, and MK sprints after his mentor with a wide grin. “Totally! I’m, like, the best at meditation. I’m like a meditation wizard!”

Monkey King laughs all the way to the training grounds.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Training actually is easier than he expects. MK blusters a lot, but he isn’t dumb or unaware of his limits. Sitting still isn’t his strong suit, so sitting still while not being able to talk, tap, fidget, or do anything else other than think is basically torture.

But, when he gets into the meditative position with Monkey King, something clicks. A cool blanket settles on his shoulders, eases out the desire to move. It’s so easy to be still, and quiet.

Frozen.

“You weren’t kidding,” Monkey King tells him, and MK grins a little, face warmed by the praise. “Now, when you’re like this, you have to let every other sound and feeling fade out. Nothing else matters but the energies around you. Mine’s pretty easy to see cause, yknow,”

MK can practically see Monkey King scratching his chin and grinning with barely hidden pride. “I’m a pretty powerful guy. DBK would be similar, he’s got a pretty loud aura too. Now, just try it, kay?”

MK nods, and takes a deep breath. The sounds around him-bugs, monkeys jumping around and talking to one another, the wind, the ever present sound of something in his head—those all start to fade away.

Wait, what was that last one?

He lets them all go, and then forgets the feeling of the cold, the grass, the fabric touching his skin. Nothing exists except his own mind, and then.

He gets to see the bright light that is Monkey King. Golden and red and royal in its feel, it’s near blinding. He has to blink a few times to get used to its light.

“Woah,” he murmurs, and Monkey King opens one eye, before blinking both in surprise.

“Woah, already? You sure you haven’t done this before?” Monkey King crosses his arms over his chest, almost offended, and MK is reminded of how betrayed Monkey King looked when MK had shown off the skills he’d learned from Macaque.

“Nope! Maybe defeating DBK gave me a confidence boost?” He shrugs, and then stands, looking around. Monkey King’s expression sits in the back of his mind, and MK bites his lip. “Did I, uh, did I do something wrong? I didn’t…,” he trials off, worried.

“Maybe,” Monkey King mumbles in response to his first reply, mostly to himself. “Oh-no, no, you’re fine, bud. I think I’m just a little paranoid,” he laughs it off. MK is too busy glancing back towards town to process Monkey King’s pensive expression.

“I can see Mei! She’s...very green. Did she always have a dragon?” It’s curled around her, like a protective barrier, snarling and poised to strike.

Monkey King chuckles. “You’ve got yourself some powerful friends, kid. Not surprising. Like knows like, even when they don’t know what like is.” He puts a hand on MK’s shoulder, and then starts. “You’re freezing. It’s not that cold, is it?”

MK blinks a few times, and everything comes back, the colors and sounds and feelings of the world returning to normal. Monkey King keeps looking at him, as if MK is a puzzle he’s yet to solve.

“I don’t know, maybe? I’ve been feeling a bit chilly, lately. Maybe I’m coming down with something?” He’s been a bit stressed out, between Macaque and DBK and the reconstruction, and he’s heard stress can cause illnesses.

Monkey King sighs, after a moment, and scratches his head.

“I think I’m becoming an adult,” he says, like it’s a crime, and he shrugs again. “You’re probably fine. Just, take it easy the next few days, alright? Practice meditating at home, or when you’re on the job. When you’re as good as me, you can turn it on whenever you need to,” Monkey King puffs up with pride, and his tail swings back and forth leisurely. MK watches his tail more than he listens to what Monkey King is saying.

“Okay. Anything else for today?” It’s only been an hour or two, they have plenty of time.

Monkey King deliberates. Then, he grins, stepping back to position for MK’s inevitable first attack. “Tell you what. We’ll spar for a bit, and then you can bring up that new show you kept ranting about a few weeks ago. Kay?”

MK’s eyes sparkle.

“Heck yeah!”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

MK’s muscles aren’t sore when he gets home. He actually lasted a couple minutes sparring this time around, and Monkey King had rewarded him with peach chips and an arm around MK’s shoulder as he eagerly pulled up the show he had dove into during his free time on the TV.

Pigsy sent him upstairs with a bowl of noodles and a stern reminder to sleep early so he wouldn’t be late for work. He finishes the noodles in record time and, once he has showered and put on his warmest pajamas, pulls out all of the blankets he can find. He just wants to be warm, just a little, even though it doesn’t make sense that he’s feeling this cold. He’s not tired, he doesn’t feel achy, his sinuses are clogged—none of the other symptoms of being sick are popping up, so why is he so cold?!

He’s practically buried in blankets by the time he feels comfortable enough to rest. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t dream.

Things go back to normal, somewhat. There’s a niggling something in the back of his head, and there’s guilt and the ever present chill that has MK wearing long sleeved shirts, but otherwise MK falls back into his typical routine, which is nice. He missed his friends, between Macaque and DBK and training. It’s good to see them again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first time he starts hearing the voice in his head, he’s getting yelled at by Pigsy.

It doesn’t happen as often, anymore. MK is scatterbrained, but he genuinely tries to do his best at work. Sometimes, he gets mixed up, because he’s only one kid and he’s never been good at focusing, no matter how hard he tries. It’s hard for his stressed out and ADHD ridden brain to remember whose order is whose, especially when it’s the dinner rush and he’s running behind.

Today was a particularly bad day. He’d accidentally given a customer an order with peanut oil in it, when they had an order specifically without peanuts due to their severe allergy. Pigsy had gotten a very angry phone call, and he passed that rage at MK, rightfully so.

MK can only apologize so much, so eventually he quiets and lets Pigsy let off steam. Luckily the customer hadn’t tried to sue, but MK knows the review Pigsy likely got was scathing. He deserves a bit of a tongue lashing for that, he thinks.

It was an honest mistake. Cruel, to yell at one so young. Why is he so mean?

The voice in the back of his head, new and different, nearly makes MK jump. Pigsy notices the change in MK’s expression and mistakes it for fear, and that gets him to quiet down. He dismisses MK with a sigh and a wave of his hand, and MK heads upstairs, feeling guilty and confused.

That voice….it didn’t sound like him, did it? When he tries to recall the sound, it mirrors his internal voice, but in the moment it seemed different.

It’s probably nothing. After all, if something was wrong with him, wouldn’t someone else have noticed by now? Wouldn’t he have noticed by now?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The voice keeps popping up at random intervals, random moments. When Mei gets annoyed at his ramblings. When Tang pushes him away when he’s begging for a story, because Tang is busy eating. When Pigsy yells at him for being late for work, for messing up. When Sandy awkwardly pushes him to leave because MK can’t take a hint, some days. When Monkey King looks at him with something akin to disappointment, exasperation.

They’re tired of you. They want you gone. They’re plotting against you. They’re going to betray you!

And, see, that would bother MK if he didn’t already know that. He knows people don’t like him, find him annoying. He knows he pushes too much, messes up a lot, misses social cues. He knows that he’s not a good enough successor. And that just makes him want to do better.

As for the whole betrayal thing, plotting against him, it makes sense. He isn’t offended or anything if they are, in fact he’d be more surprised if they weren’t, you know? He’s the Monkey King’s successor. He has all of the powers, has all of the strength and invincibility, with a caveat or two, but he’s also still just a teenager. If they aren’t worried that he could go rogue, mess up and decide to be selfish, then that’s stupidity on their part. Trusting him with anything is never a good idea, so knowing that, should he mess up, his family will be able to enact swift justice is a comfort rather than a worry.

And yeah, it’s a bit embarrassing, knowing just how annoying and useless he can be. He flinches more often at their glares, gets quieter. He doesn’t want to make them mad at him, he doesn’t want to lose them because he isn’t good enough. He just needs to focus, be better, help out more often. If he does that, hopefully they won’t leave.

The voice, after a few months or so, had backed off for a week. He’d felt a weight lift from his shoulders, and smiling was easier. Pigsy had seemingly relaxed at his good mood, and Mei seemed cheerier when they’d gone out to the arcades. He hadn’t realized he’d been worrying them.

Are you so sure they’ll stay?

A single phrase that pulls the rug out beneath MK’s feet. He knows he isn’t good enough, but everyone knows that he at least tries, right? That should endear them to him enough for him to prove he’s worth their time, right? He can be good enough, he can do better, he just needs time!

Not fast enough. They’ll get tired of you, and then they’ll leave.

The cold feeling in his chest feels so much heavier, as he panics in his room. He’s supposed to be asleep, but the blankets don’t do much anymore. He’s losing feeling in his fingers. He keeps fumbling with things, even the staff, and everyone is getting annoyed at him. And he’s so tired, all the time, and yet it’s so hard to sleep. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, but he knows that whatever it is, it’s going to ruin the equilibrium he has between being a failure and being good enough to keep around.

What happens when he loses it all?

You can be better.

Can he?

Wouldn’t everyone love you if they were safe?

Well, he can imagine not having to worry about DBK would make them far less stressed out. If he can do that, then maybe they won’t get so easily annoyed at him. He knows stress can make people snappy, and there’s a lot to be stressed about, like the economy and death by demons.

You can make them safe.

How?

Listen to me.

And MK knows it’s weird to make a pact with your own mind, but he thinks he’s pretty good at following directions, so he nods, and doesn’t sleep at all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The plan isn’t an easy one, and MK doesn’t know if he really wants to follow it. The words turn over and over in his head. He doesn’t know if they’re right or not.

Maybe it would be better, if he wasn’t so nice. He beats the bad guys, sure, but he isn’t that violent with them. They try to kill him, but it’s never personal. He’s the successor to Monkey King, it just makes sense that they’d go after him. He’s not upset, really!

Even though the calabash has him looking over his shoulder. They have earthquakes a lot, they live near a ring of active volcanoes, and each one puts him on edge, expecting a lie to turn his whole world apart. And the spider lady tried to eat his friends, tried to kill him. And Macaque nearly hurt Monkey King because MK let him get close. And DBK and Princess Iron Fan won’t stop, not until they get revenge or something.

Red Son is...he’s MK’s age. And MK has noticed just how much DBK and Princess Iron Fan belittle Red Son, and he’s their son. It’s too familiar for MK’s liking, and it makes the desire to bring Red Son to justice lessen. Maybe, if he got Red Son’s parents out of the way…

You could have anything you wanted.

All MK wants is for his friends and family to be happy.

This is how you’ll do it.

MK doesn’t give in. Not yet.

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MK considers it when he goes over to see Sandy, one afternoon. They’re just doing some leisurely painting practice, nothing like painting the whole boat. After the whole clones thing, Sandy had learned that he should probably figure out which color he wants to stick with in the long run before asking for help in such a task. So, he asks MK to come over and brainstorm. You know, sketch out some ideas, test paint samples on different areas of the boat, see how it looks in light and dark.

MK also helps with the many litter boxes around the ship, as well as top up the water and food bowls all around. He gets appreciative nuzzles from the myriad cats around the barge, so it isn’t so bad. Then, he and Sandy will have tea, and Sandy will listen to MK ramble on about anything and everything until either Monkey King or Pigsy or Mei calls him to go do something (he gave Monkey King his number. Occasionally he will get an incomprehensible text. He’s pretty sure Monkey King has a Nokia phone).

Today, when they’re having tea, MK considers.

“Hey, Sandy?” He starts, more hesitant than when he’s ever asked the man a question before.

Sandy notices, and MK sees him soften his pose even more, looking warm and welcoming. “Yeah, MK?”

“Do you think I’m too soft on villains?”

Because he beats them, but he always lets them leave, lets them escape. They get to heal, recoup, and come back stronger every time, and people get hurt. MK doesn’t want to be the type to attack first, to never ask questions, but at this point there aren’t too many questions to ask.

“You’ve got a good heart, MK. You don’t have it in ya to go at ‘em too hard,” MK clenches his fist, his other hand gentle against the teacup lest he break it. He did that a few times when he first got his powers, unused to the extra strength.

“That kinda doesn’t answer my question,” MK tries not to say it through gritted teeth. He can feel his tea getting frigid, and bites back the burst of white air that would make Sandy ask questions.

He wouldn’t know how to answer questions about that, which is why he can’t deal with them. That’s the reason.

He’s saying you’re weak.

MK hides a grimace, and lets his heart ache silently. He sips the tea. It’s ice cold.

“What brought this on?” Sandy asks, instead of answering the question, which grates on MK’s nerves more than it should.

“I let DBK get too powerful,” he says. “He destroyed the city again, and people got hurt. If I’d just got rid of him before, those people would be okay.”

Sandy sighs, taking a sip of his tea. A cat hops into MK’s lap, curling up, but after a few frigid moments hops away. Apparently MK is too cold for its liking. He tries not to get offended by that, but the hot well of shame and longing persists. At least the feeling is warm.

“MK, you’re still learning. Mistakes are bound to happen. Those who got hurt will get better, and the city is rebuilt better than ever! You don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders. And,” Sandy looks away, and suddenly he looks a lot older than MK thinks he is. “Honestly, being too harsh to make an enemy stop can feel good in the moment, but it does more harm than good, especially to the person who does the fighting.”

And MK leaves it at that, but thinks he doesn’t mind if it harms him, if it keeps everyone else safe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Another story!” MK begs, spinning on the barstool. Pigsy always tells him not to, something about wearing down the seat joint, but at the same time Pigsy never really stops MK when he does it either, because MK only does it when he’s very excited and hyper.

Tang finishes his bowl of noodles with a chuckle, pushing up his glasses on the bridge of his nose in a practiced motion that MK is oh so familiar with. MK taps the front of his sketchbook with his pencil impatiently.

“Alright, alright. Tell you what, I’ll tell you the story of the Baigujing, or White Bone Spirit,” Tang’s voice falls into storyteller mode, and MK is immediately entranced. Pigsy, from the kitchen, slams down a pan and groans.

“Not that one, Tang. I hate that one, you know that,” MK turns to his boss and is surprised to see an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. What in this story would Pigsy have to be embarrassed about?

“Hey, MK wants to know all the Monkey King stories. I’m not going to rob him of knowledge,” Tang argues back. He leans close to MK and whispers “Pigsy couldn’t sleep for a week after I told him this one.”

“That is not true!” Pigsy barks, indignant, and MK laughs.

Tang chuckles to himself, and Pigsy turns back to his work with a grumble. Right now is a lull in business, right after the lunch rush and before early dinners get called in, so MK is taking his break and Pigsy isn’t too upset by it. It’s just enough time for a story.

“Okay. The Baigujing was a shapeshifting demon, who saw Monkey King and his group of traveling companions as they passed by. Her eyes caught on the human monk, Tang Sanzang,” MK perks up.

“Hey, that’s like your name!” he points out, and both Tang and Pigsy look startled. Tang coughs, awkward.

“Yes-well-uh, it’s a family name,” he amends quickly. MK tilts his head to the side. “Anyway, she decided she wanted to taste the monk’s flesh. So, she disguised herself as a little girl, coming up to the group and offering them poisoned fruits. Because she was so powerful, only Monkey King could sense her treachery, and he hit her with his staff, seemingly killing her.”

MK gasps, doesn’t understand the fury that builds behind his eyes.

Tang glances at him, for a moment, and then jumps.

“MK? You okay?” He asks, and MK blinks.

“What-yeah! What happened next?” Tang looks him over, gaze catching on MK’s eyes, before he sighs and continues.

“The Monkey King’s companions were shocked and appalled. They thought he had killed an innocent girl! He tried to explain, but they didn’t believe him. The Monk buried the girl, who turned back into the spirit. She tried again, once as the supposed mother of the little girl, and then the grandfather. Monkey King managed to show her as a skeleton spirit during their last encounter, clearing his name, but then his companion, Bajie, told Sanzang that Monkey King made it up. Thus, Monkey King was abandoned, at least until the Monk was captured by a demon Wujing and Baijie couldn’t defeat, and Bajie had to apologize to bring him back,” Tang finishes, and MK’s face settles into a pout.

“Bajie’s a jerk!” He crosses his arms.

“He apologized,” Pigsy mumbles, from his place in the kitchen, where he slices scallions violently. “More than once. Not that it matters.”

“Monkey King didn’t exactly endear himself to his peers,” Tang amends. “Perhaps if he had been less full of himself at the time, they all could have gotten along better. But, all four grew to be better people by the end of their journey.”

MK finishes a sketch of the scenes Tang had described with a flourish, and he tilts his head to one side. “Kind of rude to just attack the lady, though, couldn’t he have tried to talk it out?” He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend the demon, but she doesn’t seem too bad.

Tang makes a face.

“She wanted to eat a person, MK,” he says, and MK makes a face that mirror’s Tang’s expression.

“Right. Eugh, gross. Anyway, thanks Mr. Tang!” he hops off the barstool and puts back on his collared shirt, making sure his headband doesn’t slip down. “Any orders, Pigsy?”

Pigsy jerks his thumb to the few on the counter. MK picks them up, and continues on to work, the story sitting in the back of his mind. He stumbles a bit while walking. He doesn’t feel the key in his hand, his fingers numbed over time. He should be concerned, but everything else seems fine.

He kind of wishes he could have met the Baigujing. She doesn’t seem too bad, besides the people eating. Maybe they could have worked it out.

Who does Sun Wukong think he is, deciding to serve justice anyway he sees fit?

MK frowns and buttons up his shirt. His chest feels like ice.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s so, so tired.

MK looks at himself in the mirror when he wakes up and his skin looks paler, his lips a little blue. He has bags under his eyes that vanish by the time he leaves the bathroom, a bottle of concealer and a tube of lipstick on the bathroom sink that he doesn’t remember buying.

His memory’s been growing spottier, too, missing minutes, hours. Mei talks to him about a high score he beat at the arcade and he nods along, no clue what she’s talking about but not wanting to worry her. He hasn’t gone to see Sandy in what feels like years, but gets a text from him thanking MK for taking care of the cats one afternoon. There are sketches in his sketchbook he doesn’t remember drawing, from stories Tang told him that he can’t remember hearing.

He’s lost feeling in his hands and feet. He’s dropped enough bowls of soup for Pigsy to go from mad to worried, and he shoves MK off to Flower Fruit Mountain because it’s warmer there, and MK always looks cold.

He stumbles when he hits sand, nearly bowls over with how much the island rejects him, how much it wants him not to be there. This is supposed to be a safe place, but the sand feels like needles and the wind slices at his face. Monkey King comes rushing out like a bat out of hell, teeth bared, but he sees MK, kneeling on the beach, and runs over.

“You okay, bud? You look…,” he doesn’t say awful, but MK knows he’s thinking it. MK looks awful, feels awful, is awful. And the solution to that is right there, waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to take it because he’s a coward. The voice in his head gave him an ironclad idea, a perfect plan, and he’s been ignoring it because he’s scared.

Weak little vessel.

The hiss in his ear makes him wince, and he trembles as Monkey King helps him up.

“Tired,” he manages, leaning against Monkey King because he hardly has the strength to stand.

“I can see that.” The try at levity has MK chuckling, but Monkey King is soft and warm and all MK wants to do is suck that warmth into himself, so he can stop being cold for one second. “Why don’t we head to my place and watch something. There’s always my show, right?”

MK nods, blinking slowly, and Monkey King takes a step forward. Suddenly, they’re at Monkey King’s house. When did they get there? Why are they here again?

He’s set on the couch.

“There’s something off about your aura, kid. Touch anything mystic or weird back at home?” Monkey King runs his fingers through MK’s hair, and MK leans into the touch. Warm. Safe.

He shakes his head, a full minute after the question is asked. Monkey King hums in thought.

“How do you even see auras?” MK mumbles, words slurring a bit as he talks. “Teach me?”

Monkey King’s hand stills, and MK whines a little, prompting his mentor to continue the motions.

“I already have, bud,” Monkey King whispers, more to himself than to MK. MK blinks in confusion. He doesn’t remember that.

Rest, Vessel.

The voice whispers so sweetly in his ear. It’s nice, sometimes. Mean other times. MK wonders if that’s his fault. Is he so bad that even his own head is mad at him? How can he be better? He’s trying so hard.

The TV is turned on. MK doesn’t register the sound, but the light makes him turn his head away. Monkey King turns down the brightness with his remote. Another monkey rests on top of MK for a moment, before jumping off. It shivers at the temperature of MK’s jacket, his skin, and moves over to Monkey King’s shoulder.

MK rests his head on Monkey King’s lap, and closes his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up in a dream. He stands on ice. Each step he takes is careful, lest he slip, and even still he stumbles and fumbles. He can see something in the distance.

“Hello?” he calls out, but the person doesn’t answer. The closer he gets, the more he can make them out. “Mei?”

It is her, but then her head drops, straight off of her neck.

“NO!” MK screams, running to her, and he stumbles and falls. His knees hit ice and they burn with the chill that sinks through his pants. He slides to her body, cradling it and her head as if he could put her back together with hope.

He turns, looking for a reason for this, and when he looks up, all of the adults in his life are standing around him, their faces covered in shadow. Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, Monkey King—they’re all looking down on him.

“Look what you let happen,” Pigsy growls out.

“She’s dead,” Tang continues.

“You didn’t save her,” Sandy drones on.

“You let her die,” Monkey King spits.

“No…” MK breathes, and the tears build in his eyes and down his cheeks, freezing on his face. It burns.

You have a choice, vessel.

The figures of his friends vanish into mist, and MK curls his arms around himself. He misses the contact. He hates to be alone.

A woman wreathed in white kneels down in front of him. It hurts to look at her, and MK averts his gaze until she tilts up his chin so he can look nowhere else. Her face is ice cold, yet inviting. He can’t look away from her eyes.

Don’t you want them to stay? Don’t you want them to be safe?

MK nods, quickly. Of course that’s what he wants. More than anything, he wants that love, that adoration. He wants his family to be safe, to never leave.

You know what to do.

It feels like ice is creeping up his skin, encasing him in frigidity. She holds out his hand, and he can do nothing else but take it. The cold reaches its peak, and suddenly it’s warm. It burns, and yet the warmth is inviting, a relief after months of being so, so cold and confused and tired. He is past the point of cold, of freezing, of sub zero. He is warm. He is ready.

He is hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He wakes up well rested, and the cold that had settled into him still feels like the burn that is a welcome respite from before. Monkey King is still asleep, and MK leaves him there, leaving the house and walking slowly out of the inner mountain.

He leaves footprints of ice where he steps. The monkeys watch, from the trees, trembling as their eyes gaze upon something inhuman, sitting in MK’s skin. MK has never felt better. He knows what to do now. He knows how to make things right.

The staff in his hands feels heavier, for a moment, but MK grips it tight and bends it to his will. He pogos out of the island with ease, letting the wind whip his hair back.

He hasn’t blinked in a while. He forgot he had to. He blinks because the wind makes his eyes sting, and touches the ground with a gentleness he didn’t know he could master.

He lets his eyes glow gold, searching. He remembers, now, how to look at auras. He remembers a lot of things now. It’s like the pressing weight of being weak for the sake of niceties has vanished, and now he is sharp and ready.

The only question is which of his enemies does he go after first? He needs to get all of them, keep them secure. It’s the only way the town, the city, will be safe.

The small fry first. We’ll work our way up to the demon king.

Right, that makes sense. MK grins to himself. It’s so nice to have someone constantly helping, constantly making sure he’s doing the right thing. He’s useless on his own, but give him a direction and he’ll follow it to the letter.

He can see gold and silver, in the distance. He forgets their names, at first, but their auras jog his memory. Yin and Jin.

They put him in the calabash. They weren’t good at it, but they were good enough. They’re demons. Dangerous. He needs to make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.

He heads to their home, not in a hurry. There’s no rush to the inevitable. Is this what self confidence is? The feeling of knowing you can do it, that you will do it, that no one can stop you? It feels very gratifying. He lets the glow in his eyes vanish, because he doesn’t want to startle everyone around him.

His phone buzzes. A text from Pigsy, demanding to know where he is. He responds with ‘Dealing with Monkie Kid stuff. Be back soon!’ and a string of emojis that Pigsy will find incomprehensible, before continuing on his trek.

He reaches the door, and hears a conversation.

“So, our plan has three steps. That’s an improvement,” Yin seems to be pacing, from what MK can hear.

“Step one, capture the monkie kid,” Jin pipes up, and MK fights back a laugh. “Step two, take the staff from him.”

As if they could. MK almost has to admire their tenacity.

“Step three, take over the world!” Yin finishes, and MK takes that as his cue to step in.

He knocks in the door. Polite. He still has manners, after all.

“Huh? Jin, did you order out for dinner again?” Yin barks out.

“We don’t have the money for that!” Is the response.

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Yin grumbles, moving to the door.

Here they come!

MK counts the steps Yin takes to the door, itching with anticipation.

“Hello?” Yin opens the door, and then jumps in surprise.

“Hi!” MK waves, and taps his staff on the ground.

There’s a thunk; not a thud of a body, but a thunk of a block of ice. MK pats the statue with a fond look. He’ll chip away the extra pieces later. This is his first attempt, it’s normal for it to be less precise. He can get better at it with practice. Jin turns, from his place at the desk, and his eyes widen when he sees his brother, frozen on the floor.

“Yin—what did you do?” Red eyes glow dangerously, and MK wonders if they would be more ferocious if he threatened one over the other. Jin gets up, teeth bared.

“This,” MK replies, tapping his staff on the ground.

Jin takes a step forward and freezes in place. Or, is frozen, MK supposes. He looks at the brothers, safely imprisoned, and wonders. Where is he going to put them? There’s not enough room here for all of his enemies to be placed. What’s a good place to set everything up?

The cave? The old villain hideout?

That’s perfect! After all, it would be the funniest form of irony, right? Turning a villain hideout to his base for his world saving plan. Gosh, he’s so smart. Because this is him, all him. He finally is smart enough to know what to do. He has to clear out the cave, first. It’s not far away, hidden beneath the sewers. There’s a path to it from the area where the staff used to lie.

He sets Yin and Jin next to each other, considering their poses. He thinks they look a little off, but he can fix that, right? He can fix anything, given enough time. That’s what all this is, fixing the problem of demons who’ve escaped because of DBK’s release. He nods to himself, and heads off. He has rocks to clear out, he has a cave to excavate.

But, he promised Pigsy that he’d be back soon. That stops him short. He can’t skip work!

This will make him far happier in the long run.

Still, what’s a few hours of work to make Pigsy happy now? He shakes off the one track mind and puts his staff away. The ice won’t melt fast (or at all) and he’s got time. The flash of cold he gets in response to that thought doesn’t inspire comfort, and he second guesses himself a few times, but he heads to the shop anyway.

“Hey Pigsy!” he waves, and Pigsy glances at him and jerks a thumb over to the pile of orders on the counter. “On it!”

MK swoops them up and sets them all on the delivery cart. Pigsy glances at him again, and then freezes.

“MK?” he asks.

MK turns, blinking a few times. “Yeah?” he responds, and Pigsy peers at him, almost suspicious.

MK tilts his head to the side in confusion. A part of him is glad that he has concealer on, because they don’t have the time to chat about MK’s new skin tone, not with all these orders. He watches Pigsy shiver, muttering something about the A/C acting up, before Pigsy shakes himself off and sets his hands on his hips.

“I thought-your eyes-nevermind. Get those orders out!” Pigsy barks, and MK stands at attention, giving Pigsy a salute.

“On it!” He promises, sliding out of the shop and hopping onto the delivery cart.

It only takes an hour, which is much faster than he usually is, but focus comes easy when he’s driven. The faster he gets this done they faster he gets to get back to his real work. The work that will make things better for everyone.

Right. Of course.

His shift ends when the store closes, and he’s gone before Pigsy can say anything about his work ethic or ask where MK has been or is going. He rushes to the construction site, dives below, rushing past the decaying plants where there once were flowers and a growing tree. Without Monkey King’s staff, there’s nothing making sure the plants live. MK frowns at the sight but stays focused on the task at hand.

Aim. The staff can be as large as a mountain if it needs to be. Crush what’s in your way.

He nods to himself, breaking through the rubble that has blocked off the tunnel. The ground shakes, the whole underground rumbles with power, and he hopes he’s not keeping anyone up. Then again, it’s not too bad if it’s just for a night, considering how many nights later he’s going to keep quiet. Everyone will be able to rest easy once he’s done.

He huffs a breath, and it comes out white. He should be concerned, but honestly it looks cool. He remembers to blink, because his eyes are starting to burn. He doesn’t know why he keeps forgetting.

He makes his way to the cavern, and uses ice to keep the ceiling up. Pillars rise, frost fills the spaces between rocks that would have cracked and splintered eventually. The floor remains untouched, save for when he fills in the cracks that could trip someone up.

He doesn’t remember when he got these ice powers. They seem new? Why hasn’t he used them before? How come Monkey King never told him about them?

Monkey King’s always had ice powers.

Has he? MK isn’t so sure about that.

You’re his successor, not a carbon copy. It makes sense you would have different powers than him.

Right. MK nods to himself. Now, time to get Yin and Jin! Carrying them is going to be a challenge.

It takes him an hour to get them both there, and another half hour to figure out where to put them. He has to consider DBK’s size. Wait, does he have to go and get the spider demon lady? He shivers at the thought, a deep well of terror sinking in his gut. Even as self assured as he is now, spiders still terrify him.

I can take care of that.

Really?

Yes. But first, rest.

Right. He needs to head back to his house. Pigsy will be worried if he doesn’t come home soon. He heads out of the construction site, skipping all the way home.

He barely sleeps.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The week is certainly a busy one. MK spends any time not with his friends searching, and he spends far less time with his friends, nowadays. The spider demon isn’t easy to find. He does manage to get some small fry lesser demons he hadn’t met before and now never will. He doesn’t need to meet people who will inevitably try to kill him and those around him. Far better to prevent the attack than deal with the aftermath thereof.

His collection of ice sculptures is growing. MK likes to spend time chipping away at the blocks to them more polished. It’s like sketching, in a way, or cleaning up a sketch. It also gives him an opportunity to practice a more precise use of his ice powers. He can make a mean ice chisel now, and he’s learned how to force the limbs of those frozen into the position he likes. Yin and Jin stand on top of each other, like they did in their introduction. The expressions on their faces aren’t what he likes, but he can cover it with frost and it’s like it was never there.

He meets up with Mei, one afternoon.

“Hey, MK!” She barrels into him, and immediately jumps back.

He reaches out, missing the contact, but she shakes out a shiver. “Dang, you’re cold!” She slugs him on the shoulder, and he laughs.

“I feel fine. Maybe you’re just being dramatic,” he shoots back, and she laughs with him, before her eyes glance at his face and she freezes. “What?”

“Your eyes,” she murmurs, all joking replaced with concern. He tilts his head to a side in confusion. “They’re blue?” She adds.

“Oh!” he says, and the words that come out of his mouth don’t sound like him at all. He doesn’t think he thought of them, and he doesn’t feel his lips move but the sound comes out anyway. “I’m trying out some contacts. Do you like them?” He bats his eyelashes at her, all in jest.

Her confusion melts into a smile. “I like your regular eye color better,” She admits. “But those look cool!”

She grabs him by his wrist, using his jacket as a buffer, and drags him to an arcade. Every machine he touches sticks a little, the joystick and button a tad frozen by his touch, and he doesn’t win a match by any means, but he doesn’t mind. Every time Mei leans close to him it feels like a victory. Even though he feels warm, at least a sort of freezer burn warmth, the people around him have pulled away. He’s too cold for them.

He needs contact.

Someone trips Mei as they’re running around the arcade. Her nose bleeds, and MK feels his hackles rising. Someone hurt his friend. A demon? A scan of the area reveals no such thing. Just a mean person. He can hear them snickering as they walk away.

Mei is more important than MK’s anger, so he takes her outside and finds some tissues, cleans her up. He takes her out to her favorite restaurant (not Pigsy’s, though they’ll never tell him that) and they end the night with a race around town. Her bike is an electric green streak, and he’ll never catch up, but he gives it his all before they finish outside his place.

“See ya later!” Mei still sounds a bit stuffed up from the nosebleed, and MK waves until she’s out of sight. When she disappears, his expression shutters, anger against her unrecognizable assailant returning in a flash.

He’s been getting rid of demons, but that’s not enough! Mei still got hurt, because people are unpredictable. He heads to his room and paces. How can he fix it, how can he make it better?

Maybe more than demons should be frozen.

MK stops in his tracks. Now, there’s an idea. But to freeze them forever, that seems like too much.

Not forever. Just until they know how to behave. Think of it as a pause button.

It would be nice if things just stopped for a moment. Then he could have all the time in the world to fix it. Once he gets the demons out of the way, he can do that. Then, once everyone learns to behave, they can come out. However long that takes.

He can be patient, for his friends. This is all for them, after all.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A day after that, and he’s found the Spider Demon’s lair. Every step he takes inside makes him shake, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to take her. He’s so nervous, so scared.

I can help, remember? Just take a deep breath.

He takes a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn’t open them, but they open anyway. Everything is washed in a soft layer of white, like frost, and his body moves but he doesn’t tell it to. The fear he felt is muted, and he settles into the comfort of its absence. He asked for this, right?

The spider demon—she wanted to be a Queen, right? MK hadn’t been really paying attention when she went on her rant, too petrified to listen—skitters out, and when she locks eyes with him, she smiles.

“Aww, is the little monkie boy back to play?” She giggles, and MK’s body throws the staff at her. She ducks with a yelp, and scrambles back. “Ooo, we’re rough, now? Seems you’re not so scared anymore,” She purrs, but he can hear the nervousness in her voice as the staff comes back to his hand.

“Iͥ ʷgͣˢoᶰtͤ ͮoͤvͬeˢrͨ ͣiͬtͤᵈ.” The sound comes out of his mouth, and it doesn’t sound much like MK at all. Huh. His body takes a step forward, and ice spreads out from beneath his foot. “Tͭuͧrͬᶰnˢs ͦoͧuͭtʸ,ͦ ͧyˢoͪuͦ'ͧˡrͩe ͪnͣoͮtͤ ᵇtͤhͤᶰeʷ ͦsͬcͬaͥrͤiͩesͣᵇtͦ ͧdͭemͫoͤn ͥoͫuᶠtͬ ͤtͤhere.”

The Spider Queen’s expression shifts, and she tries to run, but MK’s legs are faster. He watches himself move, jumping over stones and cliffs and any obstacle. The webs she tries to trap him in freeze, and he slides across them as if his feet were skates.

Eventually, he corners her. MK watches his body close in, and suddenly he’s back in control, staring her down. Satisfaction crawls up his back, a cold grin splitting his face in two.

“ʷWͪhͦˢoˢ'ͨsͣ ͬsͤcͩaᶰrͦʷed now?” He grins, and she screams.

Ice, it turns out, is a great muffler.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Finding DBK’s hiding place is harder. MK locates it just outside the city limits, in an abandoned scrapyard. The perfect place to get parts for new bull clones and other random things Red Son can come up with.

He decides to go on the weekend, but as he prepares the night before Monkey King makes an appearance in his room.

“Hey, bud,” MK jumps at his arrival.

He must have been hiding as a bug or something, like when MK first found the staff.

“Monkey King!” He grins at his arrival, hopping up. “What’s the occasion? Is there something new you wanted to teach me? Is there a demon we have to fight?” We, not as in MK and Monkey King, but MK and himself. Because he’s not one, not really, and that’s fun! He hates being alone, after all.

“No, no,” Monkey King chuckles, overly fond. Right, MK hasn’t been to Flower Fruit Mountain for a week. “It’s just-you left pretty early, and, uh, you didn’t say anything about our next training sesh, you know? And, uhh, pretty sure you shouldn’t be slacking off on that.”

The half hearted scolding aside, MK almost thinks that Monkey King missed him. But that’s ridiculous.

“Well, you were sleeping when I got up, and I had to go to work,” The lie slips easily off of his tongue. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I left! Um, we’re busy tomorrow, but Sunday works for training, if that’s cool?” He rocks back and forth on his feet, ever excited.

“We’re? Who’s cooler than me to hang out with?” Monkey King reaches out to ruffle his hair, and MK can feel the shiver that jolts through the monkey’s body at the touch. Monkey King doesn’t comment on it, though.

“I promised Mei we’d hang out. It’s been a busy week at the shop, so I haven’t been able to party with her,” He doesn’t know where these lies are coming from.

Sometimes he talks and it’s not him at all. He should be concerned, but honestly he doesn’t mind if his other self takes the reigns. He fumbles over his words way too often to be annoyed that someone is smoothing him out.

Polished like an ice sculpture; MK thinks he could be beautiful if he was like that.

“Alright, fine. You and your friend can….do whatever it is kids do these days. Am I an adult—oh my god I’m an adult,” Monkey King flops back onto his nimbus cloud with a groan while MK giggles.

“Anyway, get some rest, bud. You look tired,” is the last thing Monkey King says to him.

“On it!” MK salutes, and Monkey King floats through the window and then rockets off. The papers in MK’s room all swirl from the blowback, and MK grabs one of the sketches that floats back down.

He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Tang for a story. The last time he sketched anything else at all. But, a hero doesn’t need hobbies so trivial.

He plans. Plans for how the city is going to look like, when he’s finished with it all. He doesn’t need to write down the steps to get there, he has his head voice for that, but the city. How it will look, when he’s done. He has to figure it out, draw it out, and pin it to the wall so he can look at it every morning and evening and remember why he’s doing this. So he sketches. Pins the piece to the wall.

Squints. He doesn’t like it.

Back to the drawing board.

His wall is covered by the time the sun rises, and MK still isn’t satisfied. But there is no time to waste. So, he picks up the outfit that feels all the more new—blue isn’t a color he expected to like, but blue is cold is safe is good is the burning warmth he needs, so he leaves the orange jacket and red headband hanging off of his desk chair.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he can barely tell the difference!

He is gone before Pigsy comes up with breakfast, before Pigsy calls for Tang to look at the mess MK left behind, enough drawings of the same thing for anyone to get the picture. He is gone before Pigsy and Tang investigate, speak in hushed tones, and call for Sandy, Mei, and eventually Monkey King.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Getting to the outskirts of town is the easy part. Infiltrating DBK’s base is a bit harder. It’s not heavily fortified, but MK thinks that’s more because he has never tried to infiltrate such a place. He doesn’t really attack first, he just protects. But that’s not good enough anymore, clearly. He can’t just be protective, he needs to be proactive.

He slides past the guards, freezes them for good measure. After all, they’re going to be made useless once he takes their leader down, so it’s not as if he’s wasting anything. There’s also always the chance they get wise, and MK doesn’t want his entrance ruined.

The inner sanctum of the base looks more like a house, made large to accommodate DBK’s figure. There are pictures on the wall, from painted portraits to black and white to color photos. MK supposes that the Demon Bull Family has been around long enough to have portraits taken in all sorts of mediums. He wonders if they have statues, a shrine? He bites back a giggle at the thought.

The booming sound of cloven footsteps alerts MK to DBK’s arrival, though by the sounds of two voices approaching, Princess Iron Fan must be with him.

“Red Son has been pulling away from us,” the gravel in DBK’s voice is soft, somehow. MK listens in with interest. What is it they are doing to their son now?

“You tried to kill him. He can’t help but take it personally,” is Princess Iron Fan’s reply. “He barely knows you, and he’s young. He’ll grow out of it,” she waves a hand, unconcerned.

MK glares at them. The temperature in the hallway drops, until Princess Iron Fan shivers.

“Darling, I thought this house had a heating function?” Princess Iron fan curls her arms around herself, and DBK picks her up and sets her on his shoulder, suddenly on guard.

“It does, the boy made it so,” he growls, sniffing around for intruders. MK decides to let himself be known.

“Hi!” he says as he pops out from around the corner.

“Noodle boy?” Princess Iron Fan questions.

“Little Thief,” DBK growls.

“Actually, I go by MK,” he corrects cheerily. “But, anyway, could you hold still? This will be harder if you move,” He twirls his staff casually. DBK growls, and Princess Iron Fan places a hand on the side of his face to silence him.

“MK,” Princess Iron Fan starts, with a forced air of politeness. “We are in your debt for helping save my husband. However, if you attack us, we will have no choice but to fight back, and we will not be kind.”

She grins, self assured, and continues “And you know what happened the last time you tried to fight me.”

Fire. Volcanoes. She had tried to kill him and, more importantly, she had made his friends cry. But things have changed, haven’t they?

MK giggles. The sound echoes, and the hallway gets colder. Frost crawls over the walls, and MK looks up with eyes that glow.

“Aͣcͨtͭuͧaͣˡlˡlʸy,ͥ Iͭ ͪtͥᶰhᵏiʸnͦkͧ ˢyͪoͦuͧˡ'ͩllͬ ͧᶰfiͥᶠnʸdͦ ͧmᵏeᶰ ͦʷtʷoͪ ͣbͭˢeᵍ ͦhͦaͩrᶠdͦeͬrʸ ͦtͧo ᶰbͦeͭatͭ ͪtͣhͭaʸnͦ ͧbeͨfͣᶰorͤˢeͨᵃᵖᵉ,” He jumps up with a smile, and sprints forward.

Something dawns on her face, and Princess Iron Fan stands.

“Darling, we need to run,” She says, quickly, but MK jumps and bounces off of the walls and is eye to eye with her before she can explain.

She doesn’t even have time to grab her fan.

DBK jumps back as the block of ice slides off his shoulder and he roars.

“Father?!” MK hears Red Son’s voice from afar and ignores that for now.

“I will tear you to pieces you ingrate!” DBK shouts, and MK laughs.

“ʸYͦoͧu ͨcͦoͧˡuͩᶰlͭdnͤ'ͮtͤᶰ ˢeͭvͦᵖenͫ ͤbʷeͪaͤᶰt ͥmʷeͣˢ wͥᶰhʸeͦnͧ ͬI ͪwͤaͣsͩnʸ'ͦtͧ ᶠtͦrͦˡying!” he shouts back, dodging a blow that sinks DBK’s fist in the wall.

The frost slides from the wall to DBK’s arm, gluing him there. He fires the gun on his other arm, and MK dodges.

“Nͥiͩcͥeͦ ͭshot!” He dances around the room.

DBK takes a step in the wrong direction, and slips on the ice cube that is his wife, dropping to the ground. MK wastes no time, and DBK’s roar is silenced abruptly.

Finally.

“Noodle Boy! What on earth are you doing?!” Red Son looks rather steamed, if the smoke coming off of him is any indication.

“Hi, Red Son! I was just taking care of your parents,” MK gestures to the popsicles on the floor. Red Son stares, face a mixture of confusion and horror, and MK barrels toward him. “Now they can’t be mean to you anymore. You can make fun inventions and not have to be a mean guy all the time!” Honestly, if anything, Red Son should be thanking MK, but MK doesn’t do this for thanks. He takes a few hairs and blows on them, and his clones start to work on moving the new additions to his cave.

“You—” Red Son is at a loss for words before landing on “Give me back my parents!”

See, MK was worried about that. He would likely have responded the same, when he first left his parents.

“But I worked hard to get them out of the way!” MK pouts. “But, I get it. You don’t understand. You just need to ᵍcͤoͭolͦ ͧdͭowͦᶠn,ͦ ͧoͬkʷaͣʸy?” MK reaches out, places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder before he can be stopped, and Red Son is going to freeze too, when—

Red Son explodes, and MK burns.

It’s not enough to melt the ice, no, but MK is thrown back against the wall, eyes wide.

The chill in his bones vanishes with a screech, and all he can hear is screaming. For a moment, something rises within him.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be doing this, he can’t be.

He isn’t a bad person, he isn’t cruel. He wouldn’t do this.

He needs to stop, he needs to—

And then the flames vanish, and so does Red Son, and the cold slips back into place with brutal efficiency. MK blinks, tries to remember where he is. Right, DBK and Princess Iron Fan. He got them! Great.

His clones have been destroyed in the blaze, so he makes some new ones, and heads back to base.

A shame he couldn’t get Red Son to understand, but they all will soon enough.

Good job, vessel.

MK feels warm. It burns.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s deliberating back at his hideout about where his newest statues should go when he hears a sharp gasp from behind him. He turns, and Mei is looking at him with something that looks like horror, but that can’t be right. Why would she be horrified by something so beautiful?

“MK?” she starts, cautiously. “What…happened to you? You look really bad, why are you wearing blue?”

“I like the color!” he asserts. “And I’m fine!”

She purses her lips, and then tries again.

“Um...MK. What is this?” She points to the frozen menagerie behind him.

MK does not pout, even though he feels like he should.

“You ruined the surprise,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. “I stopped all the bad guys! See?” he gestures to them. “Now they can’t hurt anyone.”

There’s a pause, before Mei can catch up, where MK asks, “Hey, do you think people would want to put them in a museum?” He taps his chin with his index finger, deliberating.

“How did you...does Monkey King have powers like this?” she tries, a third time.

“No, I don’t,” MK jumps at the sound of Monkey King’s voice. Monkey King floats down on his cloud, hopping off and looking at MK with an air of suspicion. “Kid, how are you doing this? Why are you doing this?”

“‘Cause they hurt you guys,” MK has been itching for a chance to explain, to get someone to understand. “And the-my head voice gave me the idea. Once these guys are all gone, everyone can be safe, and no one will leave!”

“Head voice?” Pigsy comes from behind a pillar. “MK, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the voice in your head that sounds like you?” He explains. “It-it told me how to do it. And I’m not a carbon copy of Monkey King, it makes sense that I’d have a few new powers, you know?”

“No,” Tang appears, from somewhere.

When did all of his friends get here? He can see Sandy, Mo in tow on his shoulder, peeking in.

“You shouldn’t have any deviations. Maybe your transformations would be different, but to go so far as to have ice powers?” Tang pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and his glasses flash. “That shouldn’t be possible, given Monkey King’s power set.”

“What’s going on, kid?” Sandy’s voice is very soft, as he approaches, just like when they were on the boat.

“Nothing!” MK’s voice is cheery as ever. “I’m just fixing things, okay? I think you need to ˢcͪhͧiͭllͧᵖ ʷoͧʲuͥᶰtᵍ,” he reaches forward, and Sandy and Mo are ice.

Mei screams.

“What?” MK looks on, bewildered, as his friends stare at him in horror. “He’ll be fine! It doesn’t hurt. I’ve been freezing for ages! It gets warm after a while.”

His eyes glow, and Tang pales.

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and MK turns to him.

“What about her?” he asks, and Tang puts a hand to his mouth, biting his lip and glancing between the rest of the group and MK, unsure.

“Bud,” Monkey King takes a few cautious steps toward MK, as if MK were a cornered animal. His feet slip a little on the ice, but not enough to stop his careful approach. His tail is poised and very still, not so much as a twitch from it. “I think you’re feeling a bit...um, scrambled right now. Why don’t you hand me the staff, and we can talk about this?” He gives MK a soft smile, but MK frowns.

If he takes the staff you can’t finish your work! Does he think you don’t deserve it anymore?

“But I need it,” he responds, simple and to the point. “It’s mine.” Right? Because Monkey King gave it to him. Gifts can’t be taken back, right? MK’s still worthy, right?

Monkey King takes a deep breath, like he’s biting back a retort.

“Preeeeetty sure I let you borrow it. ‘S called ‘Monkey King’s Staff’ for a reason, bud. C’mon.”

Another step forward. MK grips the staff tighter.

“MK, please,” Tang calls from his other side.

Don’t let him take it!

“We need you to let go!” Mei’s voice hits his ears.

They’re all lying to you!

“Kid-I-c’mon, just let ‘em have it and we can go home,” Pigsy’s voice breaks, and MK feels like he’s going to break with it.

Is he even going to let you keep your home?!

Monkey King is close enough that MK can feel the heat of his power emanating off of him, of the great Sun Wukong. His paws are soft and somehow even warmer than his power as he curls them around MK’s grip on the staff.

They don’t understand! They’re going to abandon you!

“That’s it, easy does it,” Relief colors Monkey King’s tone, and he smiles at MK as if MK were the sun. It’s too soft to be true. “Just hand it over, and we’ll make sure everything’s okay, alright?”

He starts to tug, pulling the staff out of MK’s grip ever so gently, and MK flinches as the voice rings loud in his ear.

YOU NEED IT DON’T LET HIM TAKE IT FROM YOU HE’LL RUIN EVERYTHING—

“It’s MͫIͥᶰNͤE!” MK shouts, and he slams the side of it into Monkey King’s stomach and launches his mentor across the room.

Monkey King crashes into the wall, groaning as he pushes away the falling rubble. MK’s eyes are wild.

“It’s mine, and you can’t have it! I need it!” Ice crawls over his right hand, cementing his grip.

Tang sees it, takes a step back, and turns to the two horrified bystanders.

“Run!” he shouts, and Mei bolts. Pigsy stares, motioning for Tang to run, but Tang is too close to MK to do anything.

“What’d you do that for?” MK frowns, lowering a hand onto Tang’s shoulder. Pigsy makes a choked sound.

“Go! Bajie, get out of here!” Tang shouts, far more desperate than MK expected. Why is everyone so terrified? This is just a misunderstanding.

“Okay, tͭiͦmͦeˡ ͣoͭuͤt ͭfͦorͬ ͧᶰyˢoͣᶰuᶻᵃᶰᵍ,” MK pats Tang’s shoulder once, and Tang is rooted to the spot. MK freezes him slower, because Tang isn’t strong, merely smart. And if he does it slow, then he doesn’t have to chisel away the extra later.

Mei comes roaring in on her bike, and she picks up Pigsy by the back of his chef’s coat, throws him on the back of her bike, and zooms off.

“Tang!” Pigsy screams, but his voice gets farther and farther away.

“What’s wrong?” MK is so confused. He looks to Monkey King, who is just sitting there on his cloud, horrified.

“Sun Wukong,” Tang says, voice hard. The ice is up to his chest. “Get out of here. Bajie is going to be a wreck after this.”

“Can you make sense!” MK throws his hands up, tired of being ignored, talked over, walked over. “Or at least ˢsͪtͧoͭp ͧᵖtalking!” And Tang goes silent, frozen.

MK turns back to Monkey King, and finds that his mentor has vanished.

Well, that won’t do.

After them!

MK jumps onto a disk of ice and slides across stone, feet still as the ice barrels over any obstacle, leading him past the dead sliver of a great mountain and up onto the streets. Mei just has made her way to ground level, aided up by Monkey King, and MK zeroes in on them.

They pass by cars, and MK ignores the blaring horns as he slides over city streets. The ice trailing behind him makes cars swerve out of control, but he needs to get to his friends. They have to understand. This is all for them!

The ice shoots forward, and he gets closer and closer, until Mei’s back wheel hits frost and the back of the bike jerks one way, the front the other. The bike slips onto its side with immediacy, and Pigsy and Mei go sprawling as Mei’s bike falls apart, skidding across the ice.

Oh no.

“Mei!” he runs to her side.

She groans, her bike suit torn. He doesn’t even think about Pigsy at the moment, too worried about his best friend to think of the other person he hurt. Plus, Pigsy’s a full grown adult, and MK has never seen Pigsy hurt like Mei is, so it doesn’t even register that Pigsy could be as injured as she is. Her left arm has a large patch of skin that’s been burnt off by the road, and her legs are bleeding from various places. Thankfully, she was wearing a helmet, so MK doesn’t have to worry about something so serious.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Where does it hurt? I’m sorry!”

Some ice might help with the pain.

Right, right, icing the wound always helps. He goes to make some, the power swirling in his hand, when a horn from a car blares, making him wince.

Gosh, humans. They’re so annoying! If they could just stay out of the way, because he needs to fix this, that’d be great.

Remember the pause button?

It seems very inviting. MK nods.

Right. A pause button.

“Just a sec, Mei,” he leaves her groaning on the ground, turning to face the city.

He slams his staff into the ground.

Ice shoots out in a wild dash. It crawls over and into everything. Cars, buildings, people—everything freezes. He hears some screams, and watches people try and run for the hills, but the cold is faster. It billows down the streets, kicking up a white haze that is almost impossible to see through, that the pedestrians tripping on ice and solidifying get lost in, but it’s a snowy sheen that MK sees through perfectly. He can see the polished figures of buildings, glistening beneath their ice, the little mounds that must be people beneath the thick layer of ice.

It’s all so pristine. So perfect.

Finally.

MK is glad for the quiet. With him and himself in his head, it’s hard to deal with outside noise. He just needed a moment of calm, to get to the task at hand.

The task at hand...Mei!

“Mei, are you—” he stops. Mei and Pigsy aren’t there.

His eyes search for them, and he can see Monkey King hurriedly pulling them up onto his cloud. “Wait!”

Monkey King looks at him, and MK’s face is pleading. He just wants to do right. Why don’t they understand? Once he fixes it all, everyone will be happy. Can’t they wait?

“Sorry, bud,” Monkey King says.

MK doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. A rush of panic tries to grip his brain, something that was once so familiar, something that was once so him, but it disappears in MK’s desperation to act.

The cloud zooms off. He throws a hand out, running after it.

“NO!”

This is just like his dream. At the edge of the city, a wall of ice rises. It sparkles in the light of the setting sun, and MK raises it higher, and higher, as Monkey King and Mei and Pigsy and everyone he cares about most gets farther and farther away.

Monkey King punches through the ice, and they disappear into the horizon.

MK drops to his knees. They land hard on the frozen ground.

“You said they wouldn’t leave,” he whimpers out, crying because it hurts and he doesn’t know exactly why.

It’s more than just regular pain. Something warm and different and yet familiar stings. Something knows this isn’t right, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go! If this was the right thing to do, why would everyone leave?

“I have to stop!” The words are forced out of his mouth.

MK doesn’t know when the words are him and when the words are something else. He doesn’t know who he is. What’s right? What’s wrong? How can he tell?

He’s just been listening to his own head, but his own head is arguing with itself.

He slams his free fist into his temple, to try and make things settle.

Chains drag him to the ground, leaving him stuck.

You are doing everything just right.

The voice is soft in one ear, but on the other side MK hears No! On repeat. No, this isn’t right. You froze good people. Innocent people! You froze Tang and Sandy! You made Pigsy cry! You hurt Mei!

They don’t understand yet. Monkey King is notoriously stubborn. He isn’t ready for his successor to pass him yet. All you have to do is wait for them to come back. And they will.

It’s harder and harder to hear the argument against this.

The voice sounds so self assured. The warmth that doesn’t burn gets weaker and weaker, like a fire out of kindling.

He wheezes, and tears turn to snowflakes on his skin. He chokes on his own breath. It comes out white and fogs his vision, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Everyone’s gone.

He’s alone.

This can’t be right.

It is. You just haven’t done enough yet.

That, MK understands. The need to do more, be more. It makes far more sense that he hasn’t done enough, than anything else.

“They’ll come back?” He asks, and his voice sounds so loud in the quiet. He feels a hand brush his hair back. He leans into the touch, but it’s gone.

Of course.

MK stands. The chains vanish, and he smiles.

“Okay then! Let’s get to work!”

He hasn’t let go of the staff in ages. He doesn’t think he can. He turns to the mess he’d made in his rush job, the frozen city’s statue. He has to fix that, it’s unsightly! Mei and Pigsy and Monkey King won’t like a mess.

As he plans, as he hopes, he feels a smile in the back of his head. It feels like a snowball to his skull, chilling and yet a comfort, somehow.

Wonderful work, Vessel. We’re going to do great things together.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #possession au #monkie kid mk #sun wukong #monkie kid monkey king #monkie kid mei #monkie kid red son #red son #kitkat1003

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 46

Title: Not Broken, Just Bent

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, profanity, angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“I appreciate this,” Tyler says, as he and Desi work side by side in the front foyer; assisting the three littles with the zippers on their coats and the laces on their boots.

He’d called the neighbour on a whim; desperate for even the smallest bit of help. He’s never been one to just reach out to others; long drilled into him that only a pathetic and weak man needs a helping hand. But if the first nightmare in Dhaka had taught him anything, it’s that even the biggest and strongest need someone to lean on from time to time; his body and his spirit so broken that he’d required assistance with even the most basic and simplest of everyday living skills. Esme stepping up to the plate and never once complaining about the energy it depleted her of or the time it took out of her own schedule; never making him feel as if he were a burden. Accompanying -and chauffeuring, as both his physical limitations and pain medications made it impossible for him to function to that extent- him to doctors visits and physiotherapy sessions and counselling appointments with addiction specialists. Always wanting her right there with him even when the most difficult of subjects were broached or intense physical exercises caused excruciating pain. Her quiet presence and all of the patience and resilience inhabiting that tiny body both a source of strength and a tremendous comfort. Accompanied by the tender touch of her hands as they massaged his shoulders or rubbed his back or her fingertips cleared wayward strands of hair from his forehead and out of his eyes. Voice soft and soothing even during the moments where frustration and pain had him raging; a palm on the back of his neck and her nose pressed against his temple as she encouraged him to ‘just breathe’ and reminded him of how far he’d already come and how he was proving all of the doctors and the naysayers wrong.

Six years later she’d find herself back in that situation again; his babies growing and thriving inside her as she once more took on the role of his caretaker. Having to lend assistance with even the mundane things most people take for granted; helping him to the bathroom when the pain was too intense to make it even when the aid of crutches or a walker, keeping a well organized and attentively followed medication schedule, feeding him when the tremors in his hands -a side effect of the meds- made it impossible for him to even hold a fork or spoon. Giving him showers or sponge baths or washing his hair in the kitchen sink and trimming both his hair and his beard. And she’d willingly learned more intensive care as well; wound irrigation and cleaning and how to switch out the IV and medication bags when an infection in the lower back had forced him onto powerful antibiotics. She’d been overwhelmed and exhausted but had never shown it; never losing her patience or her temper with him and never reacting when his own -triggered by pain and frustration and vulnerability- kicked off.

Months of her constant presence, reassurance and steadfast care had opened his eyes to who his wife TRULY is; an incredibly strong and resilient woman that has been through hell and back -a number of times- but never lets the situation break her. Always positive and upbeat; gracing him with smiles or ruffles of his hair or kisses to his cheek and words of praise and encouragement. It had given him a new appreciation and respect for her; how easy she made it look while caring for him and keeping a home running and taking care of his children. Even now he remains in awe of her; the amount of determination and love that can exist in someone so small. And if it taught them both anything, it’s that they truly ARE a team; relying on one another in many different ways. What could have destroyed other couples only served to make them stronger. That foundation built upon a unique and powerful bond and formed through a complicated and dangerous situation never crumbling; holding them up with everything around them seemed to want to break them down. Everything became more solid; their marriage, their roles are parents, their friendship. And they’ve discovered they loved each other even more than they ever realized; a love so complete and whole and all consuming.

Now it’s his turn; shove all of his issues and his demons and monsters aside to take care of her. It’s the one thing he’s always been both good at, and consistent with; shelving all of his problems in order to focus on hers. It’s two fold. A chance to show her just how loved and appreciated and adored she actually is; a way of proving just how grateful he is for everything she’s done -for him AND their family- throughout the past twelve and a half years. And it keeps both his body and his mind busy; making her his number priority an effective way to battle back against his demons. But He realizes he can’t do it alone; the old adage of ‘it takes a village’ proving true. Seven kids in the house means a lot of noise and a lot of activity. Not the ideal setting and atmosphere for someone that is both mentally AND physically exhausted.

While Desi had been the obvious choice on who to seek out, it had taken Tyler nearly a half an hour to convince himself to make the call; feeling guilty for yet again turning to their neighbour to lend a hand. It’s primarily an ego issue; feeling like ‘less of a man’ for not only needing help, but outwardly admitting it and lowering his guard enough to ask for it. Esme would blame it on the toxic masculinity that still lingers deep inside; the ghost of his father telling him he should be dealing everything on his own and that not being able to is a sign of both cowardice and weakness. It remains a struggle at times; breaking away from that train of thought and reminding himself that everything his old man had taught him -or attempted to- had been unhealthy and toxic and nothing but complete bullshit. And Desi is like family; always stepping up when either of them have needed him. A loyal confidant and steadfast supporter, he’d easily and effortlessly blended with large broods; enjoying the time spent under their crazy and chaotic roof and giving the kids the kind of uncle they deserve. And while it normally takes Tyler months or even years to trust someone when it comes to his personal life and the safety and the well being of his family, with Desi it has come fairly easily. That laid back and enormously generous personality and the gentle and compassionate way he treats Esme and the kids had triggered Tyler’s instincts. Letting him know that the man was trustworthy and reliable and in no way a threat.

“Anytime,” Desi says, as he finishes with the laces on Takota’s boots and turns to help Brooklyn, allowing her to attempt the tying and only stepping in which she gets frustrated and gives up. “You know I’m here for you guys. Always.”

Tyler slips a purple and pink knitted beanie onto Addie’s head. “Seem to rely on you an awful lot.”

“It’s what friends do, right? Help each other out when they need it. They step up. Lend a hand. No one can go through life alone. No one.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to tell me that thirteen years ago. I was pretty sure that’s how I’d live out the rest of my life. And die.”

“Were you happy though? Living like that? All by your lonesome? Out there in the middle of nowhere?”

“I had company.”

“A dog and a chicken are NOT company,” Desi informs him. “Not by a long shot.”

“Dogs are man’s best friend, aren’t they? And it was a pretty smart chicken.”

“You can’t tell me you were happy like that. Living way out there, alone, no one to talk to. No one is happy living like that.”

“In all fairness, ninety percent of the time I was too out of it to be carrying on conversations.”

It feels like a lifetime ago; that rundown shack in the middle of the outback, surrounded by nothing but the sparse trees and dry earth and looming mountain ranges. It had seemed like the perfect place to let his wounds fester and his addictions take hold; no one trying to dictate what he could and couldn’t do, no attempts at trying to talk him into rehab or counselling, far enough out that not even Koen or Rata made it a habit of stopping by unannounced. Out there he’d been surrounded by nothing but emptiness; a perfect match for the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been. A punishment of sorts. Nothing but the mistakes of the past and his overwhelming grief and guilt to keep him warm at night. Out there he could let the demons run rampant; drinking himself into oblivion and abusing Oxy at an alarming rate. His last coherent thought before passing out would always be the same; that the substances he’d put in his body would be enough to ensure he didn’t wake up the next day. But he always did; usually coming to in the middle of the warped and dusty floor or sitting at the kitchen table. Surrounded by empty bottles of booze and tipped over vials of pills and crippled by a brutal hangover; the headache and nausea and the dizziness so intense he’d have to crawl to the bathroom.

When it became apparent that the mix of alcohol and painkillers weren’t enough to do the trick, he began taking the most risky and dangerous jobs possible. By that time, he was fully engrossed in his death wish; too chicken to pull the trigger himself so instead relying on someone else to do it for him. Every time he went out, he’d all but pleaded to a higher power that it would be his last. Resorting to begging and pleading with whatever -or whoever- was watching his ass to take break; take their eyes off him or shirk their duties long enough for him to catch a bullet to the head. Yet it never happened. No matter how many times he’d spun that barrel and taken the risk, he always lived to see another day. Which in turn had only made his desperation even more intense; feeding into that grief and the sorrow that threatened to drown him yet never took him right under. That day on the cliff when he’d plunged into the water below, there’d been nothing stopping him from giving up; the weight of his regret and self loathing enough to keep him below the surface and allow his air to slowly run out. He hadn’t been afraid. He’d been ready to die for a long time.

Yet something had told him to keep going. A little voice hanging onto a thread of hope; louder than those attempting to destroy him. And when he’d pulled himself out of the water, he’d found he suddenly felt lighter; as if some of the burdens and past mistakes had temporarily lifted and been replaced by the first shred of contentment he’d experienced in a hell of a long time. Less than forty minutes later, he’d be watching Esme as she climbed up onto his porch. Studying her as she crouched down and showered his dog with attention. Finding himself both curious and intrigued about the unknown, tattooed and pierced dark haired beauty that had suddenly shown up in his life.

“You gotta admit, that kind of existence IS lonely,” Desi says, as he opens the front door and motions for the three littles to step through. “All alone? Out in a place like THAT? I’ve been there, remember. I’ve seen what it’s like. It’s desolate and it’s isolating and…”

“And it’s what I wanted at the time.’

Desi cocks an eyebrow, then steps out onto the front porch. “What you wanted? Or what you thought you deserved?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Tyler’s mouth, and he stands on the threshold with a palm flat against the door, effectively holding it open. “What seemed right at the time.”

“Were you? Lonely?”

“Never gave it much thought, to be honest. But in all fairness, most of my days were spent drunk and high off my ass, so…”

“You never once wished that you had someone around? Someone to talk to? Spend time with? Get...you know...PERSONAL with.”

“If I wanted that, I could get it. Easily. There was no shortage of that, believe me.”

“You never wanted more than that? I mean, there’s more to life than THAT. What about bonding with someone? Yeah, sex is great, but what about everything else? Companionship. Friendship. Someone to come home to at the end of the day or however long you were gone for some times. Someone that’s just...THERE...you know?”

“I was a fucking mess. Way worse than you could even begin to imagine. Why would I bring someone into that? Why would I do that to someone? Ruin their life like that? They get with me, everything’s great for a while, then they discover just how messed up I am and take off. What would be the point? Bringing someone into that? That’s just wasting their time.”

“Was it about them or you? Not wanting to get involved with someone.”

Arching an eyebrow, Tyler leans against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seems like maybe you were using all that as excuses. To protect yourself. That maybe you were scared to get too attached. Just in case they DID decide it was too much and run off.”

A slow grin tugs at his lips. “ You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Esme. You’re getting into the psychoanalyzing business too, huh?”

“I’m just saying that maybe it ran deeper than worrying about other peoples’ feelings. Maybe you were worried about your own too.”

“I was dead inside, Des. I wasn’t feeling a damn thing.”

“Except for shame and guilt and regret. And a whole hell of a lot of self loathing.”

“You really ARE spending too much with my wife.”

“I just think it makes sense. You protecting yourself too. But not willing to admit it. At least not out loud. Wouldn’t it have been worth giving it a shot? Finding someone? Seeing if they could put up with everything?”

“I was an alcoholic mercenary with a drug addiction and a death wish. Who would put up with that?”

“Esme, for one.”

“Esme is an entirely different breed all her own. I highly doubt there’s many out there like her. That would willingly hook up with a fucking train wreck and put up with everything I’ve put her through. That I KEEP putting her through.”

“You know, you’re not as bad as you think you are. Do you have some issues? Yeah. But shit, we all do. We’re all a mess. In one way or another. You might be a little messier than most, but…”

“A little? That’s being awfully nice about it.”

“Look, she sticks around, doesn’t she? She’s still here. Twelve and half years later. You really think if things were THAT bad she wouldn’t have hauled ass a long time ago? Didn’t y’all split up for a while?”

“Six months,” Tyler confirms.

“And yet you got back together. She wanted things to work out. Not like she kicked your ass to the curb and hooked up with some other guy. You guys fixed your shit, made things better. She wouldn’t have taken you back if you were that bad. She wouldn’t have put herself or the kids through that.”

“Still a lot for one person to deal with. We’ve been through a lot shit. Way too much, actually.”

“Shit that would have broken weaker people,” Desi points out. “Both of you...separately... are strong as hell. But the two of you together? That’s a force to be reckoned with. And maybe she is a different breed of woman. Maybe it was the way she was raised that made her the way she is. Or the way she WASN’T raised. But let me tell you, she is a tough little thing. Feisty as all hell.”

“Totally a study in contradiction. You see that little body and that cute face and you think she’s all innocent and sweet and the next thing you know…”

“You’re married to her and seven kids?” Desi grins.

“I was going to say the next thing you know, she’s telling you where to go and how to get there and putting you in your place. Totally not what I expected, that’s for sure. Woman that size to be such a challenge. And so fucking bossy. If you heard half the shit that comes out of her mouth…”

“She keeps you on your toes. Challenges you. She’s definitely no push over. Which leads right back to my point. If you were as bad as you think you are, do you really think a woman like her would stick around? Hell no. She’d tell you off and pack her shit and take off. There’s no if’s, end’s, or butt’s about that. You brought that much shit and pain into her life? Things would have never gotten this far.”

“You know, you make a little TOO much sense.”

“I just tell ‘em like I see ‘em. You’re not the massive prick you think you are. Maybe a little bit of one…”

Tyler smirks.

“She showed up right when she was supposed to. That day at your place. Think of all the things in both your pasts that had to go wrong for you two to cross paths. If even just one of things went right, you probably never would have laid eyes on her. And that would have been a damn shame.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, considering his friend’s words. “It would have been.”

“The right woman came along at the right time. If your heart and your head didn’t think so, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You wouldn’t have the life you do. Hell, you probably wouldn’t have a life at all.”

“I’d be dead. If Esme hadn’t come along. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“Daddy!” Addie clomps up the front walk and climbs the porch stairs; abandoning the task of helping her siblings build a messy fort of wet snow. And she wraps both arms around one of his thighs and leans her slight, tiny body into him. “Do we REALLY have to go out?”

“It’s just for a few hours.” He scoops her up into his arms and settles her on his hip. “ Go get some lunch, go see a movie, stop at the candy store. Doesn’t that sound like fun? A day out with Des? You always love your days out with Des.”

“It does sound like fun and I DO love going out with Desi, but…” she curls both arms around his neck and nestles her face against the side of his throat. “...I want to stay with you and mummy. She was gone this morning. And it scared me. That she wasn’t here to do our thing.”

“Well tomorrow you can do your thing. Sometimes OTHER things come up. Can’t help that.”

“And I only got to spend a little bit of time with her because she’s been sleeping a LONG time!”

“She’s only been sleeping an hour. Didn’t you spend some time with her? Didn't you take a bath with her? In the big tub?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I need you to cooperate, okay? Mummy needs some rest. And she can’t really get that with all you guys in the house. Right now, she needs to sleep and when she wakes up, I need to be able to take care of her. And if I’ve got all you guys to take care of, I can’t really do that, can I?”

“Is she sick?”

“She’s a little under the weather.”

“Like a cough due to cold?”

“Nothing like that. She’s just feeling a little rundown. Nothing some quiet time won’t help. So you think you can do me a solid? Go out with a Desi for a bit?”

Addie sighs heavily. “I guess…”

“We’ll have a great time,” Desi promises. “We always do. Mommy and daddy need some time alone. It happens. They’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

Addie reaches for him; allowing herself to pass from one set of arms to another. “Like making a baby?”

“No one is making any babies,” Tyler informs. “Not in this house anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because our days of making babies are long gone. The shop is closed. All done. That’s it.”

“One more wouldn’t be so bad,” Addie reasons. “Another sister.”

“One more WOULD be bad. And a shock because neither mummy or I can have more babies. Now…” laying a hand on the back of her head, he leans in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “....be good. I don’t want any bad reports when Desi gets back.”

“Why you telling me? I’m always good.”

Tyler stares pointedly at his daughter.

“Well, ALMOST always.”

“Remember what I said. No taking off. You stay with Desi. Or with TJ. Got it?”

Addie gives a thumbs up. “Got it!”

“Have fun. And don’t worry about mummy. She’s fine, I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“You better,” the five year old warns. “‘Cause that’s my mummy and if anything happens to her…”

“Your mummy is in good hands,” Tyler promises. “Daddy knows what he's doing. I’m not some rookie, you know.”

“You be nice to mummy,” Addie orders. “No arguing and no making her cry and no making fun of how tiny she is.”

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s my go to. Making fun of her height.”

“Speaking as a short person, it’s NOT funny. At all.”

“I wonder how funny it will be when I DO pick you and your mum up and put you in my pockets.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Addie’s eyes narrow as she glares at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” He pecks her pouted lips. “You and your mumma both know everything I say, I say because I love you guys. Can I help it that you’re both so tiny and cute?”

“Can we help it that you’re so big and have humongous feet and ears?” Addie counters.

“Ouch,” Desi chuckles. “Savage.”

“She gets that from her mumma. Little, but so full of rage.” He digs his fingers into his daughter’s side, tickling her until the pout turns into a smile and she begins to giggle. “Do I need to remind you that you got my ears? And my feet? You all do.”

“Poor us,” Addie quips, and then squeals and giggles even louder when he brushes his beard against her cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, and presses a kiss to the freckled bridge of his daughter's nose. “Be good, okay? I’m counting on you here.”

“I got this!” She flashes two thumbs up over Desi’s shoulder as he carries her down the stairs. “See you later, alligator!”

“In a while crocodile,” Tyler responds.

“Blow a kiss, goldfish!”

“Bye-bye butterfly.”

“Toodle-loo kangaroo!”

Tyler shoots her a wink and then steps out onto the front porch. Hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie as he watches Desi herd the noisy and excited and noisy bunch out the front gate and then down the slush covered sidewalk. Waiting until they disappear around the corner before heading back into the house.

*****

The shower feels damn good. Hot enough to sting and to cause a new layer of perspiration to form on his skin; gathering at his temples and along his hairline and above his upper lip. The latter he swipes away with the tip of his tongue and then places his palms flat against the tile; chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed as the water beats down on his weary body. Physically speaking, he feels great; very little pain or tightness across the small of his back, a dull yet manageable ache in his repaired shoulder, the swelling of his right knee not as not as prominent as it usually is. The latter surprises him. He’d pushed himself extremely hard during his run that morning, greatly exceeding anything he’d ever put himself on the treadmill and far beyond the limits the specialists had put on him after his second surgery. And while he knows he shouldn’t ‘test the waters’ and there’s a legitimate risk of ligament tears and dislocations, he’s never been one to play by the rules. Refusing to let anyone confine him to what’s conventionally acceptable; always wanting to prove not only the naysayers wrong, but his own mind and body. An injury he can deal with; another operation and the recovery afterwards a lot easier to bear then the damage to the ego. His physicality has always been of major importance; strength, size, speed, stamina. And he’s had a hell of a time getting back to even seventy percent of where he’d been five years ago. When Nathan had managed to get the jump on him and achieved what no other foe had ever managed: breaking his body and mind.

He refuses to dwell on it. Nothing he can do will ever erase or lessen what happened; his body forever damaged and his entire lifestyle permanently altered. Physical injuries, mental health issues, the constant toeing of the line between addiction and sobriety. And he knows things could be a lot worse; dying that day on the bridge in Dhaka and never getting his second chance. He’d been given an incredible opportunity; an absolution for the mistakes of the past and a whole new life and a bright and content future. But it hasn’t been without its own share of pain and sacrifice and suffering; every blessing coming at an exceptional cost. Ones he’d happily paid and would do so again; willingly putting his own body and sanity on the line if it means keeping his family safe and sound.

A half an hour passes; hot water tank nearly drained when he finally steps out of the shower. Body still damp when he heads into the bedroom; a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and another being used to vigorously dry his hair. Slivers of light manage to trickle through the gap in the room darkening curtains, and he uses it to his advantage; quietly navigating the spacious master suite. She’s been asleep for more than an hour now; on his side of the bed with the heavy comforter pulled up to her chin and her cheek nestled into his pillow. Normally she would have argued with him; pointing out the list of things that -in her always busy mind- needed to be done before her sister’s arrival. But her ‘meltdown’ earlier had left her emotionally exhausted and she hadn’t kicked up even the slightest bit of fuss when he suggested she take time for herself; a long soak in the tub, her favourite ‘comfort’ clothes, a well deserved nap.

It’s been twelve and a half years of sacrifice and compromise on her part; giving up her old life in favour of a new one with him, adjusting to life in a new country only to have it torn apart and be forced back home, reluctantly agreeing to his return to the job and the worry and the stress that came with it. Five pregnancies that resulted in seven amazing and beautiful children; her physical and mental health paying a steep price each time, yet never denying him the desire for a big family. And the times she’s seen him near death. Horrendous injuries inflicted upon him; those long days and nights by his side in various hospitals and eventually the arduous and painful roads to recovery. Yet she’s done it without complaint; throwing herself into caring for him and their family and consistently putting her own well being on the back burner.

Lowering himself cautiously onto the end of the bed, he once more scrubs at his hair and then tosses the towel in the direction of the laundry hamper; sighing when it misses its mark and falls heavily to the floor. While mentally weary, his body feels great; relieved to be relatively pain free and filled with an uncharacteristic optimism. The silver lining within a very dark and immense cloud. A welcome boost of confidence he hasn’t experienced in years; brave enough to consider that maybe...just maybe...the worst is now behind him. And as he studies his reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, for once he’s not finding all the faults. No anger or disgust when his fingers lightly travel over the myriad of scars that inhabit his face, no thoughts of how battered and worn down he appears. Instead he notices that his eyes seem brighter; not as haunted and empty as they’ve been since his return from Cambodia. His face has filled out; the slight weight gain making the lines that accompany aging -and a hard life lived on the edge- not seem as prominent. His chest and arms are bigger; the slightest of flexes stretching the tattoos that decorate the insides of both biceps and shoulders. The positivity is surprising; years spent living in a state of self loathing and speaking self deprecating words long ago taking their toll and reducing him to a man that didn’t give a shit about his personal appearance. As long as he maintained his strength and his quickness and his skills, that had been all that mattered; not giving a second thought to his choice of attire or the thickness of his beard or the unruliness of his hair.

He’s still not what would be considered high maintenance; the opposite of a Desi who spends more time getting ready than the average female and has closets full of insanely expensive high end clothing. Still the most comfortable in bare feet and board shorts; jeans and a simple t-shirt considered ‘dressing up’ in his world. It’s an effortless existence; relaxed and content and low key. And it’s one the entire family -aside from a very ‘girly’ Addie- has adopted. Happy and secure; tucked away at the end of that dead end street and surrounded by nature and the smells and the sounds of the ocean. Their own slice of paradise; hard work, resilience, and a hell of a lot of money turning what had once been a modest residence into their dream home. It will be their ‘happily after after’; the place where they’ll raise their children, spoil their grandkids, and grow old and grey together. And for once, he’s confident that will happen. That they’ll get those moments Esme often speaks wistfully about. When their home is empty and it’s just the two of them; quiet breakfasts on the back deck and dinners down by the water. When there’s more grey in their hair and wrinkles on their faces, yet they still walk along the beach hand in hand or with their arms wrapped around each other; indulging in their bantering and their teasing and stopping to steal kisses in the surf.

And still giving her piggy back rides back to the house.

He feels the mattress shift slightly, and he watches her reflection through the mirror as she adjusts her position in bed. Rolling over onto her back and stretching languorously; a long, content sigh escaping her lips and the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. When she props herself onto her elbows and looks at him, her hair is disheveled and her eyes are slightly narrowed; a pout of confusion and disorientation capturing her lips.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

The pout transforms into a frown. “In the afternoon?”

“No. Morning.”

“Smart ass,” she grumbles, and then flops down onto her back. A foot kicks off the heavy comforter in favour of coming in contact with his back; toes slowly brushing along the top edge of the towel. “What are you doing?”

“I was in the shower. Didn’t get a chance to do it when I got home from my run. With everything that happened and you leaving and having to take care of the kids....” his voice trails off. It’s the last thing he wants to revisit. His panic attack in the kitchen, the way his oldest son had sensed the urgency and the stress and stepped up to the plate to care for his little sister, the worry that his wife either wouldn’t return or would walk through the door and tell him that it was over. That he was just too much for her to bear; a heavy and troublesome burden weighing her down.

“Why’s it so quiet?” she asks, and he’s thankful for the change in conversation. “What happened? Did they get a little too feral? Get on your last nerve so you tranquilized all of them?”

“I sold them all. On the black market.”

“I hope you got a good price for them,” she chides, and trails the tip of her big toe along his spine. “I put a lot of work into those kids. Not to mention what my body went through. I think that’s worth a good penny, don’t you? Doesn’t it deserve compensation? My body going to absolute shit?”

“Your body is amazing. It was incredible when we met, and it’s even more incredible now.”

“You really are the most biased husband on earth. My ass is bigger. My hips are wider.”

“You’ve had babies. MY babies.”

“Yeah, I have,” she smiles, and once more props herself up on her elbows. “Only guy in the universe I’d ever give that many spawn too.”

He grins at her through the mirror. “I’m honoured.”

“You should be,” she playfully retorts. “You’re naked under that towel, aren’t you.”

“Well considering I just got out of the shower and I don’t wear board shorts or underwear when I’m in there…”

“Honey, as incredible as your body is and I could lie here all day admiring it, I’m going to need you to put some clothes on. It’s far too tempting to engage in X rated activity when you’re naked. Or next to naked.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. X rated activities. With me.”

“Normally it’s not. But I think I’m PMSing.” That dramatic, adorable pout again. “ I’ve got wicked cramps and I’m feeling bloated as fuck and you know my hesitancy on having sex when all of that is going on. I know it doesn’t faze you and as much as orgasms DO help, it’s just not my jam.”

“Say no more.” Sighing, he gets to his feet; grateful that the normally bone deep pain that resides in his right knee has settled into nothing more than a dull, manageable ache. And he grabs a pair of discarded jeans slung over the back of the chair by the balcony door; releasing the towel from around his waist and tossing it in the direction of the laundry hamper.

“Now that’s just evil,” Esme declares. “You are a bad, bad, BAD man.”

He smirks at her through the mirror. “Why’s that?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You know exactly what you’re doing. Just dropping the towel like that. That’s so, so, SO mean.”

“Gotta give you something to stare at, yeah?”

“I prefer to call it admiring. And I have done a lot of admiring over the last twelve and half years. You never disappoint, husband.”

“I aim to please.”

“And do you ever hit your mark. Each and every time.”

Grinning, he tugs the jeans up over his hips and ass and tends to the button and zipper; pushing a hand through his damp hair as he approaches the side of the bed. “Move.”

“I like this spot. It’s YOUR spot. It’s got all your grooves in it. It’s comfortable.”

“Yeah, but it’s MY spot. And you know how anal I am about my spot. So haul ass. Please.”

“Grump face,” she mutters, but wriggles her way backward across the bed; rolling onto her hip as he joins her; sliding under the comforter and laying on his side facing her.

“Come here…” Reaching out, he curls an arm around her petite frame and pulls her into him. Hand resting in the middle of her back as his other arm slips under her shoulder; thigh wedging between her legs.. “...I’ll make you feel better, baby. In a non X rated way.”

“You’re so selfless.” She presses her body against his; a hand pushing through his hair and her head tucking under his chin. Eyes closing and a long, content sigh escaping her as she breathes in his familiar scent. Clean and crisp; notes of sandalwood and citrus. “So generous. Where ARE the kids?”

“Desi took them out. Lunch and a movie. Candy bar afterwards.”

“He just offered or....?”

“I called him. Told him you were having a rough day. That I needed some time and some space and some quiet. To take care of my girl.”

A smile plays on her lips as she pulls back to look at him. “Your girl, huh?”

“That’s what you are, aren’t ya? Or would I rather I call you my old lady?”

“I would definitely NOT rather that. I like it; being called your girl. It’s cute. I like the sound of it.”

He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. Palm sliding up her back, across her shoulder and then gently cupping the side of her face ; thumb repeatedly brushing against the top of her cheek.

She likes these moments with him. Quiet and content; bodies pressed together in a pure and innocent form of intimacy. The way his gaze never wavers ; as if he's intently studying every inch of her features and committing them to memory. Love and adoration written as plain as day upon his face; the softness of his expression, the gentle touch of a callused palm and fingertips, the tender smile that plays on his lips. A beautiful man with a not so beautiful past. A childhood filled with torment and abuse and anguish and tremendous loss, followed by years of substance abuse and a life lived on the edge; hounded by immense grief and guilt and regret and anxious for death to claim him. It’s no surprise that he has the issues he does; no one can go through a lifetime of trauma and come out of it unscathed. But it’s a shock he isn’t worse than he is. Still filled with so much strength; resilient and brave and never backing down from even the biggest of challenges. Loving and compassionate and sensitive. A striking juxtaposition considering his choice of career. A hardened and highly skilled mercenary that kills as a means to an end, not because he enjoys it.

“So you actually CALLED Desi?” she inquires. “For help? That’s a little...out of character.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Your sister won’t be here until later and I wasn’t waiting that long. So I got a hold of him and asked him to do me a favour. If he could take the kids so I could concentrate on you. That’s kind of hard to do when there’s seven plus one under the same roof.”

“That’s HUGE for you. You didn’t just acknowledge and admit you needed help, you actually ACTED on it.”

“What’s so huge about that? I’ve asked for help before.”

“You’ve asked ME for help before. Never someone else. That’s not you, Tyler. You’d rather wear yourself thin or completely burn yourself out than rely on other people.”

“It’s one of my issues,” he admits. “For many reasons. But you know how I always say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”

Esme nods.

“That includes swallowing my pride and asking for help.”

“You doing THAT? THAT’S love right there. And probably some lust, too.”

“There’s a little bit of that in there too,” he teases, and then places a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. Their eyes closing when the tip of his nose comes to rest against her forehead; hand slipping from her cheek and finding the back of her neck, fingers gently and deftly massaging the tense muscles.

For several minutes neither of them speak; basking in the silence and the warmth that radiates from one another's bodies; his slow, even breaths ruffling her hair, hers tickling his bare neck. These moments are rare; the chaos of raising seven children and their respective work schedules and responsibilities. Both are looking forward to her being home more. The opportunity to actually be alone; walks on the beach or time in the water, hikes in the woods or strolls through town. And the road trips. Needing nothing more than gas in the tank and money in their pockets.

*****

“Feeling any better?” Tyler asks, and slips his hand up into her hair; fingertips gently kneading the scalp.

“A little. Have a headache though. Not sure if it’s PMS or my moods or my meltdown earlier. But it’s a bitch. A mean, old bitch.”

He pulls away. Hand moving to the top of her head and fingers pressing on her well known problem areas; along the tops of both brows, the inside corners of her eyes, the bridge of her nose. Attempting to alleviate at least some of the pain and pressure. “Good?” he asks, when she reaches up to push her fingers through his; drawing their joined hands down to her lips and pressing a kiss to the side of his wrist.

She nods, a smile curving her lips. “Good. You and your magic fingers. They certainly know their stuff. In many ways.”

“They have a talent all of their own.”

“They certainly do. MANY talents, actually. Are YOU feeling better?”

“Not bad. My body feels pretty good. Thought maybe I’d be in agony after my run, but…”

“You pushed yourself, didn’t you. HARD. Harder than you’re supposed to.”

“Come on now. Would I actually do something like that? Not listen to the doctor’s orders?”

“You most certainly would. And you definitely have. Be careful, Tyler. Don’t push the limits too much, okay? I realize you know your own body, but you don’t always listen to it. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Screwing something up and needing surgery. AGAIN.”

“I won’t go too hard,” he promises, and pecks her lips. “But right now? I’m taking care of YOU. Not the other way around. You’ve spent a lot of time looking after me. Worrying about me. Probably too much.”

“It’s not like it’s a job or something like that. You’re my husband. I love you. That’s why I do it.”

“And I love you. Which is why I need to step up and take care of you. Don’t be so stubborn, Me. Let me look after you. We’re a team, yeah? We’re supposed to be in this together? Let me pick up some of the slack.”

“It’s a bad habit of mine. Doing everything myself. I mean, in high school I was the one that got saddled with all the work during group projects. My classmates would fuck around and I’d be stuck having to do it all by my lonesome.”

“Well you don’t have to do this by your lonesome. It’s a two way street, right? You and me against the world?”

Nodding, she presses a kiss to his chin, then his lips. “You’re a good husband. I think I’ll keep you.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I kinda like it here.”

Smiling, she lays a hand on the side of his face. Her fingers press through his beard; nails lightly scraping along his jaw. “Do you think we could talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? You already said no naked time, so…”

“I mean a serious talk. Piggybacking off what happened this morning. More specifically, what happened with ME this morning. And WHY it happened.”

“I thought we already talked about it. When you got back. Didn’t realize there was anything more to say. You’re going through some shit. Depression. Probably PTSD. You got a lot of stress. And probably most of that can be blamed on me.”

“I’m not blaming anything on you. I never have. I never will. My brain was screwed up way before you ever came along.”

“I’m sure I made it worse. I’ve put you through a lot of crap. Twelve and a half years of it.”

“We are not doing this. YOU are not doing this. That’s all water under the bridge, Tyler. Things we went through and dealt with. It’s behind us. Can we leave it there? Can YOU? Because it’s not doing you any good; holding onto so much guilt and regret. I don’t want you doing that. That’s the last thing I want, actually.”

“It’s kind of hard NOT to do it. To think back on it all and not see how badly i’ve fucked up.”

“It was all beyond your control. Things went bad. That’s all there is to really say about it. Things went to shit and you reacted badly to them and you made some pretty crappy judgement calls. But we got past all of that. I don’t hold grudges against you. I don’t hate you. Or blame you for anything. It’s time you stop blaming yourself, okay?”

“You know me. I’m willing to try anything once. Except for maybe eating ass. That’s a little too far out of my comfort zone.”

“Well lucky for you, it’s WAY out of mine. But can we? Have a serious talk? Without it turning into a fight? I don’t want to fight with you. We’ve come a long way since those days; everything turning into a big blow out.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either. But if it’s something THAT serious…”

“I mean, it’s serious but not THAT serious. It’s not life or death or anything. It’s just...I don’t know…” her fingers nervously fidget with the chain around his neck. “...it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Is it about us? Are we having problems I’m not aware of? Is there someone else?”

“No! Oh my god, no. Nothing like that. Other than dealing with our own mental stuff, we are fine. We are MORE than fine. And there isn’t anyone else. There never has been. And there never will be. You’re it for me. For the rest of my life. There’s no one else I want. I could EVER want.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her lips.

“It’s to do with me. What’s going on in my head. What HAS been going on in there. And I need you to promise that you won’t freak out. That you won’t hear the worst of it and shut down and lose your temper and…”

He frowns. “Esme…”

“Tyler, I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And right now, I need you to promise me that you won’t lose it. That you’ll just listen and let everything sink in. Not just hear a bit and react. Can you do that? Promise me?”

He nods. “I won’t lose my shit. Promise. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you sick? Is there something wrong and you’ve been holding out on me?”

“I’m not sick,” she assures him. “Not physically anyway. It’s all to do with my brain. I’ve struggled for years. Long before I ever met you. And I’ve had some down moments; since we’ve been together. Especially after each of our babies. When postpartum was a real bitch to me. So it’s not like you don’t know what I deal with. In my head.”

“I’ve known for years. You told me pretty much right from the start. A couple days into Dhaka. About having depression. Being diagnosed after your dad died. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got PTSD too. After everything that went on in Bangladesh, ESPECIALLY on that bridge? You can’t say it would be a surprise. If you were diagnosed with it.”

“The furthest thing from a surprise. Now you promise? Not to freak out?”

“I already did. Can we get to it already? Because you stall any longer and my anxiety is going to go off the charts.”

Sighing, she curls a finger around his necklace and gently yanks him into a kiss. Lips lingering on his before finally pulling away. “I lied to you. About a year ago,”

“About…?”

“Do you remember when you were in Brazil? For a couple weeks? The whole drug cartel thing?”

He nods. “What about it?”

“Remember how when you came back, I mentioned a girls weekend. In Cairns. With Riley and Shaena. And how I was worried you’d be pissed because I wanted to go on it? Because you’d been gone for two weeks and me leaving meant we’d only have a couple days together?”

“Yeah, and I was fine with it. You needed a break. I didn’t have a problem with you going. What…?”

“There was never a girls weekend,” Esme admits, and his frown intensifies; deep furrows inhabiting his brow. “We made it up. So you wouldn’t know what was really going on.”

“Babe...what…?”

“I was in the hospital. For three days. And not just any hospital. A psychiatric one.”

“A psychiatric hospital? Why? What…?”

“When you were gone, I had a really bad time. I mean, I always do when you leave. I don’t sleep, I worry constantly, I stress over everything and even little stuff gets on my nerves and drags me down. But this was worse. WAY worse. And even though I knew you were okay and that you were coming home, I still had all that dread, you know? All that worry. Constantly wondering if maybe I’d never see you again. That maybe the last time you walked out the door really WAS the last time.”

“That was an easy job. I wasn’t even out in the field. I was strictly behind the scenes. I never even left the hotel. Not until I had to go get everyone out. I told you I’d stay behind and I did.”

“I know. But I still freaked out. I was still worried. I always worry about you, you know that. And one night it was really bad. I felt like I was losing it. I hadn’t heard from you that day and you didn’t return any of my voicemails or texts and…”

“We had problems with coms. I told you that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you. There were legit issues.”

“And I tried telling myself that. That there were issues. But it didn’t help. And I lost it. Badly. I’m pretty sure it was actually a mental breakdown. And I called Riley because I was freaking out and I couldn’t get control of myself. I thought I was going crazy. And I told her that I felt like I was going to hurt myself.”

He blinks at her confession. “What?”

“I don’t think I actually would have done it. I think I was just feeling desperate at that moment. I don’t think…”

“You wanted to kill yourself? You wanted to die?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I was looking for a way out. An escape. And my brain wasn’t exactly in a good place and that’s where it went. Like I said, I don’t think I would have actually done anything. But I called Riley and she came over and stayed with me and the kids. Just in case.”

“What if she hadn’t been around? What if she couldn’t have come over? What if she still lived in Colorado? Would you have done it? Hurt yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t THINK so? Esme…”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking right. I was in a really bad way, Tyler. REALLY bad. And I needed help. So I called her.”

“Why didn’t you call ME?”

“What would you have been able to do? You were in Brazil.”

“I would have come home. Right away. I would have dropped everything and had someone else be in charge. Do you really think I wouldn’t have? Come home? There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were so far away,” she attempts to reason. “And I needed help right away.”

“I would have talked you down. I would have gotten you through it. Why wouldn’t you get a hold of me? I’m your husband.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just thinking in the moment. And getting ahold of you in Brazil wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind. It wasn’t personal. You should know that. That you’re the one person that’s always been able to help me. But you were thousands of miles away and you were busy and I didn’t want to put something else on you. Burden you.”

“Burden me? You’re my wife. You could never burden me. What the fuck, Esme? Why didn’t you at least tell me I got home? Why lie to me? Why make up this whole fucking story about a girls trip? Why…?”

“I didn’t want to put that on you. Especially when you had to stay with the kids. They needed you to be focused and all about them. And you wouldn’t have been able to do that if I told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You didn’t want me to worry? You’re my WIFE.”

“I was trying to protect you. I’m always trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Tyler argues. “I’m not a fucking child, Esme. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need you coddling me and babying me and protecting me. I would have stepped up and took care of you. That should have been on me. Not your sister. Not Shaena. Not anyone else. Me.”

“I needed you to take care of the kids. You’d been gone for two weeks and they missed you and I didn’t want them to be without BOTH parents. It’s not personal. I didn’t make the decisions I did to hurt you. I made them to help you. To help our family.”

“How much help would it have been if I’d come home and you were dead on the floor? How much help would it have been if one of our kids had found you? Do you know how bad that would have fucked them up? Losing their mother like that? Do you know how bad it would have fucked ME up?”

“I wasn’t thinking of those things. I wasn’t thinking about anything. That’s the problem. All I wanted was an escape. That’s it.”

“An escape from what? Your shitty life with your shitty husband?”

“No!” She clasps his face in her hands. “I love my life. And my husband. You know what depression is like. It doesn’t care where you live or what you have or how many people love you. It’s all in your head. It’s a fucking monster you can’t escape from. You know EXACTLY what it’s like. I never meant…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...I never meant to hurt you. I would NEVER hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. And I know you say you don’t need me to. And maybe you don’t. But I do it because I love you. Because I want to make things easier on you. That’s all. It’s not to hurt you, Tyler.”

“You can’t try and convince me I’m not broken when you treat me like I am.”

She frantically grabs at the chain around his neck with one hand, his shoulder with the other. “That’s not what I was doing. You AREN’T broken. I don’t treat you like you are.”

“You are when you do shit like that. When you lie to me. Especially about something like this.”

“I’ve never lied to you. About anything. I’ve always been honest. About my childhood, about what Mark put me through, about…”

“What about the guy?”

“What guy? What…?”

“The one you went out with. When we were separated. Took you years to tell me about him.”

She frowns. “There was nothing to tell you. He was just some single dad I met at daycare pick up. That’s it. It was nothing important. Just some guy.”

“That you went out with. While we were still married.”

“Have you been just waiting to throw that in my face? Have you been holding onto that all this time? Just looking for the opportunity to hold that over my head? Why would you…?”

“I was faithful to you. Whether we were going to work shit or not. I wasn’t looking for someone else. I didn’t want another woman. And I could have had one. I could have had tons of them. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, believe me.”

“Then why didn’t you do it? If you had so many chances. Why didn’t you take any of them?”

“Because I wanted my wife. I didn’t want anyone else. You, Just you.”

“And I wanted you! But you were a fucking mess and I was hurt because you weren’t fighting for me. For your family. So yeah, I went out on a date. Because someone showed interest in me and made me feel special and beautiful and wanted. Because I was hurt and I wanted you to hurt just as much as I was. I was so pissed at you. For not getting your shit together and coming home and fighting for us. So I went out on a date. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the attention."

“Did you fuck him?”

“No. I told you what happened. I told you he tried and I turned him down. I told him that I couldn’t do it because I was still in love with my husband. That I was still hoping we could work things out. That’s the truth. And that’s how I got that black eye. Because he didn’t handle the rejection so well. That’s the truth. All of it. I never slept with him. I’ve ever been with anyone but you. For the last twelve and a half years. Just you.”

He nods slowly, letting her words sink in.

“Tyler…” her nails dig into the back of his neck. “...don’t do this...don’t shut me out. Please don’t do that. I don’t want you to do that.”

“What do you want me to say? What…?”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to lie to you. I…” tears flow freely down her face. “...I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Come here,” he gently orders, and pushing a hand through her hair, settles it on her back and pulls her into him. “It’s okay, Me. Everything’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you. Not about the guy and not about the girls weekend. I was just trying to protect you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you weren’t.” Pressing a kiss to her temple, he rolls over onto his back; both arms wrapping around her and pulling her with him. “And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have brought that shit up. I haven’t been holding onto it. Or waiting to use it again. I reacted. Badly. And when I do, nothing is off limits. I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to say that shit.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and curls her arms around his neck. “I know how you get. When you hear things you don’t like. But for the record? This is what I meant when I made you promise not to lose it.”

“I am so fucking sorry. I’m an asshole. A huge asshole.”

“No. You’re not. You just have no chill sometimes. I’m used to it. Or fairly used to it, anyway.”

“I never should have said what I did. About the guy you went out with. You had every right to. Go on a date. I wasn’t exactly stepping up. I just lost it. Hearing about you wanting to hurt herself and how you spent time in psychiatric hospital. Kinda kicked me in the nuts, ya know?”

“I was going to tell you,” she says, chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him. “When I got home. But I was feeling so much better and you and the kids were so happy to see me. I didn’t want to ruin that. And then we got on with life and there never seemed to be a good time. So I kept it to myself. It wasn’t to intentionally hurt you., I’d NEVER do that.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“And I don’t mean to treat you like you’re broken. Because you’re not. A little bent, maybe…”

He manages a laugh. “I’ve been put through the ringer a few times. Got a little too many miles on me. Quite the collection of dents and scars going on.”

“They’re beautiful. Every single one of them.” Wriggling further up the bed, she pushes a hand through his hair; tightly gripping the longer locks as she pecks the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That I lied to you. I had good intentions. I really did.”

“You always do.” He curls an arm around her neck and kisses her. Long and soft and sweet; tasting the salty tears that linger across her top lip. “It’s okay, Me. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He tangles his fingers in her hair, gently pushing her head back down onto his chest. “ Has it happened again? Feeling the way you did? Have you wanted to hurt yourself? Or worse?”

“No. I haven’t felt that way since. I’ve been depressed, but not like that.”

“And you’d tell me? If you did feel that way?”

She nods.

Sighing heavily, he places a forearm over his eyes. Lying in silence and feeling her body tremble against his; knuckles repeatedly ghosting along her spine as he attempts to get a grasp on the situation. Her mental health issues have never been a secret; she’s been on medication for years and has occasionally needed it to be tweaked. But to hear that she’d been THAT low? Considering hurting herself? Or even attempting something more permanent? It’s devastating. Feeding right into his worst fear. The thought of losing her to an event totally beyond his control. A wedge of emotion settles in his throat and tears prick his eyes; the realization of how close he’d come to losing. But he fights it off. Needing to stay strong for her. Always willing, ready, and able to put his own problems aside. Her rock and her protector.

“Tyler?” Her voice is impossibly tiny. Apprehensive. Scared.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you. So much. You’ll never know how much.”

Smiling, he slides his palm to the back of her neck and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you too.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Chris Hemsworth #Chris Hemsworth Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake x OFC #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fic #Tyler and Esme series

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forgotten-daydreamer · 4 years

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Haikyuu sick/hurt characters headcanons: Karasuno edition!

⚠️ sickness, injuries, phobias, allergies and correlated symptoms ahead. If these themes upset you, proceed with caution. If you use these, credit me, please. ⚠️

Sawamura Daichi:

He doesn't let anyone know when he's sick. He'll show up to practise with a fever of 39°C and say that he's fine if someone points out how warm he is ("It's just overextertion. If you're not warm, it means you haven't been exercising well!")

He doesn't actually believe that he's fine, he knows his limits, but he just doesn't want to alarm anyone.

Luckily, he always manages to hold on until he reaches the bathroom if he's feeling pukey.

When he does get sick, he's very quiet and discreet. He always tries to go back to what he was doing before, insisting that he's okay.

When he's sick or hurt, the other third-years can see through his "I'm okay!" act (remember that time he hit his head and insisted that he was fine to play?), and know how miserable he really feels, so they force him to take it easyー he's no match for Suga, who will use mild violence if that's what it takes to make Daichi give up and rest.

Sugawara Kōshi:

He's anemic, cue to his constantly cold hands (and feet). Because of this, he takes iron pillsー or he should, because he forgets more often than not.

When he forgets the pills, he gets dizzy and weak, and needs to sit down for a bit. Once, he passed out due to anemia during practise, and he doesn't want to repeat that ever again, so he's extra cautious.

It's easy to understand when he's feverish, because he gets unexpectedly sleepy and quiet. He will fall asleep in class without even realising it if his temperature's any higher than 37,5°C.

He rarely gets hurt, but when that happens nobody's sure if he's okay or not. It's not that he denies it, but he simply doesn't say anything ("why didn't you say anything sooner!?" "B-because you didn't ask..?")

Once, he twisted his ankle and walked on it for a little less than thirty minutes before actually asking the coach if he could go get himself some ice. Of course, they didn't send him to get the icepack, but he had to sit there and listen as Coach Ukai yelled at him for not speaking up sooner.

Azumane Asahi:

He gets anxiety-induced stomach aches very often, and that's why he's used to feeling dizzy and to puking. Vomit doesn't scare him anymore.

Whenever he's sick, he runs away from the others; he needs to flee, far away. He loves his teammates, but he's scared that they'll accidentally overwhelm him further, and he doesn't want them to feel guilty.

This man can't stand the sight of blood. Like, at all, not even a little. Not even in movies. When Shimizu got a shallow paper cut, the Coach actually had to physically support him when getting him seated on a bench.

He broke his left index finger when he was a first-year, and as soon as he saw the bone sticking out of the skin (it looked worse than what it really was) he fell backwards and on a very concerned Sugawara without a word.

Cue to lots of tears and puke on the way to the hospital. He was inconsolable, but when Daichi had the idea to hide the injury from his eyes, Asahi managed to calm down a bit. In every situation, it's not the injury that scares him, but the blood.

Nishinoya Yuu:

He's reckless, he won't even notice when he gets injured. Since he's so used to bruises, bumps and shallow cuts, he doesn't understand when he's actually injured.

This guy played a whole set with a sprained wrist before realising that "hey, this feels kinda weird..?" and he didn't tell anyone until the end of the game, when his wrist was visibly swollen.

High pain tolerance plays a major role when he's injured or sick. Still, the others wish he would have a more average pain tolerance, because, once, Nishinoya felt sick during math class, and still claimed he was fine. He thought he was.

When he was rushed to the hospital due to a "mild ache in his lower stomach" that had been going on for two days after the math class incident, along with a 38,7°C fever, he was told that he had appendicitis ("I thought I just ate something bad or that I needed to take a huge dump! How was I supposed to know!? I thought I was fine."). It was clear that he wasn't, in fact, fine.

Tanaka Ryuunosuke:

He will try to toughen everything out and ignore the pain until it gets unbearable. Be it an injury or some sickness, he will automatically ignore it if he doesn't think it's serious enough to be life-threatening.

That's why he almost died when he ate one of the peanut butter cookies that Yachi had baked. Turns out, allergies do existー but he wished he'd found out in a different way. Sometimes, "My throat's kinda itchy. Does my tongue look... too big? It... it feels too big." can be synonym of "Hospital, now." Bless Takeda-sensei.

The time when he collided with Daichi, Tanaka completely ignored the fact that his arm hurt, and only realised when he took his shirt off in the locker-room and heard a screech from Yamaguchi. The bruise went from his shoulder to his elbow, blue and swollen. Cue to lots of pain relief cream and ice packs.

Ennoshita Chikara:

He never broke a bone in his whole life, but he's very good at dealing with it when it happens to someone else. He's just fascinated by how the human body works, and sometimes people think he's being cold in front of someone else's pain, when he's really just being logical.

He's good at dealing with his own pain too, though he rarely gets hurt or sick.

When he gets sick, he recovers pretty rapidly, but this leads him into relapse. That's why he's not allowed back to practise for a whole week after he recovers ("I'm fine. I've been fine for three days already, my fever wasn't even that high..." "Last time you said you were fine, you almost got pneumonia. Go home.").

He gets bad allergies during spring, and takes a lot of antihistamine pills which make him sleepy. He often has to excuse himself from class to go take a nap in the infirmaryー the teachers and the nurse know, so they always allow him to.

Narita Kazuhito:

This man is the embodiment of health. His diet and lifestyle will probably allow him to live until past the age of 100.

That's why he's not used to getting sick. And when he does, he's a confused mess with no idea of what to do with himself.

When he puked on himself after practise he was so shocked that he chuckled nervously and stood still, frozen, until Kinoshita and Ennoshita dragged him to the bathroom. He almost found the whole ordeal funny.

Kinoshita Hisashi:

He really despises vegetables and fruit, and often gets mocked because of it. He often stuffs himself with sweets and fried food until he feels sick ("But... how? That cake had strawberries in it! It's supposed to be healthy!").

He gets very bad seasickness. Once, his friends decided to drag him to Miyajima: he spent the time on the ferry and first hour on the island puking his guts out.

The thing he doesn't do good with is fainting: if someone passes out in front of him, he does the same, always. When Daichi passed out in the middle of the court, Kinoshita was thankful that Narita was there to hold him up, because he was ready to leave the land of the living.

Kageyama Tobio:

Always denies everything ("my nose is not bleeding!!") and this only makes everything worse for him. If he feels shaky, he won't take a clue and sit down; instead, he'll push himself and end up falling down on whoever's closest to him ("Daichi-san, nice receive!" "Now's really not the time, Hinata...").

When he gets sick, he gets sick hard. The flu has him puking all day long, with a fever of 39.5°C that, he insists, is not that high. His family and friends are smart enough to understand that he's lying. Not even the doctors and nurses at the E.R. can convince him that he's sick.

To be fair, he does not lie when he says that he's not hurt or sick: he genuinely thinks that whatever's going on with him is normal and not that bad.

He accidentally tripped on the leg of a desk in class, and fell face first into the teachers'. The deep, bleeding cut on his forehead wasn't enough for him to understand that he needed to go to the infirmary, and he just sat back at his desk, apologising for the mess. Turns out that his "little cut" needed six stitches in the end, and that his "mild headache" was, in fact, a mild concussion. He showed up to practise the following day anyway, and the Coach had to physically prevent him from joining.

He doesn't do good with nausea, though; he doesn't mind fevers, joint-pains, blood, bruises, or the act of throwing up itself. But when he feels nauseous he actively wishes to pass out, because anything is better than dealing with feeling like that. That's why he'd rather stick his fingers down his throat to get rid of the nausea already than waiting for it to pass naturally.

This got worse when he started suffering from migraines. As soon as he feels one starting to build behind his eye, he throws himself over the toilet, waiting for the dreaded nausea to come so that he can get rid of it before it gets too bad. He stays like that for hours if that's what it takes.

Hinata Shōyō:

He pukes a lot, and for a number of reasons: nervousness, motion sickness, fear, hungerー this guy can't even take it to the bathroom.

His guts are a mess, and he either vomits or poops every time he feels any strong emotion (which is...pretty often, for him). Thank goodness his friends always have pills that help with motion sickness with them, along with antiacid pills and sparkling water, and that Kiyoko and Yachi often restock the bus and everyone's backpacks with paper bags.

The higher the fever, the more he moves. Ever since he was a kid, a fever has never stopped him, and to be fair, fevers make him feel more motivated and energetic. He takes "Hey, no. Sit down, drink up, and rest." as an insult because "I'm fine. You're benching me because you think I suck, huh!? But I was doing fine! I- I was being good, right..?"

Yes, fevers make him emotional. He'll cry for anything once they make him admit that he's sick. He mostly cries because "How could I get sick? I'm going to be useless! I should've paid more attention, I should've been better!" but Kageyama knows for sure that he saw a feverish Hinata crying over a picture of his sister, for some reason.

He doesn't mind blood when he's the one to be bleeding, but if it's someone else, he freaks out. Seeing someone else having a bloody nose or bleeding from some injury, even small and insignificant, makes his stomach flip.

Tsukishima Kei:

He's never said "I'm in pain." in his whole life. The most honest statement he managed to grit out was "It kinda hurts.", but he never said anything more than that. He won't show himself being so vulnerable, ever.

Whenever he has to go to the optometrist, he won't eat anything for at least half a day before the appointment, because he knows for sure that he's going to throw up after the doctor dilatates his pupils.

He's a quiet puker, and he always locks himself up in the bathroom, which can be dangerous in those situations. After that time when he passed out after throwing up, his mother got an extra key of the bathroom, and always lingers close to the door when she knows that her son's about to be sick.

If anyone tries to interrupt him when he throws up or when he's in acute pain, he will yell at them. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the help, but he hates how everything feels so crowded around him when he's down. The only person who's brave enough to help him when he's like that is Yamaguchi, mostly because he's used to hearing his angry words (even if Tsukishima's never insulted him personally).

Yamaguchi Tadashi:

Terribly emetophobic, he won't throw up even if he has to. He just won't do that, no way... Which is cruelly ironic, since he gets sick pretty often due to anxiety and weak immune system. Tsukishima doesn't mind helping him out (but he would never step close to anyone else when they're sick) but he can be a bit rough sometimes; this both reassures and agitates Yamaguchi. "I'll stick my fingers down your throat if you don't throw up now." doesn't sound too kind, but when Tsukishima adds "it'll make you feel better, I promise." Yamaguchi feels a bit calmer. He’s also a loud puker.

He's a type-2 diabetic, though he has it under control and hasn't had any problem related to that in a while, not since the beginning of middle school, at least. Still, sometimes he needs to reluctantly sit practise out because he's obviously too shaky and weak to strain himself that much. When that happens, they all make sure that someone sits with him to make him feel less alone... and he appreciates it immensely.

He's on anxiety meds, but they make him feel dizzy sometimes, which leads him into a spiral of panic for fear that he'll get sick. It's a huge contradiction, really, and he hates it with his whole soul.

He's one of the people in the team who can handle others' sickness and injuries better; it might shock him for a second, but he's ready to jump into action and solve the problem in order to help his friends out.

Injuries don't scare him, though the worst thing that ever happened to him was when he got punched in the face by a bully. He also broke his arm in middleschool once though he doesn't remember muchー maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was that it hurt less than he imagined. The punch freaked him out more than that.

Yachi Hitoka

She's a good caretaker, but an absolute mess when it comes to taking care of her own injuries and sickness.

She's clumsy so she's not new to bruises and cuts, but this doesn't mean that she doesn't freak out a bit whenever she sees blood on her legs or arms. On their way home from school, one day, Hinata and Yamaguchi decided to get her band-aids with little chicks and kittens on them. She finished the 30-pack in less than a month.

She got her period a bit late in life, a couple of months before turning 15, and whenever she's on her period, it hits her like a train at full-speed in the guts. Kiyoko taught her some yoga moves that help with the cramps, and the boys never bother the two of them when they see them doing yoga in the corner of the gym. In fact, they also bought her an electric heating pad for her birthday along with an indecent amount of chocolate that didn't fit in Yachi's bag (and various other presents not concerning periods).

Shimizu Kiyoko:

The scars on her legs are fully healed, yet the skin there is thinner, and so the wounds reopen whenever she accidentally hurts herself there. They sting quite a bit, and though it's unusual, she hisses out loud when it's bad. Everyone agreed to make sure that medkit is always equipped with antiseptic cream. To this day, Kiyoko insists that it isn't necessary, but they disagree.

She always knows what to do when someone else feels sick, but she's unsure about what she'd do in case of her own sickness. She hasn't been sick in too long to know.

She hasn't gotten a cold since elementary school, and that one time when she thought she'd caught something, when she sneezed at the age of 16, it was actually just a bit of dust allergy. She doesn't even need meds for it.

Takeda Ittetsu:

He hardly gets sick, but he ends up hunched over the toilet more often than not after a Friday night out with his friends. He drinks quite a bit for a teacher, but only when he knows that he can do that without compromising his career or setting the wrong example. Hangovers also leave him a messy wreck, and that's why he only drinks on Fridays: that way, he has until Sunday night to recover.

For someone who's constantly surrounded by teenagers, he doesn't get sick much. He catches a cold every now and then, but nothing more serious than that. And when he's sick, he always tries to prevent the others from catching what he's got, without actually taking care of himself to heal.

Once, he got a fever of 40,1°C and luckily for him Ukai was coming over to discuss about the volleyball club; he found Takeda sprawled face-down in front of the open door. He was boiling, so Ukai took him to the hospital where he stayed for two days. ("I didn't think it was this bad." "So you knew you had a fever and still went to work?" "Yeah, but I had a mask on so that the others could be safe." "And you didn't buy medicine in the meantime?" "Ah, no." "...what the hell!?").

Ukai Keishin:

He catches a cold every other month, no matter how many layers of clothes he wears. These colds are often accompanied by low fevers, but he's used to those so he simply chugs some orange juice and moves on.

He tried to quit smoking countless times, especially since he started coaching these kids, but he can't help smoking at least three of cigs per day. Still, sometimes his chest aches a bit, and maybe it's just paranoia, but when that happens he doesn't touch tobacco for a couple of days.

His liver would even be able to survive Takeda's nights out; his guts, in general, are strong and he swears he's never felt nauseous in his whole life.

💫 I might think of more sick karasuno hc soon, but that's it for now. Expect more characters hc soon! Again, credit me if you use these, and please feel free to share this post! 💫

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

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Reunions & Resistance

A JSE Fanfic

This one took me a while, but luckily, I was able to get it all done within the week, and do a lot of my homework too lol. Can’t wait for summer break, man. More time for writing. Anyway, a lot happened last chapter, and we’re mostly following up on that. I don’t want to say too much in case people haven’t read the last one, but basically we switch in between Chase and JJ’s points of view to see how they’re dealing with their respective...challenges. Hope you enjoy!

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

“Good night! I’ll see you later!” Chase stood on his front door and waved as the car pulled away from the side of the road. In the windows, a pair of small faces pressed up against the glass and waved back. Chase kept at it even as the car drove down the street, right up until the moment it disappeared around a corner. At which point he dropped his hand and turned around to head inside, smiling softly to himself. Halloween wasn’t his favorite holiday, but this? This was a good holiday.

He turned on the front room lights and was about to sit down when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Quickly, he dug it out to see a text from Marvin: Hey call me now please!

Perfect timing. Once he got settled in, he was planning on calling Marvin anyway, to tell him the good news. He guessed he could do it now. Quickly navigating to his contacts, he called Marvin’s number.

The other end was picked up on the first ring. “Chase!” Marvin said.

“Hi Marv. Are you out of court by now? You better be, it’s late.” He glanced out the window at the twilight sky. They ended up only going trick-or-treating for an hour, but the kids were still young and Stacy was worried, so it was fine. They’d go longer next time. “How’d it go?”

“Good, but Chase, there’s a thing—”

“So you won?”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, but Chase!” Wait a second...Marvin sounded...frantic. “Have you seen JJ today?”

“Huh? No, not yet. I was gonna go over later. I was actually thinking about asking you if you’d seen him today. I expected you to rush right over after you got out.”

“I wanted to stop by home and pick up his present first,” Marvin explained. “So I did, and I went to his flat, but he’s not here.”

“That’s not too weird, is it?” Chase asked, wandering over to sit on the sofa. “Maybe he went out for dinner or something, it is his birthday, after all.”

“Maybe, but he would’ve told us, right? He knew that we were going to stop by.” Chase could hear the sound of Marvin’s nervous footsteps on a hardwood floor. “I’m still at his place, and the only thing that’s different is there’s these weird cupcakes on the counter. So maybe he did go out, but he has to have been here since then to drop them off, if that’s the case. I texted him a couple times, but he hasn’t answered any of them! There’s not even the little ‘Seen’ message popping up.”

“Whoa, Marvin, calm down a bit,” Chase said gently. “He’s probably just...maybe his phone is out of battery?”

“I don’t think so. He likes to keep it fully charged. Even has one of those portable battery things. Chase, it’s really weird that he’s not here,” Marvin insisted.

“Well, yeah, but there has to be an innocent explanation, right?” Chase wasn’t too sure himself, but he had to get Marvin to stop freaking out. He could hear faint thumping sounds on the other end now. “Are you hitting yourself? Marv, be careful, that could bruise.”

“R-right.” The thumping sounds changed, now more like knocking on a wall. Marvin’s breathing was shaky. “Should we call the police? I really don’t think he’d be gone, especially not today.”

“You can call them if you’re sure. Or I can, if you don’t want to talk.”

“Right. Right. I-I’ll text him one more time, just in case.”

There were a few moments of silence as Marvin took his phone away from his ear and started texting. Chase waited patiently, slightly amazed that Marvin’s phone could stay on a call while he needed to use it. He must have a more advanced model.

“Wha...?” Marvin made a small, confused sound. Then, after a slight pause: “Chase, his phone is here. JJ’s phone is here.”

“Well, no wonder he hasn’t been answering texts, then,” Chase said, trying to sound lighthearted.

“No no no, Chase, he wouldn’t leave his phone here if he was going out! He uses that text-to-speech app for people who don’t know BSL. A-and I can see his usual notepad on the coffee table, he didn’t take that either. He wouldn’t risk leaving both of those at home when he goes out!”

Chase’s heart slowly sank into a sea of dread. It was true; Jameson always made sure he had a backup way of communicating in case he ran into someone who couldn’t understand him. “The only way he would do that...” he said quietly. “...is if...either it was an emergency, or if someone...”

“I’m going to call the police now Chase!” Marvin practically shouted.

“Dude, do it! I’m hanging up right now!” And Chase did just that, ending the call.

It couldn’t be true, could it? Something couldn’t have happened to Jameson, right? He didn’t have any enemies or—

No. Wait.

“Shit!” Chase cursed. He was an idiot! The day had been going so well, he’d completely forgotten about Anti. He would certainly count as an enemy, even if he was Jameson’s brother. Maybe especially. Chase quickly sent a text to Marvin. WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED. Yo don thin kit could be that anti guy??.? Tell the police that too!

“God damn you,” Chase growled. “Fucking...Anti.” He’d never even met him, but he just kept making his and his friends’ lives hell, didn’t he? For over a year, now.

Would this ever end? Or would this cycle continue?

——————

Someone was driving a chisel into his head with a hammer. That’s what it felt like. His head was pounding, and each new spike of pain could have easily been in time with the smack of a hammer. He couldn’t even move, the headache was too overwhelming, tears leaking from his closed eyes. The moment it started to lessen up, he quietly drifted off to sleep.

Then, of course, he woke up with his head still hurting. But this time it was bearable. Still awful, but he managed to open his eyes.

This...wasn’t his room. This wasn’t his apartment. Nor was it a room in any of his friends’ houses. He didn’t recognize the pale yellow wall he was staring at, or the white blanket covering him. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, not wanting to make any sudden movement in case it aggravated his headache, but he didn’t see the ceiling. Instead, he saw wooden slats and the bottom of a mattress. A bunk bed? He didn’t know anyone who had a bunk bed. Where was he? Actually, what had happened before he ended up here? He cast his mind back, and—

Instantly, Jameson sat straight up, hitting his forehead against the oddly close bottom of the bunk above him. Crying out, he fell back and rubbed the spot of impact. That definitely didn’t help the headache.

Movement. Coming from the bunk above him, it sounded like, accompanied by creaking and the sound of fabric on fabric. “Wh-who’s down there?” A voice asked. “Are you—you’re awake?”

Actually, that voice sounded familiar. JJ pushed away the blankets and rolled over to the side of the mattress. He grabbed the headboard to help him stand up, since he felt strangely dizzy. Once up, he transferred his grip to the edge of the top bunk, pausing a moment to stop swaying. Then he looked up at the person on the top bunk.

“Wait a second. Jameson?! That’s you?!” It took JJ a moment to recognize Jackie, but once he did, he gasped. It had been almost a year since he’d last seen him, and in that time period, he’d changed a lot. Now he was a lot paler, his hair grown to shoulder-length, and his red hoodie was significantly darker, apparently not having been washed in a while. Jackie was holding onto the railings that surrounded the edge of the top bunk, dangerously leaning over. There was a metal cuff around one wrist, a length of chain connecting it to another cuff attached to one of the railings.

JJ slowly nodded, letting go of the bed to finger-sign. J-A-C-K-I-E?

“Oh my god. You too?! Why don’t we get everyone in here?! Fucking...Kidnapped party with the boys, hey-o!” Jackie laughed hysterically.

...Are you okay? JJ asked.

“Well, uh, relatively, I guess. I’m not, like, actively hurt or anything.” Jackie pressed a hand against his head. “Killer headache, though. You too?” JJ nodded. “Great. Fantastic. Probably from whatever drugs he used. Are you okay? What the hell are you doing here?!”

I’m fine. But it’s a long story. JJ looked around the room. The walls were all painted pale yellow. No windows, but he thought a square on the wall looked a bit different, so maybe the window had been bricked up and painted over. The bunk beds weren’t the only furniture. There was also a white wooden dresser and a similar-looking table, along with two chairs. A corner of the room had a mini fridge and several cabinets that looked like they belonged in a kitchen. There were two doors. One, open, led to an attached bathroom. The other door was closed. Though he knew it was probably a waste of time, JJ walked over there, staggering a bit with the dizziness, and tried the doorknob. Locked, of course. Do you know where we are? He signed, turning around to face Jackie.

“Where we are? No, sorry.” Jackie shook his head. “I’ve been held hostage in a couple different places by now, and this isn’t any of the previous ones. Or maybe it is. It could be in that first house, just in a room I didn’t get to see. But, uh. Yeah. We’ve probably been asleep for a while, judging by his usual style. So there’s no way of knowing.” He paused. “You, uh. Seem weirdly calm about this.”

I'm saving the emotional breakdown for later and looking for a way out now, JJ said, then idly tried the door again. He leaned down to look more closely at the knob. It looked normal. No loose screws when he shook it or anything.

“Oh.” Jackie paused. “Well then, fair enough, but I mean. You haven’t even asked who kidnapped you or why I’m here or what’s going on. Just where we are. I was expecting a bunch more questions.”

Well I already know all those, so I only wanted to know where. JJ tried to peer through the gap of the door. Weren’t there some locks that could be worked around if you slid something through there? Idly, he patted his pockets despite knowing there probably wouldn’t be anything in there. But then he had to stop. He didn’t have any pockets. What? Impossible. He looked down at his clothes, and noticed for the first time that they didn’t belong to him. Blue T-shirt, black pants, white socks. Strangely, he still had his pocket watch, now hanging around his neck. Also I want to know where my clothes are.

“Man, he gave you new clothes? Lucky,” Jackie said jokingly. “But anyway.” He returned to being serious. “What do you mean, you already know? That is what you said, right? You can’t already know everything.”

JJ turned around. Jackie wasn’t as knowledgeable in BSL as all the others, given how he’d been abducted before he could become fluent, so he signed slowly, finger-spelling occasionally. I know I’ve been taken by a man calling himself Anti, and that he took you back in December and Henrik in August. He’s a mercenary who has apparently started kidnapping and serial killing as a hobby. He made Henrik help him with some of that, and now Henrik is in a mental hospital because of all the trauma combined with previous issues. And I know Anti isn’t going to kill me.

That was a lot, and Jackie went silent for a bit as he processed it. “Well. Okay, then. You actually know more than I do.”

JJ tried to smile, then walked over to the dresser and started pulling open its drawers. More clothes, similar to what he was already wearing. No shoes, only socks. Jackie. Do you think you could get down from there, or are you stuck?

“Uh...I think I’m stuck, but honestly, I haven’t tried yet,” Jackie mumbled. “I woke up like. A few minutes ago. Oh hey, there’s a clock on the wall! That’s new. Man, this is the nicest place I’ve been captive in yet. Hang on, I’m gonna see if this chain is long enough to let me get down.”

The ladder to the top bunk was over at the foot of the bed, while Jackie was cuffed to the railing near the head. He crawled over, managing to put his feet on the top rung. But that’s where it got difficult. Spinning around, he could only reach the middle rung before he had to stop, arm yanked taunt to the side. “Yeah, no. Sorry, JJ.” He climbed back to the top bunk, sitting once again at the top of the ladder.

It’s alright, JJ said, frowning. But I can see several complications with that.

“Oh yeah, trust me, it all sucks,” Jackie sighed. “Uh...so. How do you know Anti isn’t going to kill you? I mean, honestly, I’m still not so sure that I’m...um...” He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and more than a bit scared. “A-anyway, you seemed like you definitely knew.”

JJ sighed. He walked over to the chairs at the table and sat down, taking a break to press his hands to his throbbing head. He should probably tell Jackie, right? After all, he’d told Chase and Marvin. And it would be good for them all to be on the same page. Anti is my brother, he explained.

“What?! Like, biologically? For real?”

Yes, unfortunately. He’s my older brother, I lived with him for seven years. Well, technically longer, if you count when we were kids, before we were put into the system. But I mean, he practically raised me from sixteen. Jameson paused. He wasn’t good at it.

“I can imagine,” Jackie muttered. “Wow. Wow, man. That...that sucks.”

Jameson nodded. I thought I’d never see him again, but then he appeared in this city, got involved with all of you, and...I guess it was only a matter of time before he...realized who I was. But I hoped...He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden wetness in them. I hoped that this wouldn’t happen.

“Wait, did you know he was going to kidnap you if he found you?”

No, but I knew it was a possibility. JJ laughed quietly. That really says something about the kind of person he is, doesn’t it?

Jackie shook his head slowly. “I’m...so sorry, Jameson. Is there anything I can do?”

Jameson thought about that. Well, we need to get out of here. I know it’s going to be difficult, but if there’s anything you can do...

“Right.” Jackie glanced down at his cuffed wrist, then nodded. “Right. H-how about I start with...telling you everything I’ve noticed about him? Maybe if we know how he acts, that’ll help.”

That sounds like a great idea. It had been three years since he’d seen Anti, after all. A lot could change in that time. And I’ll tell you what I remember.

“Pool our information,” Jackie said. He took a deep breath. “Right. Okay, so to start from the beginning...”

——————

A day passed. The police looked over Jameson’s apartment, finding nothing suspicious. Marvin identified everything in the rooms as belonging to JJ except for the cupcakes in the plastic packaging, with their blue frosting. Normally, the police probably would’ve dismissed them, but once Marvin explained the situation—namely, that JJ was part of the friend group that included Dr. Schneeplestein and a missing private detective named Jackie Donovan, both of whom had been proven to have been kidnapped—they decided to run tests on them.

Two days passed. Chase finally got around to explaining the good news he’d received earlier on Halloween to Marvin. That cheered him up briefly, but he was quickly overcome with worry for JJ again. And Chase felt that same worry threatening to engulf him as well. Especially after the detectives contacted them both and said that the strange cupcakes had definitely been laced with illegal sedatives: namely, the strong, but slow-acting, variety. That pushed them to label the case as a definite abduction, with this strange Anti as the main suspect. The same detectives that were working on Jackie’s case took this one, as well, since it was so likely to be linked.

Four days passed. Marvin wasn’t doing so well. Chase was newly busy, but he made sure to check on him. A good thing he did, too, because there were a couple times when he walked in the house and Marvin was just lying in bed, clearly been there since he woke up that morning, often with a cat or two nearby and a bunch of tearstained tissues. Chase wasn’t one to miss the irony of the situation, having been in that position before with his friends being the ones to check in on him. But at least he knew what to do. Make food, insist on hydration, encourage movement, and offer distraction. And also feed the snake and the cats. That part was new.

A week passed. No news from the police. Chase had to admit that maybe there wouldn’t be news for a while, though he didn’t express that to Marvin. After checking in on his friend one more time, he headed out for his other business of the day, which was, incidentally, more visiting and checking in on people.

Chase had stopped by the hospital every day that week. Honestly, the routine distracted him, and it was good to see some progress being made somewhere. By now a lot of the staff were familiar with him, and didn’t even bother to ask him who he was there to visit. Though a lot of them still directed him to the appropriate wing. It was probably required to.

One short trip up an elevator and down a hallway, and Chase pushed walked through the open doorway of the room, making sure to put on a cheerful expression. “Hey bro. It’s me again.”

Jack’s eyes immediately opened at the sound, head swivelling over to look towards him. He managed a small smile—that was good, he was having trouble with facial movements—and a slight up-and-down hand motion that wasn’t really a wave as much as it was a flop. “Hhh...hhiii. Sha-ays.”

“Hi Jack.” Chase took his usual spot in the chair next to the bed. “You’re looking good.”

“Mmnh.”

“No, really.”

Jack reached to the side and hit the controls for the bed, raising it into more of a sitting position. He pointed towards the table next to the bed.

“Oh, right.” Chase twisted around and picked something up. A board about the size of a large school notebook, with rows of squares printed on its surface. Each square had a different word or phrase written inside, some accompanied by handy pictograms. This was a communication board. Dr. Emerson had explained it was meant to help people who had difficulty speaking normally. It looked a bit childish, with the pictures and color-coded squares, which made sense, because they were apparently primarily used for kids. But Emerson said that, since Jack was still having trouble talking and moving, this was a good alternative. “Here you go, dude.”

Jack dipped his head in a slow nod. He adjusted the bed a bit more, then propped the board up using an arm and used the other hand to point. Chase scooted a bit closer to look at the square he was indicating: How are you?

“Oh, I’m good,” Chase said. It was, of course, a bit of a lie, since he was still really worried about Jameson. But that was a complicated situation that he didn’t really feel like talking about. “What about you? How are you feeling?”

“Mmnn.” Jack pointed to a square labelled Bored.

Chase laughed. “You need a TV or something in here. I thought hospital rooms were all supposed to have them. Like, they came pre-installed with those old boxy models that hang from the ceilings.”

“Heh.” Another small smile, though this one was a bit weaker and quickly fell. Ater a moment, Jack pointed to a different square, this one simply labelled Phone with an accompanying simple picture.

“Yeah, I have my phone.” Chase pulled it out of his pocket. “Why? Do you want to text someone?”

The No box, accompanied by a slight head shake.

“Okay. Then...do you want to take a picture or something?”

The Yes box.

“Really? Well, I don’t know if you can hold the phone,” Chase said reluctantly. Jack was having trouble even holding a pencil, hence why he couldn’t write. “Here, we can take a picture together, okay?”

“Eeuh.” The Yes box.

“Alright.” Chase opened up the front-facing camera, then leaned over next to Jack. “Look at the camera.” Jack appropriately turned his head towards the raised phone, and gave one last small smile. Chase matched him with a big smile of his own, and took a couple pictures. “There we go. Look at us.” He showed the phone to Jack, swiping through the photos. “I like this first one, what about you?”

“Ffferr.” Jack tapped a box with the number One in it.

“Right? We look good.” Chase laughed a bit, then put the phone away. “Hey, none of those tubes got mixed up or pulled out while we were doing that, right?”

Jack turned to look around, then slowly reached up and touched his nasal cannula. I don’t think so, said the box on the board he tapped.

“You have a call button you can press, right?” Chase asked fretfully.

Yes box.

“Good. Good.” Chase let out a short breath. If anything happened to Jack after all of this, he would...he would...well, he honestly wasn’t sure what he would do, but it wouldn’t be good.

“Shhays?” Jack asked. “Wh...wherr Mahffin?”

“Where’s Marvin? Oh, uh.” Chase hesitated. “He’s been busy lately.”

“Mmmm?” I don’t think so box.

“You don’t believe me, huh?” Chase shrugged. “Well, it’s true. I don’t know that much about it, either. I guess maybe one of his holidays is approaching. That or he’s looking for a new job.” That second one was actually true. Or at least, it had been before Jameson disappeared. Chase knew Marvin had put in applications at a couple different places, but he didn’t know if any of them had been accepted.

“Mmnnh.” Jack blinked slowly. “Sshays? Whh...whhbout faays?” There was a worried edge to his voice. “Ffay Shays. Fffay Mhffin.”

“The fakes. Right.” Chase nodded slowly, swallowing back a lump in his throat. “I guess I did promise to explain that.”

“Eeuah.” Yes box.

“Well...” Chase hesitated. “Did...did the doctor explain to you why you were in a coma?”

Yes box. “Ssneeep.”

“Yeah, Schneep made some mistakes. I-I guess only you know what really happened that day.” Chase sighed. “And I guess you can explain that once you figure out how. Y’know, I...explained the whole situation to you a couple times, while you were asleep. I don’t know how much you heard. But...basically. What’s important when it comes to the matter of ‘the fakes’ is...” And he hesitated again.

“Shaays,” Jack said, sharply gesturing to the Now box.

“I know, I know, it’s just...it’s hard, bro.” Chase took a deep breath. “Okay. So there’s a criminal running around. Which is, I know, freaky. But basically, he’s one of the dopplegangers. Looks like us, you know? So ‘the fakes’ are when he...would pretend to be us. A-and I guess he came in to see you while doing that?” He shuddered. “I don’t know why. None of us do. But it’s going to be okay. The doctor knows, a-and he knows to make sure it’s me. Uh...because Marvin’s been...busy this week, he hasn’t come in to see you. And when he does, I’m gonna come, too. So...if Marvin comes in alone, that’s not him. But you, uh, probably shouldn’t indicate that. Um. Got all that?”

Jack stared at him for a long while, then slowly tapped the Yes box.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Chase said reassuringly. “It can be uh...do you need a moment?”

Another long pause. Then the I am okay box.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Chase let out a breath. “What would even happen when ‘the fakes’ showed up? Would they just talk to you?”

Yes box.

“Probably not about normal stuff.”

No box. Followed by the I am scared box.

“Wha—” Chase coughed awkwardly. “Y-you mean he said upsetting things?”

Jack made a small sound, almost like a whimper. Yes box.

“Oh...oh no.” Chase shook his head. He knew from experience that it was really easy to talk to someone who couldn’t answer, to pour out everything you wouldn’t normally say because you knew they couldn’t tell anyone what you said. In the past, talking to comatose Jack had been a way for him to be honest when he felt terrible, but for an actual criminal to come in and talk like that? Those secrets would probably be a lot darker. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack blinked at him. Then indicated the How? box.

“...right. The board is good, but I guess it wouldn’t have all the words you need.” Chase nodded. “Well. I mean, later. If you want to talk about it, you can. I-I can teach you BSL, when you’ve got, y’know...better hands.” Jack wheezed at that, a short laugh that made Chase smile. “Yeah, JJ taught me. You remember me telling you about him, right?”

Yes box. “Hhee...sow-sounsss...nai-nais.”

“He is really nice. I think you’d get along.” Chase went quiet. What was happening to Jameson now? It couldn’t be good, not if Anti was involved. Damn it. He couldn’t let anything else happen to his friends! All of them have been through so much already. Marvin was breaking down, Schneep and Jack were in hospitals, and Jackie and Jameson were being held hostage by Jameson’s psychopathic older brother. Enough was enough! He had to do something!

“Shays?” Jack’s head listed to the side, and he tapped the How are you? box.

“O-oh. Yeah, I’m alright, bro, don’t worry, I was just thinking.” Chase shook his head. It was settled. He’d figure out a way to deal with this situation more directly. “Anyway, I was wondering. Can you, like, eat normal foods yet?”

No box.

“Aw, man. I was gonna offer to bring you coffee tomorrow.”

Jack’s eyes widened a bit. “Waa-aay. W-whhayy!”

Chase laughed. “Glad to see that hasn’t changed. But, well, doctor’s orders and all that.”

“Ahhhh.” Jack tried to frown, but only managed a twitch in his mouth.

“One thing to look forward to after all that physical therapy,” Chase reached over to squeeze Jack’s wrist. “You know, you’re already improving really fast. You might be out of here in a couple months.”

“Heh.” That definitely cheered Jack up.

Chase smiled, and quickly moved on. Later, he’d try to think up a way to deal with other situations. He couldn’t just abandon his friends, after all, and he was getting real sick of all this terrible shit happening. But that would need some more planning. For now, he’d focus on one thing at a time.

——————

They’d been stuck in the room for a week, and JJ was starting to get really worried. Why hadn’t Anti showed up yet? What was he planning? Luckily, they wouldn’t starve, as it turned out the mini fridge and strange cabinets had been stocked with food. But that had to run out eventually. What was going on?

The room was locked down tight. The door outside was solid, and that weird square on the wall that might’ve been a sealed-up window showed no signs of wear. There wasn’t a window in the bathroom, either. But on the morning of the second day, JJ did find a small key in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, which turned out to unlock the cuff on Jackie’s wrist. “Thank god for that,” Jackie had muttered when JJ unchained him from the bunk. “Not gonna lie, though, it’s weird being able to actually walk around.”

Jackie seemed mostly bored with the whole situation, to be honest. Which probably made sense. After all, he did keep reiterating that this was the most comfortable captivity he’d been in since Anti took him. But Jameson just found himself getting more and more worried as time passed. He tried to distract himself by helping Jackie catch up on his sign language learning, but eventually that didn’t work, and he just kept pacing the floor, anxiety slowly growing with every passing hour.

When the locked door finally opened, JJ was almost relieved that the anticipation was over with. But that relief was quickly overshadowed when someone stepped into the room and shut the door.

It was Anti, of course. He didn’t look too much different from how Jameson remembered him. Same brown hair, same single blue eye accompanied by a fake green one. Same scars over half his face, though the long one across his throat was new. However, that watch hanging on a chain around his neck...that was not new. Jameson recognized that immediately, and resisted the urge to reach up and grab his own watch, around his own neck.

The moment Anti entered, Jackie went pale, sitting down hard on the bottom bunk and scooting back until he hit the wall. But Jameson couldn’t move. He stopped his nervous pacing against the wall by the dresser and instantly froze, eyes locked onto Anti. And Anti stared at him in turn, eyes occasionally flicking up and down as he looked him over. The room was silent enough for the three men’s breathing to echo in the air.

Then, slowly, Anti took a couple steps away from the door. He was still standing in between the other two and their only exit, but he didn’t keep guarding it. JJ then noticed that Anti was holding two plastic bags in one hand, which he then set on the ground. Finally, Anti looked away from Jameson, searching the room with his eyes before landing on Jackie. He frowned. “What are you doing? That’s not your bed.”

Jackie flinched. He scrambled up from the bottom bunk and towards the ladder, climbing up it to the top, where he resumed his position with his back against the wall. Anti nodded, then glanced towards the other end of the cuffs still attached to the railing. “Where’s the key?”

Nobody answered, but Jackie instinctively glanced towards Jameson before glancing back. That didn’t go unnoticed by Anti, who looked back towards him. Jameson still couldn’t move. He couldn’t if he wanted to. He was a statue with limbs made of cold, solid stone, a beating heart in his chest pounding loudly in his ears.”Well...I guess it’s fine, then,” Anti finally said, not looking away from Jameson. He went silent for a few seconds. Then: “Jamie.”

That finally broke the spell, and Jameson backed up. What was he supposed to do? He’d been so worried about why Anti wasn’t showing up, that he didn’t think what to do when he finally did. His mind was scrabbling for purchase on shaking ground. His pulse was racing wildly. He couldn’t think of a solution. It wasn’t even an option underneath the sudden appearance of emotion whirling around his brain. Fear? Grief? Dread? Surprise? Relief?

“Do you...like the room?” Anti asked.

It was such an absurd question that the only response Jameson could muster was a strangled choking sound.

“I-I mean, it’s not exactly a five-star hotel, but I tried to make it nice. You have to share it, unfortunately, limited space. Do you two know each other? You’re friends the rest of the group.”

He just had to respond to that statement. How do you know that? Jameson asked, signing shakily.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on them,” Anti stated plainly. “Didn’t realize who you were until I saw you signing with that long-haired one, Marvin. You’re not online, so I couldn’t figure it out from tagging or anything. Took some more old-fashioned work.”

You were stalking me, Jameson said. Weren’t you?

“I had to find out where you lived, didn’t I?” Anti said, ignoring the faint shake of Jameson’s head. “But you caught on. Hah. You always were a clever boy.”

What do you want? Jameson asked. Why did you do this?! He added, signs growing steadier.

“Well you were going to freak out if I tried to talk to you normally, weren’t you?” Anti’s voice was unnervingly calm. “And I was right. I didn’t want to do this, but you kind of made me. So here we are.”

I didn’t ‘make you’ do anything! Jameson protested. You never have to kidnap people!

“This isn’t a kidnapping.”

Jameson just pointed over at Jackie, staring at Anti significantly.

Anti hesitated. Then he laughed. “Alright, I guess it is. Like I said, you’re a clever boy, Jamie.”

Stop calling me that! Jameson signed sharply, feeling a rise of sudden white-hot rage. I hate it, I’ve always hated it, and it doesn’t make this whole thing better if you keep calling me by that stupid nickname! It doesn’t change the fact that you drugged me and took me to some place far away and are now keeping me here against my will!

“Against your will? Aw, you mean you don’t want to see your big brother again?” Anti tilted his head to the side and smiled sickeningly.

Jameson shook his head violently. No! You’re a murderer who just abduct—

“Because I’ve been dying to see you again,” Anti interrupted, walking closer. Jameson paled, but found he couldn’t back up. “Did you know I thought you were dead? Did I tell you that already? I doubt you planned it to look that way, honestly, you’re clever but you never plan ahead. So I guess it was just a coincidence that the note you left sounded like a...permanent goodbye. Why’d you throw your jacket in the river, though?” Anti slowly reached up and grabbed the watch around his neck. “Did you think about what that would imply?” he asked softly.

And once again, Jameson was a statue, petrified by Anti’s dual-colored gaze like a real-world victim of Medusa. God damn it, why did Anti sound actually hurt by this? Was he actually hurt? JJ hadn’t really been thinking when he’d dropped his old jacket in the river three years ago, he just saw his reflection in the water, and suddenly wanted to get rid of the jacket his brother had bought him. So he did, then fled with the suitcase he’d packed. It was true, he hadn’t really been planning ahead when he left, though he’d thought about how Anti would react. Sometimes he wanted to go back, hating to make him sad, but convincing himself he was probably angry. Still, he remembered almost doubling back at a couple different bus stops, thinking it wasn’t worth it.

Had Anti really thought...? Something like that would be upsetting to anyone, especially over someone who’d been under your care for years. He never meant to—

Why was he thinking about this?!

Jameson shook his head, and pushed Anti back. I don’t care what you thought, he said harshly. I don’t care how you felt.

“Of course you do,” Anti said. “I saw how you were hesitating. We’re brothers, Jameson, we care about each other. And you’re so sensitive, of course you can’t help it.”

No, no, no. Jameson continued to shake his head. I don’t care how you felt because you never cared what I felt. A seventeen-year-old shouldn’t be helping to dispose of a body. A twenty-year-old shouldn’t be afraid to go outside because his brother convinced him enemies would be after him.

“I didn’t want to get you involved in any of it,” Anti insisted. “But sometimes I had to! I couldn’t do it alone. Jamie—Jameson, it killed me to ask for your help. I just wanted you to be safe, but I was putting you in active danger out of necessity. So I had to make sure that nothing happened to you, especially when I was out and couldn’t protect you. I was just trying to keep you safe.”

You’re contradicting yourself, Jameson signed, keeping his face carefully expressionless. Keeping me safe, yet continually involving me in your work? You were a hypocrite back then, and you’re a hypocrite now.

“Oh my god, why can’t you just understand?!” Anti suddenly shouted. “No, of course! You don’t understand! You’re not even trying! It was so fucking difficult, Jameson, I did what I had to.” He took a deep breath. “Please, Jamie. You’re a sweet boy. Always have been. Why can’t you be now?”

Because you fucking kidnapped four people and killed thirteen! Jameson signed, aghast. Are we forgetting that? Or are you just trying to get me to?

Anti sighed, looking disappointed. “Alright. We can stop for the night.” He backed up, glancing over towards the bunk beds to make sure Jackie was still sitting there. “It’s a complicated situation, all of it. But you’re my little brother, and I care about you.” He reached the door, and grabbed the handle. “I brought you groceries, since I saw you were about halfway through them. I’ll stop by again.” And quickly, he opened the door and slipped out, the lock clicking behind him.

Silence.

Then Jackie let out a long, slow breath. “That was...that was f-fucking terrifying.”

JJ relaxed, letting out all of the tension he’d been holding. I told you he wasn’t aggressive all the time, he said, walking over to the plastic bags Anti had left on the floor and crouching down to look through them. A lot of dry foods. No drinks, but that was fine, since the mini fridge was full of them. He grabbed the bags and moved them over to the cabinet area.

“Yeah, but...it’s an entirely different thing to see it in person.” Jackie slowly inched back over to the bunk beds’ ladder, sitting with his feet on the top rung. “Mother of fuck. I thought it couldn’t get worse than the time he was strangling me, but that. It wasn’t exactly threatening, but it was...wow.”

Sorry, the time he what?! JJ asked, eyes wide as he turned to look back at Jackie.

“Oh. Uh...I-I’ll explain later, if you want,” Jackie mumbled. “What did he bring?”

Dropping the subject for now, JJ glanced through the bags again. Everything we need, he said. You’re right. He’s watching us.

Jackie nodded. “Of course. Wonder where the camera is this time.”

Jameson gave the room a sweep with his eyes. There wasn’t anywhere obvious, but then again, modern cameras were so tiny. It could be anywhere. A direct connection to Anti. He’d be always there, always watching...

Suddenly, Jameson’s legs gave out and he fell to the floor.

“JJ!” Jackie scrambled down the ladder and rushed over. “What happened?! Are you okay?”

“Hhhhnnn.” Jameson covered his mouth. His furious blinking couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and a few slipped out. He got into a kneeling position, slowly shaking his head.

“Are you hurt? I-I mean physically?” Jackie reached out to touch Jameson’s shoulder, only for him to sharply pull away and shake his head harder. “I—okay. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

He just kept shaking his head, now trembling all over as he bent over and covered his head with his arms. It was just one conversation. One conversation, and in the course of that conversation, he had frozen up, gotten angry, then slowly started buying into what Anti was saying. He managed to catch himself this time but...It was going to go back to the way it used to be. There was no way to escape it. And now, he was physically trapped as well, unable to leave. He’d just keep listening to Anti. God damn it. God damn it! He couldn’t do this!

“H-hey, it’s...I mean, that looked really hard to do.” Jackie sat down on the floor next to him, crossing his legs. “But you did it, you know. It was really impressive, actually.”

Jameson looked up, and managed to start signing. I won’t be able to do it next time.

“What are you talking about? Of course you will!” Jackie smiled a bit, before looking grave. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s still going to be hard. But you’ve done it before. Hell, sounds like you managed to run away from the bastard in the past. When you were on your own, too. I probably can’t do much to, like, fight back, but I’ll still be here. Kind of have to be, ha. So...that’s different, I guess. Tell me if you need anything. Okay? I promise I’ll help.”

Jackie’s positivity was a bit awkward, but his tone was genuine. JJ found himself relaxing. He took a few deep breaths, then looked around the room. Things he could see: bunk bed, bags, bathroom door, mini fridge, Jackie. Things he could hear: his heartbeat, breathing, Jackie talking, slight humming from the lights. Things he could feel...he went down through the list.

“You...are you okay?” Jackie asked.

Better, JJ replied. But a bit drained. I think I’m going to take a nap.

“Alright. Go ahead. I’ll get these groceries sorted out.”

JJ nodded, and stood up, making his way over to the bottom bunk. Pushing the covers aside, he climbed in, turning to face the wall. His pocket watch was still hanging from his neck, and this time, he couldn’t stop himself from holding it. Then he took it off. Not around the neck. Somewhere different. To remind him that things weren’t the same.

Slowly, he fell asleep to the sound of Jackie rummaging in the cabinets.

——————

That hadn’t gone well. Anti sat down at his desk, replaying the conversation over. Where had he gone wrong? There must have been a couple places. Jameson clearly didn’t trust him, for obvious reasons. So, he’d need to find some way to gain it back. If Jameson wanted him to leave him alone, then he would. For a bit. Refine his conversation skills and what to say. Put more effort into it. He might have to lie at times, but that was fine.

He glanced at his phone. Some notifications alerting him to new messages in his...“work” email. Eventually, he’d have to answer some. That was how he got money, after all, which allowed him things like this new safe house.

What about Jackie? He’d been pretty quiet during that encounter. Good. If he was trying to gain Jameson’s trust, it would be a shame to hurt a friend of his. He’d let him be for now.

Anti looked over at the other item on the desk. A small turquoise notebook. After a few seconds, he reached over and picked it up, fanning through the pages until he reached one in particular. Then, he slid something out from between them. A keycard. He’d been reading this notebook for a while, and based on the contents, he could guess what this card was for. Why Marvin had it, he wasn’t sure, since it clearly belonged to that doctor woman.

And he wondered...should he make use of the card now? Or should he wait a while?

He played with the card for a minute, flipping it over his fingers. No, he’d wait. He already had enough to deal with at the moment. Maybe once he’d adjusted to the change. Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t give the idea some thought. Bring it into solid reality.

Three at once might be a little much, but he could handle them.

And Jameson might like another friend.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticeye au #septic egos au #septic egos #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #pwtimeline

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

The past

He didn't liked to fight with you, really... bjt sometimes he forgot how... far away he can be with his emotions.

He was more stuck on his thoughts than he was used to... even Overhaul, his childhood friend, called him out for it. Mimic had to slap the back of his head to make him go back to concentrate on the meeting, even the big boss was getting worried at this point.

The worst part of the day was when you tried to help him with something and he lashed on you.

"Just-!" He breathed in and out with a hand on his head before letting out a chuff and giving your back to you "Just leave me alone. I dont need another headache."

"... fine then Kurono." You hissed his sur name and he winced at the sound of it "I was only trying to help my boyfriend you jerk."

"Whatever. As if I needed some." He waved you off as he heard your scoff, heart cleansing when he just knew you were going to get angry at him, cry because of him.

Fucking idiot...

The man laughed in glory as he stared at the target all pierced with the amount of shots that was hit.

"Ya saw how maany scores your dad did Tiger?!" The man laughed louder as a tony giggle escaped his mouth at enthusiasm of the man.

"Now now..." a femine and more calm voice called from the balcony "We dont want to cause problems to the neighbors now do we? Hajime?"

"Nah!" The man waved with a bark of laughter "If anything I just 'WOSH!" he grabbed him and threw in the air as he catched.

"Dad!" He clinged on his arms but pet put a nervous laughter.

"No using of quirks Hajime..." the woman sighed but soon it looked like she felt a bit dizzy and the man was fast enough to catch her even with him on his arms.

"Ayumi.." the older man spoke on a less happy tone, brows furrowed as he checked the woman's temperature.

"I'm fine Hajime." Despite the pain and fatigue, she still could smile a bit and pinch his cheek "How is my teddy bear doing huh?"

"Mom... are you getting sick?" He mumbled as his father put him on the ground and helped his mother to get up.

"Is just a flu baby. Nothing to worry about." The woman said gently as the man furrowed his eyebrows and looked away.

"When you're going to get better?"

"Soon, Hari. Mommy is going to get better soon."

He sighed, hand resting on the balcony as he stared at the city... the sky was with a beautiful shade of orange, indicating that soon night time he was going to take some rest at least.

He took off his gun out of his pocket to inspect...but his mind was in other place as he furrowed his eyebrows at it.

"This is a very well gift of your old man to ya tiger, I need you to take care of it." The man gave the gun, unloaded, to the boy as he furrowed his eyebrows at it.

"When you're going to get back?" The boy mumbled as the man sighed, patted his shoulder and got his suitcase and a hat, smirking sadly at the boy on the entrance.

"See ya soon... Hari."

His father never called him Hari.... it was always a nickname ... something wasted right... and before he could reach the door to tell him to wait the door was closed on his face.

"Hari..." he heard the call of his mother and he immediatly dropped the gun, grabbing the tray where it contained a plate of food, a cup of water and inumerous pills he didn't know for what.

"I am here." He mumbled, entering the room as the sickly woman giggled, her usually bright with life now it seemed drained out of energy and... everything.

"You sound like All Might there baby.." he frowned as he took a seat besides the woman.

"You won't eat?"

"Dont have energies to do it hun... I actually called you here for other thing... " the woman got up slowly on her elbows just to drink the water and the pills.

He could see her bones... it wasn't normal... none of that was. His father leaving without a explanation, his mom didn't ever got better from thsi flu... what the hell was even happening?!

"Hari..." she carresed his cheek, knowing already of his quirk "You are such a beautiful and little gentleman you know that?"

He pursed his lips... he didn't liked where this story was going.

"Despite having my character and appearance you still got daddy's eyes and quirk that I love so so much." She mused before quickly grabbing a napkin and having a fit of coughing.

"Mom..?" He said and widened his eyes in horror at seing a bit of red on the white napkin...

"Sweety... remember that talk me and your daddy had? About a beautiful place where nana went?" He nodded as she gave him a hearted yet sad smile "Mommy is soon going to met nana once again!"

"Can I come too?" He asked while fisting the sheets as the woman shaked her head before cupping his cheek.

"I'm afraid not honey.. you still have so many years here."

"You too!" He exclaimed as the woman brought him to a hug, he could feel her ribcage and her shoulder blade yet he hugged her trembling.

"No honey... mommy has to go met nana." She said with a sad smile while carresing his back "baby, you would like to live with your uncles?"

"No!" He exclaimed, fist clenching on her clothing as he cried "I want to stay like it was before! You and daddy!"

"... daddy is not coming back sweety..." she said painfully as he widened his eyes "That's why I want you to stay with your uncles.."

"But-!" She shushed him quietly and weakly.

"Please... be good to your uncles... promise me?" She lifted up her bony arm with her pinky out as he sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his hoodie and interlocked his pinky with her.

"Okay..."

"That's my brave boy..." she cupped his face "You're such a good boy Hari..."

The punching bag was almost disfigured from how much he had used so far.

"Angry today buddy?" Rappa asked while rolling his arms to strech some bones of his shoulder.

"Could say that." He mumbled with a nonchantly look before hearing Overhaul voice calling for him.

"Go on. Overjerk is calling for you man."

Nodding towards Rappa, he grabbed his coat and got out from the hide out and met with Chisaki leaning on the door frame with a nonchantly look.

"Listen, I knew that I fuck up." He lifted his hands up as Chisaki only arched a eyebrow but soon mentioned with his gaze at the door of his dorm. "... ah."

"Not even me get my past get the best of me blockhead." He muttered nonchantly before turning his back to him and waving "I dont want to see that partner of yours crying their eyes out, it makes me sick."

"Oh fuck off, what doesn't make you sick dude?" He muttered before gulping at the death glare he received.

Cursed hearing of his...

He sighed before knocking, seing your face before you quickly turned it away from him and layed down.

"...(Y/n)... Can we talk for a bit?"

"You forgot to clean that place." His uncle muttered while couting some bills as he glared at the bloody wall.

"Why I am the one to clean this?"

"Because you are living with us? Maybe?" His aunt spoke while putting on a necklace of pearls on her neck as he furrowed his eyebrows.

"... You two live well. Why couldn't you help my mom? Or my dad?"

The woman laughed as the man sighed, grabbing harshly on his shoulder and making him turn his front to him.

"Your father was a mere thief that couldn't even provide for my sister. And was her fault to get sick this way, if she hadn't turned out to be such a bitch, agreed to her arrangment marriage and hadn't stormed off with that Kurono guy she would be out of those fucking problems."

His eyes narrowed while clenching his jaw, grabbing the gun his father gave to him before leaving and pointing at the male.

"You can say whatever you want about my dad but NOT about my mom!" He growled as the woman shriek in fear at seing a child with a gun as the man raised his hands up before smirking.

"You dont even know how to use this thing brat."

He quickly took the ammunition he had stolen from his uncle's office and with enormous accuracy he shot it an inch away from his head. The woman letting out a scream again as the male widened his eyes at him.

"My dad at least did a good thing on teaching me how to use a gun at the age of three." He said with anger as he lowered a bit his gun before a bunch of man, wearing suits invaded the house and pinned both his uncle and aunt on the ground as he in fear got hidden behind the kitchen counter.

"You both think is funny taking advantege and being in debt with the yakusa huh?" A much older voice spoked up as he peaked one eye to see a man with white hair glaring at both of his uncle and aunt.

"P-Please sir we were going to pay-"

"Liars." A man lowered one pocketknife onto his uncle shoulder as he put his hands over his eyes as he flinched at the shout of pain it came after "you even went to the cops to tell about our plan in order to some money... and I lost a bunch of capable man and it will cost a millions of yen to get every single one of them out of jail."

"Boss!" He shriek when a man found him "We have anothe-" without thinking a strand of his arrow hair shot and cutted the man's cheek, the poor guy being immobilized and falling onto the floor.

A bunch of guns and males with attacking quirks aimed at him as he trembling picked the gun again and pointed at least of one of them.

"Don't shoot you idiots! Is a kid!"

"Yeah but he is got a gun!"

The man glared at them and in one motion all the guns were lowered, yet he didn't lowered his one still.

"Hey, kid... no one is going to hurt you, relax." He soon directed his gaze at the couple on the floor "Whose is this? I thought neither of you wanted a child."

"Is my sister's son with a thief rat." The man growled as his wife helped him with his missing fingers "That little shit died and gave him to us."

"I asked for his name imbecile." The man growled as his uncle yelped and bowed to him.

"K-Kurono Hari master!"

"... Kurono, huh?" The man looked at him as he still had a firm grasp on his gun "Say kid... you know how to deal with those I see, those these two treat you well?" His gaze fell on his uncles before he shaked his head.

"... How about an offer then?"

"So this makes kinda you and Overhaul brothers huh?" You giggled at the glare he gave to you before he flipped your head.

"You're the worst. I tell you this all shit and-" he stopped talking and gasped when you hugged him tightly, grazing your nails into his back much like his own mother would do.

"I get it Hari, and I'm not mad at you..." you kissed his neck and sighed "Just rely on me more often okay? Instead of being a dick."

"... yeah. I will." He hugged you back as he smirked, at least he knew he had a home of his own. You. You were his home.

(A/n): this was shitty, I know. But it was what came to my mind. Forgive me. I didn't do justice for arrow haired man... ;-;

#kurono hari x reader #hari kurono x reader #chrono x reader #bnha villains x reader #bnha villains #chrono #kurono hari #bnha fanfiction #bnha fics #zuffer writings

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part six Word count: ±3400 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part six summary: Sam goes back to Zoë’s hotel to pick up his lost phone, but the state he finds her in is both shocking and familiar. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Preparing himself for a rant, Sam knocks on the door of room 17. He’s standing in the corridor of the Hampton Inn after the receptionist allowed him upstairs, recognizing him from the night before and believing his story when he gave her an excuse. It takes a while before someone grants him access to the suite, but when he’s about to knock for the second time, the door opens. “Sam...” Zoë grunts, sounding like a sixty year old whiskey drinker who smokes at least a pack a day.

As he enters the room, he notices the gun in her right hand, which she held behind the door in case she had bad company. The music playlist from last night is still playing, 2+2= by Bob Seger currently on. Zoë adjusts her PJ shorts, the Nirvana shirt hanging from one shoulder and her wavy hair a bird’s nest; she looks like she’s experiencing the worst hangover ever. “Are you alright?” Sam checks, carefully. “Yeah, just a bad night,” she mutters. “You were fine when I left,” he recalls, surprised by her state. She doesn’t respond and drags her feet to the bathroom. Sam hears the water falling down in the sink. She’s probably attempting to freshen up a little. “I left my phone here somewhere,” Sam informs, before Zoë asks about his visit. No answer, not even a smart comment. Somewhat worried, Sam peeks around the corner. Zoë is leaning on the sink with one hand, pressuring her other palm against her forehead. She has her eyes firmly shut, every muscle in her body tenses; she’s in pain. “You’re not alright,” Sam notices and walks in to support her, but she shrugs him off. “It’s nothing, just leave me alone,” the huntress snaps.

Without granting Sam another second of her attention, Zoë saunters into the room and turns down the music, annoyed by the sound of the guitar that only amplifies the throbbing inside her skull. Instead, she switches on the TV while rubbing her face, steadying herself against the back of the sofa.

As Sam observes her, the gears in his head start to turn. She seems ill, feverish almost, as if she’s fighting off an infection. Something about her conditions is familiar. Unable to catch a breath, clammy skin, dizziness. The feeling of being run over by a sixteen wheeler, a bass drum pounding through one’s head, as if they were inches from an amplifier at a concert all night long. Then it clicks.

“You had a vision.”

Startled, Zoë looks aside. Shit. How the hell did he pick up on that? Surely she’s a mess, but Sam must have the exact same symptoms in order for him to figure it out this fast. She cannot let him know, though, and so she recovers quickly. “No, I didn’t. It's migraines.” She shrugs it off and looks back at the television. Sam keeps reading her while the local TV station brings them the latest news. She tries to concentrate on the screen, but feels Sam’s burning eyes. Then she snaps at him. “Stop trying to find things that aren’t there, Sam.” “You’re lying.” Sam knows. She sighs with an eye roll and turns up the volume. “No, I’m not. Now drop it.” “I’m not gonna drop it.” He steps between her and the TV, blocking her view. “You were dying to know about my visions from the moment you learned I have them.” “I’m watching that,” she voices, annoyed with his intrusion. “And I’m talking to you,” Sam returns with an attitude.

She gives him a look that could kill and steps around him to have a clear view of the screen again, trying her best to ignore the hunter and not blow up on the guy. He better not push her, because he has no idea what would be coming for him. “Headaches, black spots, nausea right after you wake up,” Sam sums up. “You have them.” “Would you shut the fuck up for one second?!” Zoë hushes him violently.

It’s just now that the news on the TV catches Sam’s attention. She’s not just agitated with him because she doesn’t want to talk about the paranormal powers they have in common; there’s actually something on the local news that’s worth their attention.

“In Paragould, the body of a man has been discovered. This morning, Bill Van Dyke was found deceased in his own home, and the Paragould Police Department are considering his death to be suspicious. Local authorities claim that the family were home during the time of death.”

“Shit,” Zoë spats. “What is it?” Sam glances aside. She sighs, still watching the screen as another reporter at the scene gives more information about the incident. “He died the same way Robert Shire did.” “The girl’s father?” Sam checks, remembering the surname of ‘Shire’ engraved on Laura’s tombstone. Zoë nods in confirmation as the reporter in the studio takes over again.

“Bill Van Dyke, the principal of Woodrow Wilson Elementary in Paragould, was a pillar of support to the local community--”

Zoë doesn’t hear the rest of the report, the sound fading out as her gaze locks on the school building, which is shown on the screen. She recognizes that building. “It’s her,” she knows. “That can’t be. You salted and burned her bones,” Sam brings to mind. “I’m aware of that, Sam. I dug her up myself,” she hisses, as she opens her closet and takes out her suit, her actions hasty and on the edge of aggressive. “Something is keeping her here, an object maybe. Fuck!” “Guess you’re staying in town a bit longer than expected,” he concludes. “Guess so, but I don’t have time for this shit.” Zoë mutters and takes off her shirt, putting on a white blouse as if she’s alone in the room. Sam averts his eyes, awkwardly, but the huntress isn't bothered. “Nothing you haven't seen, Sam,” she comments, perky. Nevertheless he turns away from her, uneasily staring out the window. For a second he considers offering their help on this job, but he’s quite sure she will reject anyway. Besides, they have their own case to deal with.

Rushing, Zoë gets into her dress pants, which she just pulled out of dry cleaner plastic a moment ago. “How can you be so sure it’s Laura?” Sam wonders. “Laura was a 4th grader at Woodrow Wilson Elementary” she explains. He shrugs. “So? What did Van Dyke ever do to her?” “Her gym teacher knew about the abuse. My guess is that the principal knew too and didn’t do anything,” Zoë presumes, pulling a thin leather belt through the loops. “How do you even know that her teacher was aware? You couldn’t have seen her already, not in his short amount of time. Admit it; you see things,” Sam’s pushes.

Zoë huffs, half shaking her head and well aware that Sam will not buy the bullshit. She wasn't planning on telling him, but the younger Winchester brother might be the one person she can trust when it comes to her abilities. He’s special, just like she is, and neither of them have a clue what is going on. He’s in the dark, just like her. Telling him would involve certain risks, though. Afterall, he is a hunter, one who she just met. “Zo, start talking,” Sam coerces. “Alright! I see things! There, I said it. Happy now?” she cries out.

The confession is as much as a surprise to Sam as it is to Zoë; did she just say that out loud? Shocked, Sam stares at her, but he’s not sure if he’s so stunned by the information of the statement itself or because of the fact that Zoë just told him the truth. Disoriented, his eyes wander off as it slowly starts to sink in what this means; he’s not alone.

“You have visions, just like me?” he recaps. “Not entirely,” Zoë says as she buttons her jacket. “You dream about the future, I dream about the past.” “Like flashbacks?” Sam questions. “Something like that, yeah. But there’s no possible way I could know these things, you know? Most of the time I don’t even know the people who are involved,” she explains, frustration evident in her voice. “Tell me ‘bout it,” Sam replies with a chuckle.

A glint of a smile pulls at Zoë’s lips as she looks up. A feeling she hasn’t experienced in quite a while comes to her. Relief, recognition, as if a weight just fell off her shoulders now that she finally told someone about the secret she has been carrying around for so long. She wishes she could just get it all out of her system, tell him about the other issues that she’s involved in, but she can’t. Besides, there’s little time and still a lot to do.

Zoë slips into her pumps, takes her FBI identification out of her duffel and puts it in her inside pocket. “That’s how you pick your cases, isn’t it?” Sam now understands how Zoë can get to a scene with not much visual evidence, at least not visible to outsiders. “First I didn’t, because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. But then I thought: Hey, I’m having these flashbacks for a reason, I might as well check it out,” she elaborates before she steps into the bathroom and starts applying makeup. Sam nods at that, agreeing. “Good point.” Maybe he should start seeing the dreams as clues, too. If he had listened to the visions in the first place, Jessica might still be alive right now.

He watches how the woman of many faces basically shapeshifts, going from the groggy, hungover girl in PJ’s to an autorical, tough as nails federal agent. Zoë ties her hair back into a tight ponytail, the look really sending the message that she will take absolutely no bullshit. But under that facade, the role she takes on and hides behind, Sam sees something else; she is nervous, restless, anxious even. “What’s going on, Zo?” Sam confronts her, his tone supportive, however.

For a moment she stops fixing her hair and places her hands on her hips. The huntress takes a breath as she searches for words, deciding what she can tell him without giving him too much information. “I’m on a bit of a time schedule,” she admits. “I need to finish this case before tonight.” Sam narrows his eyes, concerned, trying to read her. “What kind of time schedule?” “It’s personal,” she cuts off, immediately.

Her eyes bore into his, warning him not to ask another question. It’s clear as day that she is not going to give him an inch on this. Intimidated by her gaze, he decides not to dig further. “What happens if you can’t put her spirit to rest in time?” “I’ll make it,” Zoë responds, sure of herself. “You don't know that,” he argues. “I’ll have to leave town, case closed or not,” she adds simply, walking around the bed to pick up her phone from her nightstand. “What?! You’re just gonna give up a case?” Sam disapproves. “I’ve seen hunters do it before,” she says with a tone, straightening her back and standing a little taller. “So? Then they suck!” Sam exclaims. Zoë snorts, not disagreeing with him there, but the young Winchester isn’t finished yet. “Laura will keep haunting this town and every one who might have the slightest connection to her death. Do you have any idea how many could end up dead?” Sam tries to make her see. “I don’t. Have. A choice,” she states, pronouncing her words slowly and loud, as if Sam suffers hearing loss. “You do,” Sam corrects. “You always have a choice.” “You should have a poster made with those words, Gandhi,” Zoë responds sassy.

She has gathered her keys and her motorcycle helmet now, ready to head out. Sam doesn’t seize his plea, though. “Let us help you,” he offers. After halting abruptly, the huntress slowly turns her head and stares at him for a brief moment, then she laughs out loud.

“No way in hell,” she chuckles, apparently finding the proposition ridiculous. “Why not?” Sam wants to know. “Because I don’t team up with others. The moment you depend on someone other than yourself, you’re vulnerable. You start to trust people you shouldn’t trust and when it all goes wrong, people die,” she states. “What about covering each other’s backs? Looking out for your partner?” Sam brings up the bright side of cooperation. “Apparently that isn’t for me, and believe me; I’ve experienced it,” Zoë comments, a speck of pain edging her voice.

Sam is not sure what the young huntress means by that, but he can read from her eyes that whatever happened, it still hurts her. He keeps quiet for a moment, but then continues with a calm tone. “Hear me out. We can take over the case completely and you can go wherever you need to go. We’re in the same hunting fields, so why shoot at each other in order to get rid of the competition when we can split up. Dean and I can handle this,” Sam ensures. “I believe you can, but I’m not the type who lets someone else do the dirty jobs. I got this one, I just need to make good time,” Zoë assures as she heads for the door. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a crime scene to investigate.”

She holds the door for Sam, her piercing eyes telling him without words to get out of her suite. The younger Winchester lets a sigh slip from his lips as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment. There’s absolutely no way to get through to that woman, he thinks to himself as he walks outside before she locks the door. The sharp thumps of her heels echo through the lobby, when she hastily parades to the parking lot while taking out her shades. Just before she walks out, Sam stops her by laying her hand on her shoulder.

“Zoë…” She spins around, not keen on the physical contact. “If you need help, call me,” he insists. “You know I won’t, Sammy,” she reacts, pushing the sunglasses onto her nose. “Don’t - don’t call me Sammy,” he mumbles under his breath, watching her stride away to her Harley Davidson. After putting on her helmet, she starts the engine and rides off, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Defeated, Sam turns to the Impala, which is parked on one of the taxi spots. A thin layer of dust covers the black car, which seems to boil in the early morning sun. It’s awfully quiet. No ear blasting rock tunes from the radio, no Dean jamming on his air guitar. Sam peeks through the window of the passenger’s side and finds his brother fast asleep. He can’t see Dean’s eyes because of the sunglasses he’s wearing to cut out the light his hungover brain cannot tolerate, but his head rests half against the window, tilted slightly backwards. Sam’s thoughts go back to the day before yesterday, when they parked the car in front of the pharmacy and Dean scared the shit out of him by slamming his fist against the window. Of course, Sam can’t resist doing the same thing and hits the window right on the spot where Dean’s leaning against on the other side.

“Kelly Clarkson!” Dean cries out spooked, as he bumps his head up against the hardtop of the car. With a big smirk on his face, Sam walks around the car just as victoriously as his brother did the other day, and settles in the driver's seat. When he sees his brother’s confused expression, he can’t help but laugh. “Man, that’s so not cool,” Dean mutters with a raspy voice as he rubs his face.

“Got what I came for.” Sam holds up his Blackberry. “Did you have to wake me up for that?” Dean takes off his shades and narrows his eyes against the bright sun. “No, that was just for fun,” Sam grins. “Bitch,” Dean grumbles. “Jerk,” Sam returns with a smile. “I have another update by the way.” “Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Dean wonders, carelessly, resting his head against the cool glass again. “We’re staying in town for a couple more days,” Sam informs.

He got Dean’s attention with that notification, all right. His older brother looks up at him and although he can barely keep his eyes open, Sam can tell that he’s curious for more info. “What? Werewolf turned out to be a coyote?” Dean assumes. “Not really, but there’s still a case here,” Sam begins to explain, while taking the car keys from his pocket. “So? It’s Sullivan’s case, I ain’t touching that with a ten foot pole,” Dean makes clear. “Aren’t you happy you can hang out with Denise?” Sam persuades, hoping to change his mind. “Oh, no. I know what you’re doing.” Dean sits up straight and smirks, on to his little brother’s persuasiveness. “You’re trying to make this seem brochure perfect, but this isn’t about Denise. Spill it.”

Sam sighs. Damn, there goes his master plan. Although he gets the impression that Dean can't stand the female hunter, Sam decides to tell the truth. “I think Zoë needs help,” he admits. “The last time you thought that I ended up in a bridal suite with a shapeshifter and you got dumped in a septic tank with our damsel in distress,” Dean recalls. “Did she ask for your help?” “No, not re--” “- Did she accept your offer?” Dean asks again. “No, but --” “- Then we ain’t helping her,” Dean decides.

“Come on, Dean. We can’t leave her like that,” Sam tries. “She’s a big girl, Sam. And a damn good hunter too. She’ll be fine,” Dean assures. “I don’t know, man. Something doesn’t seem right,” Sam ponders. “She told me she’s on some sort of time schedule or something.” “Yeah, her period. Guessing it’s coming up to that time of the month,” Dean grumbles, sarcastically. He has lost interest in the conversation and crosses his arms in front of his chest, tugging deeper into the seat.

“She’s gonna leave town tonight, case closed or not,” Sam clarifies. Dean opens his eyes and looks aside. “You really think she would leave a job unfinished?” Dean wonders. Sam shrugs. “Apparently.” “That deadline must be pretty damn important,” the oldest brother concludes. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if we stay until tonight, see if she manages to wrap up the case in time. But after that, we’re off to Texas. I was looking forward to that wolf hunt.”

Satisfied with that compromise, Sam starts the engine. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Looking Out My Back Door sounds from the radio of the classic car, built around the same time that this song was hitting the charts. By the time the Chevrolet leaves the parking lot, Dean has looked up Denise’s number and is on the phone with her. Fuck the appropriate time to wait until reaching out. This is a booty call; the regular rules of dating don’t apply.

“Hey… No, you didn’t forget anything. I just couldn’t wait to call you…. Yeah, I’d love to get together again. I’ll probably have to leave town in a few days, so… tonight? Alright, sounds great.” Dean gives Sam an exaggerated wink. “At her place,” Sam half mouths, half whispers, making sure Denise doesn’t pick up on his words. “One sec, sweetheart.” Dean presses his hand on the microphone and looks aside. “Having plans for tonight, Romeo?” Sam glares at him and Dean returns his attention back to Denise, who started talking to him again. “Your place, you say? At eight? Cool, I’ll see you tonight then… looking forward to it, too… Alright, bye.” They both hang up and Dean smirks satisfied. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Sam comments while shaking his head. "Oh, I'm unbelievably irresistible,” his brother replies, victoriously.

Just as Sam decides to turn right, a weird soft roar sounds from inside the car. “What the hell was that?” Sam looks around. “My GPS is telling you to make a left,” Dean explains. The youngest of the two looks aside at his brother who’s pressing his hand on his hungry stomach. Now Sam looks over to the left and spots the yellow zigzag arrow above an In-N-Out restaurant. He laughs, he should have known. “I see,” he grins and makes the turn. “Drive thru?”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter seven here

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lotusthekat · 4 years

Text

Equivalent Exchange

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Rating: T

Relationships: Alphonse & Edward

Characters: Alphonse Elric, original minor characters, Edward Elric

Summary: Alphonse realizes he's no longer immortal in the most painful way.

*Slightly canon divergent as in that Ed keeps his automail

Word count: 1.649

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: I had this idea at literally 5 AM last night lmao. Basically I love Alphonse with my whole heart, and tbh I’m pretty sure he’d develop a huge guilt/hero complex after everything he went through.

I’m still new to this fandom, though, so I apologize if anyone is OOC. Hope you enjoy it!

(There might be some medical inaccuracies here though.)

TRIGGER WARNINGS - minor violence, major character injury, blood, near death experience, swearing and implied child abuse

Please do NOT ship the Elric brothers.

Alphonse can barely register anything at this point.

He’s running after the man pulling a little girl with him. Al’s legs move in spite of the unbearable, bleeding pain in his abdomen. The boy pushes past people who are barely interested in what’s happening.

Al screams after the man. The little girl is crying and trying to escape, but the man refuses to let her go. Al runs, but his body won’t resist for too long; he knows it, but he doesn’t stop.

His head is dizzy and heavy, and everything around him darkens. Al yells again, only it’s weakened. His legs don’t cooperate with him any longer and he almost trips, if not for the wall beside him. Al is panting, as sweat drops roll down his head. The man and the little girl are almost disappearing from his vision.

No, don’t stop! Go after them, you idiot!

His willpower isn’t enough to force his body to move. Al is soon on the ground, blood dripping on the pale sidewalk. People are whispering around him. They don’t approach.

All the boy hears, though, is the weight of his failure.

It’s what eventually makes him collapse.

The headache from the blazing light forces his eyes to open.

Then Al is, once again, in a hospital room. Except it’s a lot smaller, considering he’s not in the Central anymore. It might be the closest first aid post in his hometown, if he’s not mistaken.

The doctor speaks to him, explaining Al was stabbed, but that it’s not a huge cause of concern. He hasn’t lost too much blood, though it might hurt every now and then, so Al only needs to rest and not move a lot – specifically not run while with a stab wound, he lightly scolds.

Since Al is quite well-known from his time as an alchemist with Ed, the doctor doesn’t ask him who he is and tells him that they called his brother just now. Ed should be arriving soon.

Al nods again. He doesn’t say anything at all.

The doctor leaves him be, the room as quiet as the patient inside. Al’s hand reaches his bandaged stomach, lightly touching the cloth. Al doesn’t mind the pain from the wound. Not as much as the little girl’s horrified look is ingrained in his brain.

Al recalls what happened. He was doing groceries on his own – aside from wanting to take a walk in town, to breathe the air and feel the soft breeze. He would then go back home and have lunch with his brother and Granny Pinako, while Winry is back in Rush Valley. Al has been walking well as of late, so Ed wasn’t too insistent to come along.

It wasn’t supposed to go this wrong.

On the way, Al heard a little girl crying in an alley. She was so scared, and he tried to talk to her. Like that, the punch right to his face was really far from expected.

As it turned out, it was a middle-aged man that had assaulted him, and he grabbed the little girl’s arm with force. She was crying louder. He’s not sure now if he was her father, but it was still definitely infuriating.

Despite the pain, Al demanded he left her alone – and it only enraged the man more when he saw his face. Apparently, he’d once been under the military, and King Bradley’s fall disbanded many soldiers and officers. He also knew who Al was, so he despised him for “meddling in things that were none of his business”.

Al is no stranger to a fight, obviously. The problem is, he’s not a suit of armor anymore. That shouldn’t be a problem, of course, because he’s glad to be human again.

But being a human doesn’t absolve him of the hard and heartless punches he got, nor did it defend him from a stab right through his stomach. And worse, it was far from helpful to save the little girl.

And then Al was running after them, screaming, struggling to reach out to the small girl. He knew she was in danger, and he couldn’t let the man get away with her.

But Al is no longer immortal. He has no infinite stamina, and his body cannot take the same blows he did in the past. So, the stab wound was enough to knock him down. He couldn’t do anything to save her.

All he could do now, is to be stuck here hearing her cry from afar.

Al’s hands clutch the hospital clothes, inhaling and shutting his eyes fiercely.

…

Though, not going to lie, the loud running steps and a door opening wide do alarm him. But he’s quick to realize that his brother has arrived.

“Al!” Ed yells, rushing to his bed. “Al, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, brother,” Al replies numbly. “It’s nothing to be concerned about. The doctor said I just need to rest for a while before I can go home.”

Ed exhales. “Holy shit, Al,” he curses under his breath, clutching one of his blond bangs with his hand. “Care to tell me what the hell happened?”

Al doesn’t face him. He doesn’t think he can.

“Al,” Ed insists, clearly impatient, “they told me you ran after the guy while you were losing blood. Do you have any idea how reckless that was?!”

“As if you can tell me off for being reckless,” Al mumbles.

Obviously, it annoys Ed even more. “This is different, Alphonse! You’re not immortal anymore! You’re not invincible and you could actually die with no going back!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Al raises his voice.

“Then WHY did you do it?!”

Al has had it. “Because I needed to save the little girl, Ed!”

Ed is thrown off by the sincere, frustrated statement. “Little girl?” He asks, not sounding as angry as before.

“The man, he”— Al swallows a lump —“he had this little girl with him… I found her in an alley, and she was terrified. I wanted to help her but then he hit me. And when he realized who I was, he punched me and stabbed me; and then he ran away with her.”

The girl’s face is in his memory, her eyes wide, hurt, scared. His arms shake.

“All I could think, was that I had to save her,” Al explains. “I-I had to, Ed. B-But I couldn’t protect her. I collapsed and he got away.”

His brother’s presence is no longer loud. Ed’s expression is sympathetic and sorrowful. Al lowers his head, shame weighing onto him.

Ed approaches him and puts both hands on Al’s shoulders. “Oh, Al… I’m so sorry.”

Al can’t help but flinch at the metal touching his skin. Ed’s automail is cold and hard against his fragile human body. Ed couldn’t quite get his body parts back, but it’s something he doesn’t mind.

Al refuses to look up still.

“Brother,” Al opens his mouth before realizing. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I am more than grateful for getting my body back, and I would never reverse it. But…” The sniff that comes from him sounds child-like. “I know people are still out there to hurt others. To hurt us. But how can I protect them? H-How…” he hiccups, “h-how will I protect you, when I’m this useless?”

Ed’s hands still. “Alphonse…”

Al hides his face, unable to deal with this shame. He’s really useless to others. He can’t do anything, because he’ll definitely die, and people will get hurt because of him.

He knows everything is an exchange. Al might not be an alchemist anymore, but life is still based around it. In order to get his body back, Al gave up his immortality to grow up with his brother and his friends. He gave it up so he could be able to hug Ed again. So he could sleep and eat, and breathe. But when Al needs that strength again, he does not have it. He cannot save others. Like he couldn’t save a girl right in front of him.

What if people go after his family? What if they get to his brother? What will Al do?

Al’s endless guilt is quieted a little, however, once he’s pulled in a hug, his head lying against Ed’s chest. His older brother holds him tight around his shoulders, whilst he smooths Al’s short, blond hair.

“Al,” Ed speaks to him softly but firmly, “you’re the strongest person I know – with or without the armor. But you don’t need to risk your life to save us like you did before.”

“But she needed help, Ed,” Al sobs, “s-she needed…”

Ed sighs and hugs him closer. “I know. I’m sorry.”

They don’t let go for maybe an eternity. It takes a few more hours before Al is free to go. He can walk just fine, but he can’t run for his life again. In the meanwhile, Ed has his arm around the younger’s shoulders, watching everyone passing by like a hawk.

Al is far from feeling better. He doesn’t think he’ll recover from it, even if his brother might be right. At least Ed welcomes his grief, as they still think of past lives they lost in their journey.

The younger Elric remains silent. Ed doesn’t try to make him talk. He does get to reassure him with his presence and soft words.

“I’m going to take care of you now, okay?” Ed tells him. “You don’t need to fight anymore.”

Although Al is around the same height as Ed, he feels small as he hides his face in his older brother’s shoulder, like a child seeking for protection. His lip quivers and the tears fall silently. It might seem a little pathetic, but Al doesn’t pull his face away; and Ed squeezes him as well, kissing the top of his head.

#fullmetal alchemist #alphonse elric #edward elric #fanfiction #abuse mention tw #blood tw

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justlostinautumn · 5 years

Text

Abandoned 2

Klaus Mikaelson x Fem!Reader:

Part 1

After her friends and boyfriend continuously leave her in danger and abandon every plan she makes for them the Originals slowly mend her breaking heart. The gang’s enemies become her friends with her and they don’t know how to feel about it. The last straw is walking in and seeing her boyfriend cheating on her and she runs to the ones who always care for her. What will the gang do when they lose something irreplaceable?

Y/N’s head was throbbing as she woke up in Damon’s bed. Wait… why am I in Damon’s bed? Where’s Elena? Is Elena okay? She shook her head and tried to piece together everything that happened, she remembered arguing with Damon about Klaus and then something hit her. What hit her? Who hit her? She crawls out of the bed and walks downstairs to see the gang all huddled together discussing something. She gently massaged her temples trying to dull her throbbing head. She pauses as she notes their demeanor they seemed tense and somewhat frustrated, Y/N could see that Elena was back to herself and was sat far too close to Damon and that nagging voice returned to the back of Y/N’s head… the one that sounded oddly like her mother reminding her that she will never be enough. That maybe Damon was cheating on her with Elena, because why wouldn’t he. It’ll always be Elena. The vicious thought passes through her mind, shaking her dispelling the thought she walks into the room. Feeling a little dizzy at the movement making her wonder what really did hit her… a baseball bat?

“Hey, what happened?” Y/N looked around the room and her eyes landed on Tyler who looked sad for her and gave her a weak smile that said everything to her. Even though she wasn’t completely surprised, it still hurt to know that they would do that to her. She took a deep breath preparing for whatever was gonna come her way.

“You passed out,” Caroline said and Y/N looked at Caroline as she rubbed the back of her head and felt a lump. Passed out my ass, that’s a fancy lump for passing out! Y/N thought to herself. What did she expect, the truth for once? That's what she expected… that’s what she does deserve, the truth right?

“Yeah after something heavy hit the back of my head.” Y/N gave them a look indicating that she didn’t believe them and that she wanted the truth. They all looked at one another unsure on what to say.

“Y/N…” Damon started but stopped when Y/N's hardened gaze fell on him, he swallowed and knew that they had messed up royally. But, the biggest question was what’s changed? Why was this time different?

“Don’t try it, tell me who hit me!” The throbbing was getting slightly worse and Y/N was getting more confused and frustrated. She honestly just wanted to go to bed and sleep it off.

“It was Kol!” Elena said and Y/N just frowned at her trying to think what she could have done to infuriate one of her best friends. Also, if Elena was suffering from a werewolf bite maybe she was hallucinating. None of this was making sense, it was just making her headache worse… that pain that makes you want to hit your head against the wall just to see if it would make the pain disappear. That, or throw up… neither a great option.

“He was still mad at me for the baseball bat incident.” Damon walked towards Y/N and she stepped back, something was off she knew he was lying. He was looking just above her head rather than in the eye and Y/N just shook her head and looked at Tyler. That was something she noticed as of late, Damon barely looked her in the eye anymore. None of them did, this was going to end today… she couldn’t keep doing this anymore. Shaking her head made her dizzy and she gripped onto one of the side units until her vision cleared and the room stopped spinning. She can’t keep living like this, when will it stop? When will they stop using her? When she’s dead?

“Ty, what happened?” Y/N looked at the only person she trusted at that moment, she just needed the truth.

“Jeremy hit you over the head to get Klaus’ attention. Klaus came and healed Elena on the condition they told you what happened.” Tyler walked over to Y/N and looked her in the eye, lifting her chin so that she met his eyes, “I didn’t know, I swear.” The burning honesty made her want to cry. Why was he the only one who could be honest to her?

“I believe you, Ty.” Y/N looked at everyone else in the room and Damon was glaring at Tyler and Elena looked like she was about to cry and give her some sob story. Y/N was already exhausted and done with it all.

“Y/N…” Jeremy started and Y/N whirled around and glared at him, gripping Tylers arm for stability. The headache was easing and the dizziness was passing, but quick movements still made her feel a little light headed. But, that was pushed aside because all she can feel currently is an annoyance she’s never felt before.

“No! I understand anything for Elena, but I am tired and my head is killing. I’m going to leave you guys to do whatever. I need a drink!” Y/N shakes her head and pats Tyler’s shoulder as a sign of goodbye he knew well, a talk to you later when I’ve had a moment to think. A moment to accept something she’s known for a while but decided to ignore.

“Y/N are you going to be okay?” She could hear the worry in Tyler’s voice and she looked at him as she rubbed her temple, trying to ease the throbbing. She made note to take some painkillers when she gets a moment, maybe that would be able to help with the throbbing.

“Eventually.” Was all she said and he knew what it meant. Tyler knew it meant she would learn to live with it, learn to be okay again. She was the strongest person he had ever met and she is one of the many reasons he is who he is today. Despite everything that had happened to him and those around him she was the one who helped him deal with everything, even before he knew what he was. Even when he was an asshole to everyone, Y/N was always there no matter what. So, he swore he’d always do the same no matter what.

“Where are you going?” Damon demanded, he almost sounded like he was a caring boyfriend and it made Y/N snort and when she looked at him she could see he was serious. This caused her to laugh bitterly, surprising everyone. She had to take a moment to collect herself before she continued this conversation.

“Why do you care?” Y/N sighed, she couldn’t pretend to be happy that he was showing interest in her when she knew for a fact he only cared because he was scared she was going to tell Klaus they lied to her. What did it matter if they did? It wasn’t the first time and truthfully he couldn’t say it would be the last time either.

“You’re my girlfriend. I love you.” Damon said softly walking up to her and caressed her cheek and Y/N flinched slightly at his touch, she had never done that before and it shocked everyone. Was she scared he was going to hurt her? Damon couldn’t help but think that she was scared he was going to hurt her… had he hurt her? Yes he had. He had done things he promised he never would. He’d used her and abused her love for him, for his and his friends' gain. He’d allowed them all to use her for whatever reason and in some cases even offered her up as a solution.

“Damon, you’re my boyfriend not my father. I am going out for a drink.” She looked him dead in the eye as she spoke to him, something is missing from her eyes and he cannot seem to figure out what it is and it unsettles him. This wasn’t Y/N, this was someone they didn’t know. Where was that spark? Did they dim it so much that it was now lost to them?

“With who?” Damon growled, Y/N was tired of this and her head tilted back as she let out a deep breath looking at the ceiling. Damon could see her frustration and he knew he wasn’t helping the situation but he just couldn’t help it. Y/N never lost her temper and it was clear she was trying not to now.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Y/N shrugged, as much as she wanted to sit and have a drink with the gang she wasn’t sure she could stomach looking at them at this moment. She needs a moment to be alone and come to terms with what just happened and how she felt about it all. She couldn’t do that with them around, breathing down her neck. Why was this too much to ask for? Why did they always need to have total and utter control over her?

“We’ll come with you,” Damon said and Y/N laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. Of course because she needs babysitters!

“No, you won’t. Damon, I’m tired! I don’t want to be around the people who just knocked me out. I need a little time okay?” Y/N tilted her head and looked at Damon, her eyes soft and the small smile she gave him broke his heart. Damon realised she didn’t hate him for what he did, or the decision he made but she needs time to process it all. She’s never asked him to change… she has never asked anything from him other than this. She knew it’d always be Elena and everyone else over her and she’d accepted that but it doesn’t mean she can’t have a moment for herself… a moment to be selfish.

“Okay.” He sighs out knowing it was a losing battle. Y/N phone rings and she sees it on the side and looks at the ID and sees that it’s Klaus and a small smile plays on her lips and she answers it. She felt relief and calm wash over her... was peace. That is exactly what she needed and this is the exact person she wanted to talk too.

Klaus, The Original & Co.:

Once they got back they told them everything, from their little trip to the Salvatore’s Boarding House. There were a lot of comments made about the stupidity of the gang and wondering how long till Y/N finally broke down, they could already see that she was fraying and her patience thinning.

“Who do you think they’ll blame?” Katherine asked as she twirled her hair as she lounged across an armchair, her legs dangling over the arm. She was rather amused thinking about it, Katherine had her money on either Kol or Kai.

“Me?” Klaus asked frowning wondering if she would question them or if she would just believe everything they told them. But, he brushed that thought away quickly when he realised he was being absurd. She knew better than to believe everything they said, plus Tyler would be truthful.

“They wouldn’t dare use you brother considering you healed Elena,” Elijah spoke, patting Klaus on the shoulder, it wouldn’t make sense why he would knock her out just to heal Elena.

“My bet is either Kol or Kai,” Hayley smirked at the two and they both gave her offended looks, chuckled softly and nodded in agreement Katherine.

“What?” Kol shouted.

“Why us?” Kai pouted causing the rest to laugh.

“Because you two have the biggest issues with Damon.” Davina dropped next to Kol and gave him a little peck on the cheek, hugging him tightly.

“I hit him with a baseball bat, so what? He staked me with one!” Kol growled, he was pissed that he would be a patsy. Would Y/N believe it was him? No, she knew he’d never hurt her. They’re best friends, he cares about her.

“She wouldn’t believe them, she knows them better than anyone else and can always tell when they are lying… when any of us are lying.” Freya points out to them with a small shudder going down her spine. It was irey at how good she was at knowing when people lie to her. She never called them out right, she always waited till they were ready to be truthful and she was never mean about it.

“She must be up, right? I want to check on her.” Klaus spoke and they all nodded he put his phone on speaker and let it ring waiting for her to pick up feeling nervous someone else would. What if something really bad happened to her after they left? They should’ve just taken her with them. At least they would know she’s okay… safe.

“Hey, Nik.” Her voice filled the room and they all sighed in relief.

“Little Love you’re okay.” Nik smiled at his phone wondering if she was smiling like he was. If she felt the same calm at the sound of his voice, like he does at the sound of hers.

“As good as I can be, Ty told me what happened. Thank you, Nik.” He could hear her smile and he knew what she meant by what she said and he was grateful that Tyler was there, to be honest with her… at least someone was honest with her other than them. She needs more people like that in life.

“What’s the plan?” He looked at his siblings and friends as he asked the question, wondering if they could do anything for her.

“I’m gonna go for a drink and unwind most probably, then I’m gonna go home.” Rebekah frowned at the phone at the idea of her going home, Y/N had told her that things were getting tense at home at the moment. Rebekah always worried about Y/N and her safety with everyone in her life. How must she be feeling? What must she be thinking? Does she think and feel like she has no one there for her? Because she’s wrong she has all of them… they would always be there for her no matter what.

“Can I come?” Kol asked, smirking. He hadn’t seen Y/N and wanted to check on her. He needed to see her in person, not just hear her voice.

“Sure Kol, on one condition.” They knew she was smirking, enjoying it more than they would ever know.

“What would that be Little One?” Kol smiled, curious and would agree to anything to make her happy, like they all would.

“You bring your brothers apparently I owe them a drink… and Bekah you and I can have a girls day at some point, you can even dress me up if you want.” Y/N laughed through the phone as they all stared at it as the warmth of her laugh washed over them. It was a sound that was so pure and innocent, they loved it so much.

“We will meet you there, Love” Klaus smiled and then hung up his phone. Sighing in relief that he was going to see she’s okay.

“They lied to her,” Elijah said simply, with a frown.

“I didn’t think they’d be forthcoming.” Klaus nodded, with a smirk he knew they’d lie. They always did.

“Then why make that deal with them?” Rebekah was slightly confused, it didn’t make sense to her.

“I wanted to see how scared they are about losing her, telling her the truth would have meant they knew she would forgive them and they wouldn’t have to worry. Lying meant that Damon fears she is going to run and run to us.” Klaus nodded as he got ready to leave, to see his little love.

Y/N & The Gang:

“Seriously?” Elena whined when Y/N finally put the phone down. A small smile on her lips from her conversation with Klaus and co. quickly slipped off her face.

“What?” Y/N looked at her slightly confused by her complaining now. What was her problem now? What was she whining about now?

“Klaus, Kol and Elijah?” Elena bitched and Y/N took a deep breath and looked at her tilting her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. There’s that headache again!

“It should be you buying Klaus a drink, considering he did just save your life. So maybe, just maybe show a little respect and just be grateful.” Y/N was getting more frustrated and the headache was getting worse with Elena’s whining and she started to walk away, she needed space so she could have a chance to clear her head.

“I think you should have some of my blood before you leave Jeremy hit you pretty hard.” Stefan looked at her and she laughed slightly. It was a bitter sound and it took them all by surprise. This was a new side to her, they’d never seen this side of her and they were beginning to worry what it meant for them.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” Y/N didn’t want them to feel obligated to help her, she knows she most probably should take some but she doesn’t want to owe them anything… if anything they owed her a debt they will never be able to repay. It felt like they were only offering to help to ease their guilt… it was only ever Stefan though. Why… Why was Damon never the one to offer?

Y/N walked out of the Boarding House fed up with the conversation and wanting to be out of there. She could hear the calls of her friends but decided to ignore them and made her way to The Grill. Could she call them friends with the way they treat her?

Y/N & The Originals:

The Grill was mainly empty when she got there and she walked to the bar and saw that Matt was serving. He gave her a soft smile and she nodded back to him, rubbing her temples.

“What can I get you?” Matt asked as he cleaned a glass.

“Vodka.” She said with closed eyes. Not really paying attention to his worried look.

“Hard day?” Matt asked. Y/N knew he already knew what happened at the Boarding House, as much as Matt says he wants no involvement she knows he knows everything. He always knew, it was like a moth to a flame hard to resist.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I want to drink in peace.” She gave him a look that he knew not to mess with. Y/N rarely got angry or annoyed at any of them, so the dark look she gave him made Matt freeze before he went and got her a drink. Without question or pause.

Y/N heard the door open and she looked over her shoulder to see Klaus, Kol and Elijah walk in and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She was greeted with a warm smile from Elijah and smirks from Klaus and Kol. A calm settled and the throbbing of her head seems to disappear and it’s soothing.

“Thought you might need this.” Klaus pulled a vial of blood from his pocket, she knew it was his. She was going to refuse, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of it.

“Thank you.” She gave him a quick hug before uncorking it and drinking it down, feeling the throbbing in her head start to disappear. She knew better than trying to say she’ll take it later, it’d never worked.

“Who did they blame?” Kol held out his hand to help her off the stool so they could sit in a booth. He had a smirk on his lips but Y/N could see the worry in his eyes.

“You.” She smirked at him and laughed at his horrified face. She knew why he was worried. It was a worry he’d confessed to her once when he was drunk. The fear she would see him for the monster he is and so many other people believe him to be and decide she would never want to be around him ever again.

“You didn’t believe them?” Kol tilted his head down and a frown formed, Y/N was sat opposite him with Klaus next to her and Elijah next to Kol. He didn’t see the sadness that washed over her features at the thought.

“No, Kol I know you’d never hurt me.” Y/N reached across and gave his hand a light squeeze and a tender smile drawing a soft smile from him. A smile that made them all smile. It was a beautifully calm moment that allowed her to relax.

“You’re okay right?” Klaus was worried and Y/N couldn’t help but lean into his side and warmth. It soothed them both being close to one another. They knew the other was safe and protected.

“I’m fine, Nik.” She sighed, Klaus knew she was holding back and wanted her to tell him. He wanted to demand her to tell him, but that would never work and would only drive her away from him and into their arms. So, he would wait for her.

“Little One, Rebekah is excited for your little dress up, but I worry Katherine, Hayley, Freya and Davina feel a little neglected,” Elijah smirks at Y/N who rolls her eyes and chuckles, a crooked smile on her lips.

“Marcel and Kai are also feeling a little left out.” Kol laughs and Y/N shakes her head and looks at Klaus who is smirking down at her, she couldn’t contain her beaming smile.

“Seriously, are you all always this needy?” She asks Klaus with a smile on her lips and nothing but fondness in her eyes. They knew she loved them all no matter what and they couldn’t help but all laugh. It felt nice to be wanted. It was nice for people to crave her attention for anything other than bait or to be used.

“When it comes to you… yes.” Klaus laughs hugging her close to him. They all join in and Y/N wraps her arm around his waist in comfort and absorbs his warmth and smell.

The Gang:

They had decided to come to the Grill to make sure she was okay and what she was saying to the Original. Tyler had told them he wanted no part in spying on one of their friends, so he opted to go home and work off some steam from the whole day. He was honouring Y/N’s wishes as he always was. He was sure she wouldn’t mind him joining, but he wanted it to be her choice.

When they walked in they saw Y/N in a booth with three of the Originals and Damon couldn’t help but feel pissed at the fact that Klaus had an arm wrapped around Y/N shoulders. They choose to sit in a booth close but not too close that it would be obvious. Matt had been the one to tell them when she got there and when the Originals had arrived. He was keeping an eye on them, so he could report to the gang.

“What do we do?” Elena hissed, displeased that Y/N was cosy with the enemy. She hated this, what was so great about Y/N anyway?

“We watch,” Stefan says simply and Elena frowns at him not liking his answer. They had to do something. She was surrounded by the enemy and smiling about it.

“We can’t just storm over there considering what you guys did to her.” Enzo looked pissed, he knew Damon was reckless and was willing to protect the ones he loves but risking Y/N wasn’t something he thought he’d do again after the last time. Wasn’t Y/N someone he loved? Tyler was the one to tell him what happened.

“We could,” Damon spoke, not taking his eyes off his girlfriend. He didn’t like this, she was his no one else could have her.

“She asked for space and instead of giving it to her you come here and stalk her?” Enzo raised a brow at his friend who looked over at him and glared. Enzo hated how his friend was acting and treating that sweet girl.

“She is fraternising with the enemy!” Elena whined and Enzo looked at her with a look of disgust confused by what she had that made Damon act the way he did. He couldn’t see it. But, to each their own.

“She deserves space, plus they would never hurt her.” Caroline looked at the group. They knew she was right, Y/N never asked for anything and they didn’t respect this wish.

“Klaus gave her a vial of her blood to heal her,” Matt informed them as he passed out their drinks and food. They all looked at him and then back to the booth with their friend. She refused theirs but accepted Klaus! Why? Enzo smirked because he knew they were thinking. He’d witnessed Klaus forcing her to heal with his blood; it made him chuckle at the memory.

Y/N & The Originals:

Klaus and Y/N were listening to Elijah and Kol tell tales from different times, Klaus interrupting to correct facts or to defend his decisions made. She loved these simple moments, it brought her the warmth she missed. Y/N laughed and smiled but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

“What’s wrong?” Klaus frowns as he notices her shift uncomfortably, “Do you need more blood?” He was worried she was still hurting and it made her heart stutter at how much he cares about her.

“No. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.” She smiles at him and he shakes his head not believing her. He knows something is bothering her.

“I know you better than that, Little Love.” He leaned against the table watching her, Kol and Elijah leaned in to look her over and make sure she was okay. She looked around the bar and spotted the gang and something in her started to build and she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, when she looked back at Matt she noticed he was watching and hovering close by too. It started to bubble over, it was anger and annoyance.

“Anyone would think I’m about to die or something with the way I’m being watched.” She knew the gang heard her because they looked away. Klaus looked around the room and knew straight away what was happening. He stiffened and frowned before looking back and seeing her annoyance and tried to lighten her mood.

“Didn’t ask for the guard dogs?” Klaus smirked, he could see her frustration and he wanted nothing to make them disappear but knew it would upset her more. He just wanted her to smile and laugh again, she deserves to be happy.

“Nope.” she drowns her drink, for the first time they see something dark in her eyes and worry fills them. Y/N nodded to Klaus that she wanted out of the booth and he slipped out letting her stand, he was hesitant he didn’t like that look on her.

“Where are you going Love?” Klaus frowned, taking her hand in his. Stopping her from running without answers.

“Home.” she sighs and Klaus looks worried. It broke her heart when he looked at her like that, but she couldn’t burden him with this. Looking at Kol and Elijah they were wearing similar looks and she wanted to reassure them, but she isn’t sure she had it in her right now. She wasn’t going to lie to them and say everything is fine when she doesn’t even know how she feels.

“Are you sure, I’m sure Rebekah would love your company… actually any of us would.” He gave her a devilish smile, he saw her eyes lighten and she smiled at him. She wanted to say yes, but knew better then to… she just wanted to go home.

“Maybe another time Nik.” She laughs as she pats his chest walking past waving at her intrusive friends as she leaves. The gang had the grace to look ashamed and Klaus, Kol and Elijah throw them dirty looks before they get up and walk out of The Grill before they do something they may regret. This was not how they imagined their evening with Y/N was gonna go.

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