#the other fic from this author was just so much easier to eat.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

python333 · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

��Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

504 notes · View notes

zh-lele · 1 year

Text

12-7 ROOM (part one)

Surviving a week to Donghyuck's charms and jokes can't be so hard... Worst case scenario, you end up completely falling for your brother's best friend.

▪︎Pairing: brother's best friend!Hyuck x fem reader

▪︎Genres: poor attempt at rom com, fluff

▪︎Warnings: alcohol consumption, profanity suggestive jokes

▪︎Word count (part 1): 6613 words

playlist | extra content: mc's IG stories

Author's note: Hi every1!!! The fluffy Hyuck fic is here, finally. I decided I'll be posting it in two parts because it ended up being way longer than I planned, and since it's written in the format of timestamps. It barely has any conflict, so I was afraid it would get boring or tedious if I posted everything in just one go. So, yeah, part 2 coming next week. Also, I changed Hyuck's major (it's physics now) for plot purposes lol I figured it would be easier for me to write him if we share majors. Also !! I didn´t proof read it but I will during the week lol sorry. Okay, tysm for all the support on the preview !!! enjoy the fic bye !!!!

Tuesday, 10:34 p.m.

Mark moves around the small apartment urgently cleaning up. He makes sure to pick up and throw into the garbage bag between his hands every empty Red Bull can that his roommate has left lying around. On the old sofa rests his guitar, and on the little table in the living room his lyrics notebooks and Donghyuck's physics notes.

"Mark," Donghyuck calls for him, to which the older one only responds with a small sound, indicating that he has his attention—partially, as he's still concentrating on his duty of getting all ready for your arrival—, "Your food is getting cold."

Mark lets out an exasperated sigh while getting all his belongings inside his backpack and his guitar in the case. "I'll just order something once I'm at the studio."

"Wait, you're leaving?"

"Yeah, I need to get some work done with TY. And y/n's arriving at any time so this place has to be tidy and clean and–" Mark stops all motions of arranging the mattress you're going to sleep on on the living room floor, to fix his eyes on his friend. "Hyuck, could you like, put on a t-shirt or something?"

Small drops of water fall from Donghyuck's wet hair onto his naked torso, fresh from the warm shower he just took. The young man does nothing but questions his best friend with a lopsided smile as he finishes his bowl of ramen, sitting at the counter in front of Mark's—that remains full and cold by now.

"What, you think y/n's gonna be scared of all this handsomeness?"

Mark's face is expressionless while looking at Donghyuck, who's feeling himself to add to the point. And Mark has missed you a lot, but he thinks that the faster he gets a break from his chaotic roommate, the better; he can't wait to have a week free of the jokes and headaches Donghyuck causes him because Donghyuck will have you to annoy. Even when he will still be working, to Mark, that sounds pretty much like a vacation.

"Nah, dude. It's fucking cold, you'll get sick."

"You will get sick if you don't get anything to eat as soon as you make it to work," Donghyuck answers back as he gets up from his chair and puts his favorite Michael Jackson t-shirt on. "Promise me you'll order."

"Yeah, I promise," Mark sounds sincere. After a quick hug and a few pats on each other's back, Mark is opening the front door ready to leave for a late-night music session. "Please receive y/n well for me–

"Y/n!"

Screams and laughs from both you and your brother fill the little apartment, as you greet and hug him after almost four months without seeing each other. Just in time, is what Donghyuck thinks while observing the cute interaction, and gently caressing his belly from underneath the t-shirt because, well, he is confident but—even though he has known you for years and you've shared many situations—, he's not confident enough around you to show himself with nothing on like that. At least not yet.

His face lights up as soon as he sees you extend your arms in his direction, and Donghyuck manages to squeeze you into a warm hug and spin you in the air while the both of you laugh.

Your brother says his goodbyes, and Donghyuck tells him there's a chance they could meet up at Johnny's later, in case he wants to join in after work.

"Alright, I'll get there with Taeyong later then."

He waves to both of you and closes the front door, leaving you alone with his roommate.

"Take a relax, bro," he offers you to sit at the counter and you laugh after hearing the famous line after months. You observe him filling a cup with water and placing it in front of you before speaking again. "Want some ramen?"

"Hell yeah. I'm starving."

"Let me heat it for you."

But he was already on it even before you answered. Donghyuck knows well he's very good at turning the simple dish into a delicious meal, and that it's one of your favorite things to share since you two met.

You wouldn't say it was love at first sight, but maybe adoration since the first encounter. Only weeks after your brother moved to start studying, he invited you over because he was missing home too much. And Donghyuck wouldn't be his apartment buddy until a year after, but they already frequented the same group of friends. The two of you were standing awkwardly in a corner at Taeyong's birthday party, and ended up at your brother's because you were hungry, eating ramen together: his secret recipe (that wasn't mysterious at all) that included tomatoes and scrambled eggs and that he only made for 'real special situations'.

Donghyuck sets the bowl in front of you, the tomato scrambled noodles and eggs making your mouth water and curve in a smile. A ray of sunshine gets on the chair beside you even though it's almost midnight, and makes you feel at home, warming you even though it's freezing outside.

"So, how's school?" You start talking with a mouth full of ramen, lips moisturized with its sauce that makes Donghyuck smile when he sets his eyes on them. His look makes you blush, but you blame it on the spiciness of the Hot Chicken Spicy x2 package of noodles that he prepared for you. "Hyuck, this is burning my mouth."

"Well, don't put so many noodles in your mouth at once!" Donghyuck brings the glass of water to your hands and you accept it immediately. Its freshness somehow makes you forget the mess that Hyuck's eyes on your filthy ramen lips could have caused.

Maybe surviving a week living with the guy you like (who is your brother's best friend, which makes things a lot more complicated) will be harder than you thought.

"School's been kicking my ass," the boy continues and you nod your head, sadly sharing the sentiment. "I started my winter break last Friday, but I have to take a final in two weeks so I'll be studying. And Mark doesn't get a winter break."

"Motherfucking TY, won't let him rest."

"That's what I say!" He agrees with you, his eyes widening and sighing in exasperation. "Both of them are workaholics. Won't stop working on their music even for a week."

"Yeah. And knowing Mark, he'll try to make the most of his time since he doesn't have to teach at school for two weeks."

You knew in advance that your brother wouldn't be home much despite your visit, however extraordinary it may be. He warned you about it, that he would be focusing 100% on Taeyong's album, but that he would definitely try to take advantage of the free time to go out with you, or just chill together at home. On the other hand, Mark assured you that Donghyuck would be very happy to spend the time he wouldn't be there with you. The idea gave you butterflies in your stomach when your brother texted it to you; some emojis of a mischievous smile followed the message but you didn't know how to interpret it, since Mark is terrible at texting and pretty much a boomer.

"But don't worry!" Donghyuck speaks after a brief pause. "I'll study early in the mornings while you sleep, then we'll have the afternoons to hang out, and Mark can join whenever he's free. He'll make time for it, I'm sure."

Somehow, the thought of Donghyuck getting up early during his break to have the afternoons free to spend time with you makes your heart melt a little. You lower your head, trying to hide the inevitable smile on your lips, but you fail wildly. You decide to adhere to Donghyuck's plan, nodding and showing the tight-lipped smile that spreads to his face.

"Good." He nods as well. "So, you wanna go to Johnny's later?" Donghyuck asks, his thumb pointing in the direction of the door.

"Yeah, sure." You get up from the kitchen table to start doing your dishes at the sink. "I'm excited to see the boys after so long."

"And we have some new additions to the group."

Donghyuck's voice reaches your ears from behind. You're quickly cleaning the single bowl and glass you used, so you finish and turn around to keep listening to him face-to-face. Donghyuck picks up on his monologue.

"There's Jungwoo. He's living with Jaehyun and Doyoung and he's about to finish doing vet in college. And it's funny, because he really looks and acts like a doggie, and he's doing vet," Donghyuck finishes the sentence, looking at you with an expression that suggests 'Can you believe that?'.

His silliness makes you laugh, which encourages Donghyuck to continue sharing his first impressions of his new friends. "Then there's Yuta. He came from Japan and opened a café on the first floor of the building where Johnny and Taeyong live, and that's how they met. He's a little cold with me," Donghyuck shrugs at it, yet you can tell in his expression how he gets discouraged when he thinks about that situation. "But he's not cold with Mark. And Mark is, I don't know, he's obsessed with Yuta." There is a brief silence in which Donghyuck only looks into your eyes with a super serious face. "I hate that."

And you burst into laughter. You don't need to ask Donghyuck if he's jealous, because you know for a fact that he very much is. As soon as he doesn't get all the attention, he gets annoying. Don't you dare not answer one of the silly cat reels he sends on Instagram or he will start texting you things like "Pay attention to me" or "Answer or I'll get sad." So you know how it can be. He doesn't get annoyed over the Baekhyun posts he shares with you because you always reply to them. Donghyuck might get jealous of Baekhyun too, but he won't show that to you.

"Don't worry, Hyuck." You circle the island to stand next to him and try to comfort him, one of your hands caressing circles on his back. He quickly seeks comfort by resting his head on your shoulder, and you can notice his slightly wet hair smells like green apple and cinnamon, like baby shampoo. "You're Mark's best friend. The things you've been through together, he won't get through again with anyone else. That's what's special about you two."

"You're right, y/n," he agrees while getting his head off your shoulder. "None of them will ever know Mark ran out of toilet paper at a party once and he sacrificed a sock to clean his-"

"Oh my fucking God" you cut him off before he can finish, not wanting to hear any of it. "Gross! Some things are better kept as a secret, Hyuck! I'll go change."

"But we are like a family!" he screams as you get out of the kitchen and into Donghyuck and Mark's room to get ready for Johnny's house. "Sharing those things helps us get closer!"

The walls are thin, so you don't bother answering Donghyuck from the room. "Honestly, Hyuck, I don't really care where my brother's butt has been or whatever. Let's get closer by sharing some drinks at Johnny's."

Wednesday, 01:47 a.m.

"So, how did you two meet?" Yuta asks, taking up the free space next to you on the couch and passing you two cans of beer. Exactly what you need after three rounds of karaoke with Johnny and Doyoung that are inexhaustible.

They're still going off strong in front of the TV, waiting for Mark to get back and join them in their madness.

"Oh, we're not together."

"Oh, that's for sure. I know you're not pulling any bitches, Hyuck."

Donghyuck laughs dryly at the Japanese boy, putting on his best expression of annoyance; tongue poking at his inside cheek and rolling his eyes, and he replies, "That's not true. I can pull anyone I want."

"Prove it," Yuta pushes him because he knows that Donghyuck is an easy-going person, and always a good target for a challenge.

Donghyuck quickly scans the room while you busy yourself taking a sip of your can, not wanting to get involved in Yuta's teasing, until he lands eyes on Jaehyun. He knows the boy loves him and is almost always up for some of his affection.

"Jaehyun's not an option," Yuta adds, the always good observant, and Donghyuck sighs very audibly before throwing his head back on the couch.

But he composes himself quickly to ask, turning slightly to you with his arm still firm around your shoulders. "Would you get with me? Hypothetically?"

“Are you asking me because I’m the only girl in the room?” you question him with a raise of your brows.

“Nah, you’re my first option,” he replies with a subtle smile, eyes closing slightly into the shape of two crescent moons.

You like to think he truly has no idea the effect his words have on you, and that he's just messing with Yuta, trying to prove a point. Yet, you can't help feel the heat rise to your cheeks. A deep breath is all it takes you to ignore the intern butterflies and follow the conversation, as if you're not already imagining the thousand scenarios where you and Donghyuck are an established couple living with two dogs (you would like a cat but he's allergic) and a hamster.

“But I thought your first option was Jaehyun–”

“Just answer the question, y/n.”

“Alright, jeez…”

You roll your eyes and give yourself a moment to think. Would you get together with Hyuck, hypothetically? Considering the four-year crush you've had on your brother's best friend since the moment you met him, no, you wouldn't.

You would get with him for real. All of your friends back home said it's time you brave up and just confess to him. You better come back with the signed marriage papers, your best friend’s voice resonates in your head.

"I mean… Yes?" you answer by looking at Yuta, trying to avoid Donghyuck's eyes that you know are set on the blushed skin of your face. "I guess Hyuck is not a bad match," you finish with a shy shrug, sinking yourself deeper on the couch and taking another long drink.

Donghyuck smiles contentedly at your answer, his chest filling with confidence, and kisses you wet with beer on the forehead that gets you squeezed up to his body for a second. By the time he's done, you rest your head on his shoulder to return the affection, trying not to throw up all the butterflies and not noticing Yuta's knowing stare.

"Keyword: hypothetically. And I said 'Prove it.'" Yuta pushes a little more.

"Bro, you're so annoying." Donghyuck gets up from the couch exasperated, and almost makes you spill all your beer while trying to get you up with him. "What, you want us to make out?"

Yuta nods, crossing his arms and spreading his legs on the couch that he has all for himself now, challenging the younger boy.

"Sorry dude, we're not into exhibitionism."

Donghyuck takes your hand to drag you away from the living room, but you can still hear Yuta's laugh and the words the two you would end up choosing to ignore for the rest of the night.

"This is not how you're getting some, Hyuck! Don't say I didn't try to help you!"

Donghyuck's hand holding yours (or rather dragging you into the kitchen) feels embarrassingly good. Worth blushing and having your heart fastening inside your chest. Damn Donghyuck for making you feel like a teenager who had just exchanged looks with their highschool crush. And just when you needed a break from that ridiculous wave of emotions…

“What are you wearing!?” You hear Johnny’s voice coming out of the speakers, as he’s still holding the mic to his mouth while the instrumentals of his most iconic karaoke performance play on the back, A Flying Butterfly by YB.

Mark and Taeyong have arrived at the apartment and they have caught everyone's attention because Taeyong is wearing an inflatable T-Rex costume. Jungwoo is the first one to get to Taeyong with his mouth open in astonishment, an expressión that is quickly replaced with amusement as soon as he gets to hug and squeeze the dinosaur in his hands.

“Jungwoo, stop squeezing my butt!” Taeyong’s voice comes a little distorted from inside the costume, but it’s clear enough for everyone to laugh at his comment. “You're going to make it deflate!”

Jungwoo keeps looking at Taeyong in the costume as if he was a kid who just saw Santa; hugging the dinosaur and saying it feels perfect for cuddling. This is the moment you understand what Donghyuck meant when he said Jungwoo looks just like an excited doggie.

“Taeyong saw it online and got it because it was on sale a couple weeks ago,” Mark starts explaining to no one in particular. “But then he ordered it and we completely forgot about it, until it arrived at the studio tonight.”

“I put it on inside the elevator so I could surprise you guys,” Taeyong adds with a happy smile, unzipping the costume just for his head to come out of it, somehow making it look all more ridiculous. Now the T-Rex looks like he has a floating head right above his stomach.

“Yeah… We had to stop the elevator for some more time because getting it inflated was way harder than I thought,” your brother says as he watches Taeyong and Jungwoo struggle with each other, because Jungwoo desperately wants to get inside the costume too but Taeyong doesn’t want to stop wearing it just yet.

Yuta only judges them from where he’s still sitting on the couch, arms crossed while shaking his head. “I can’t believe you really spent money on this.” Yet his comment is followed by a laugh. It’s not as intense as Doyoung and Taeil’s, though, who have been laughing since Taeyong crossed the door, and haven’t missed the chance to film and take pictures of him (and Jungwoo who still wouldn’t leave his side.)

"Alright so," Johnny says into the mic to attract everyone's attention. "Karaoke?"

The guys start to team up; some out of affinity or fun, others because they know they will definitely win the most points if they are grouped with certain people who hit all the notes on any song. Donghyuck, however, doesn't team up with anyone right away. He just stands in the middle of Johnny's and Taeyong's living room, watching Mark immediately cling to Yuta (who already had Jungwoo clinging to his other side.) He gestures towards your brother with arms crossed and a roll of his eyes. So, noticing his jealousy over your brother's recent preferences—jealousy that wasn't that hard to notice, he made it pretty obvious—and taking pity on your friend, you offer to team up with him.

"Wanna kick some ass together?" And you observe him playing hard to get. You're not a bad match for karaoke; you might not sing as well as Taeil or Doyoung, but you don't suck at it, and Donghyuck knows that very well. So when he starts doubting over his answer, you know he just wants to mess with you.

Suddenly Taeil is standing in front of the two of you, and Donghyuck, with an incredibly exaggerated face of astonishment, asks him:

"You wanna team up with us?!"

See, you knew he wasn't going to leave you out of his team.

Taeil only shrugs, as relaxed as always. "Sure."

Donghyuck squeezes his older friend in a hug that only gets a groan out of Taeil (and a little smile) before throwing an arm each on your shoulders, and screams to the rest. "Everybody, we got Moon Taeil!"

A punch from your fist to his ribs. A little groan followed by a laugh coming out of his mouth and a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. He's quick to correct himself.

"I got Moon Taeil and y/n! And we're gonna kick your butts!"

Thursday, 6:22 p.m.

It's been a long time since Donghyuck has had a girl in his room.

It's not like Yuta was right when he said he can't pull anyone, Donghyuck just hasn't had the time nor the energy. His break and free time to do whatever he wants just started. Even when Mark's not home most of the nights, it doesn't feel quite right to him to bring girls over to his shared bedroom when his roommate could come back at any time. And even if he had wished to bring any girls home during his break, he knew you would be here, so he didn't wanna do that either. (Not that he's bothered that he can't bring girls home because of you. Actually he'd rather have you inside his bedroom than anyone else.)

So when he's watching you laying on his bed, reading a silly high-school novel you got from your brother's library and quietly keeping him company while he studies, his heart-rate fastens and he feels his cheeks rise its temperature. He grows embarrassed when, after seeing you smile so sweetly at him when you catch his eyes on you, the only thing he can think of is leaving those stupid Relativity notes behind, running over to your spot and stealing a kiss from your lips.

Yet Donghyuck remains motionless at his desk. He inwardly curses when you get up and start walking toward him, and wishes you wouldn't ask why he's so red because he can't blame it on the weather—it's the middle of winter.

To his surprise, you're curious about a totally different thing.

"What are you doing with all these comics?" you ask, picking up one of his Flash comics and opening it to a spot that Donghyuck has marked with a post it.

"I'm taking a class about Quantum Physics and Relativity and catching up on some work," he starts explaining, all his romantic fantasies put on pause to focus on the second thing (after you) that occupies his mind the most these days: college.

He watches your eyes grow with interest after hearing the name of his class, and he can't deny he gets all excited thinking about the possibilities: of having a girlfriend that would hear him talk about what he's most passionate about all he wanted. Knowing how much you've always enjoyed hearing the new things he's learned and about his most recent investigations, and noticing his feelings for you have only increased since you came back, Donghyuck's mind wonders.

"You know in the comics Flash supposedly travels at speeds close to light, right?" He watches you nod. "And he throws this infinite mass punch… Well, in one of the comics Flash punches this villain, and his fist is so powerful the villain will fly all over the ocean and land in another continent," he keeps explaining. "What are the chances of this actually happening, analyzing it from the relativistic perspective? That's what I'm looking into."

"And have you arrived to any conclusions?"

"Yeah, I have actually." He stars searching for a specific piece of paper which displays a bunch of calculations and formulas that you don't understand at all, but they look awesome.

Donghyuck doesn't wait for a specific reaction, yet your response cracks him up a little.

"Could you explain this for me? Dummy level?" you ask wrinkling your nose. Donghyuck wants to kiss the confusion off your face.

Honestly, he might be looking for any excuses to kiss you at this point. But, to be fair, he's liked you since that first time he cooked ramen for you the night you met—that was like four years ago. The only reason he has never made a move on you is because you're his friend's sister.

"Yeah, yeah I can do that." He lets out a breathy laugh, shaking these ideas out of his head once more. "Basically, that the mass of his punch is 'infinite' is a consequence of the relativistic effects of travelling at speeds near to light." He points at a calculation on the paper. "And if Flash punches you on the face he won't send you flying to another continent."

This time, Donghyuck watches the disappointment take over your features; smile and shoulders dropping at the same time. "He won't?"

Donghyuck denies with his head. "You would disintegrate in an instant. The energy of his punch is 750,000 times greater than the energy released by an atomic bomb exploding in your face."

You're not saying anything. You're just looking right into his eyes and it's making Donghyuck considerably nervous. Thankfully, he's been sitting all this time, because considering how close you're standing in front of him he's sure his knees would've given up on him a while ago.

He gulps. "I did the maths."

"You're a fucking genious."

Donghyuck melts hearing you praise his work.

“Okay. I’m ready,” Mark says as he waits for you at the room’s door.

Right, you and your brother were scheduled to have dinner together.

Donghyuck doesn't want you to go just yet, he doesn't want to stop chatting with you about irrelevant-to-the-society stuff like this, but he understands this is one of the few moments you’ll get to hang out with Mark alone, so he doesn’t tag alone when Mark offers him to.

“I’ll just have a light dinner and study a little bit more,” he politely declines. Then, he’s looking into your eyes once again. “Wanna chill together when you’re done with your brother?”

“You wanna watch Oppenheimer?”

Does he want to spend three hours watching a movie about an international bunch of nerds who just argue for more than two thirds of the plot, and some awfully awkward scenes of Mr. Oppenheimer flirting using physics that he definitely didn’t think of replicating with you? Again?

Donghyuck thinks you might be the love of his life.

“Of-fucking-course I wanna watch Oppenheimer.” He thinks this might be a better answer, rather than confessing his undying love to you (in front of his best friend) (that is your brother.)

“Nobody’s gonna ask me if I want to watch Oppenheimer?” Mark questions with arms crossed and narrowed eyes.

“Mark, you were snoring inside the movie theater when we went to watch it together.”

“I had a long day, dude!”

“You literally came out of the theater and said ‘this was fucking boring for a World War Two movie’!”

“Well, I mean yeah–” Mark starts trying to defend himself but gets interrupted by you, when you start pushing him towards the door saying you’re hungry, and reminding him how most of the times they argue he can never win against Donghyuck. “But you gotta accept it was missing a little action, man.”

Donghyuck throws his head back, and then looks at your brother with his eyes squinted and a fake smile. “They were scientists, Mark, not soldiers–”

“Whatever!” you say when you’ve managed to get your brother out of the room. “We’re leaving. Hyuck–” Donghyuck notices his eyebrows relax, and the frown he had while arguing with Mark is gone as soon as you’re calling his name with a smile on your lips. “Looking forward to movie night.”

“I’ll get some beers for us,” Donghyuck adds, to which you agree excitedly.

Mark sighs once you’re on your way out of the apartment. “I swear to God,” he starts. “You two are like made for each other.”

You just punch his shoulder as a defense mechanism, not knowing how to react or manage your emotions when it comes to Donghyuck. And you definitely don't know Donghyuck catches a glimpse of your smile and your reddened cheeks before you close the front door.

That simple thing, maybe gives Donghyuck a little hope.

Friday, 11:13 a.m.

You can't believe you're jealous of a dog.

You watch the video play over and over on your phone screen. Donghyuck was literally rubbing his face on the little fur ball, using it as some kind of cotton pad, then showering the dog with kisses all over her little face.

Chenle's friends with the boys and he recently got a dog that he named Daegal. Today, Chenle and Mark were going to be working together since early and Chenle didn't want to leave the dog alone. Apparently, Donghyuck and Daegal love each other, and that's the reason why you're currently at Chenle's, at fucking eleven in the morning during your break.

Donghyuck and you were the designated babysitters of the dog.

You wonder over the video on your phone a little more, thinking of what to put as a caption to share it on your story. Maybe some emojis? Some angry emojis because Donghyuck won't even look at you now that he's with the doggie? Maybe cute emojis… Something like a sun, a heart, and a dog. Maybe the caption boyfriend material, or something in the lines of pay attention to me followed by some exclamation points.

You decide to post it with the text 'taking good care of the baby' and tagging Donghyuck and Chenle's account. It doesn't take long for two notifications to arrive. One is from Donghyuck, who just re-uploaded your story, and the other is a reply from Chenle. 'Who's the baby? Donghyuck or Daegal?' followed by a cracking up emoji.

A smile takes over your face reading it, and it stays there when you get your head up and your eyes meet Donghyuck, who's laying relaxed on the couch with the little fur ball on top of his belly. He has his cute transparent glasses on, and he's wearing some comfy pants and a hoodie that makes him look incredibly cozy and huggable.

His eyes find yours, and an arm extends in your direction, inviting you to join him on the couch with a pat besides his spot. His body radiates an enveloping heat that makes you forget it's winter, but it seems that it's not enough for Donghyuck, who grabs one of the soft blankets laying around the couch and puts it over the three of you.

The characteristic sound of Netflix reaches your ears and then Donghyuck is looking for the drama that you started watching together a couple of weeks ago, from your homes and when you both had some free time through Netflix Party. The third episode of My First True Love starts playing on the TV screen while you wait for the food you ordered earlier, and you feel content. Everything about the situation is too domestic and feels familiar, and you're not surprised when you think that you wouldn't mind getting used to this.

What is a surprise is when Donghyuck puts his arm over your head and offers you to get closer to him, resting a little more on his body.

"This is nice." You hear him say, almost in a whisper. The midday sun illuminates almost as much as his smile when you look up at him.

"It is," you agree, focusing once again at the TV (because looking at him was making you melt inside.)

"We could do it more often."

And by the increasing rate of his heart and the soft caresses in your hair, you knew he didn't mean just babysitting Daegal.

(Still) Friday, 04:02 p.m.

Donghyuck wakes up from his nap on the couch to the smell of coffee and missing the warmth from his two personal heaters, Daegal and you, who he remembers were still with him before he fell asleep. He sits and stretches in his place before moving towards the kitchen, where he already visualized your figure in front of the counter, with your back to him. You don't seem to notice him, so as he walks into the kitchen, he makes sure to greet you with a little hello.

You just look over your right shoulder at him, but you have to raise your head because Donghyuck is closer than expected. You greet him in the same way, but with a sweet smile on your face. "Hi, Hyuck."

Now that Donghyuck is so close, he can notice that the smell of coffee is coming from the machine in front of you that is filling two mugs with particular writings: one says 'best dad in the world', and the other says 'MARK' in big colorful letters (someone also took it upon themselves to print a photo of Mark holding a watermelon on it.)

"Chenle's mugs are fucking weird, don't you think?"

Donghyuck laughs hearing your question and decides to explain. "These are part of an inside joke. Chenle always says someone like Mark would be his ideal son, so your brother got these made for Chenle for last year's fathers' day." He finishes standing against the counter by your side, and thanks you when you handle him a warm home-made latte.

Donghyuck can't take coffee so well since most of the time it makes his stomach hurt, and you know this.

"You don't have to drink it. I remember you're not good with coffee," you tell him, but it's too late when Donghyuck's already sipping the first drink.

Yeah, he might have to use Chenle's bathroom later, but he's willing to face a shit rather than miss out on the opportunity to share a coffee made by you, on a winter afternoon where it's just the two of you and the sun filtering through the kitchen window falling on your face.

"I just thought it would've been disrespectful not making you one too."

You finish your sentence but smile watching him enjoying the coffee anyway, and Donghyuck thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's a little in love with you.

So he takes a deep breath, takes a lot of courage, and sets out to do what works best for him when it comes to you: pretend he's joking when in reality he's only on the verge of confessing his feelings. "Do I have something in my lips?"

"You do, actually," you answer his question pointing at your own upper lip with your finger to make him understand. "A little bit of foam around here–"

"Please do the Secret Garden scene."

"What?"

He's not hesitant to repeat it. Donghyuck internally questions himself though, wondering where all this confidence has come from. Because, yes, Donghyuck is very confident, naturally. But not when it comes to you. His knees go weak and his stomach starts to ache with nerves when he thinks of things like kissing you. In that sense, he will not waste this sudden confidence-rush.

"Please do the Secret Garden with me."

And this time around he can confirm you understood 100% what he means because your laugh and your punch on his arm indicate it. He notices it might be a reflex act of yours—punching people in the arm when you get nervous or don't know what to retort. He's glad he won't have to worry about punching mean guys when he makes you his girlfriend, though; you'll probably take care of that yourself.

Donghyuck still catches you staring at his lips the moment he gets rid of the foam with his tongue. And when you snap out of your trance, your eyes meet Donghyuck's and his eyebrows that move up and down, just to tease you a little more. A mischievous smile is also adorning his face.

He only watches you shake your head while your cheeks grow red, even when you try to hide it behind that big mug with the picture of your brother holding the watermelon.

"Anyway," he decides it will be better to change subjects. "Where's Daegal?"

"I thought she was sleeping with you?" You ask before you start looking around the place for the little fur ball.

"I mean, she was as long as I remember." Donghyuck watches you leave the kitchen and move around the living room, checking every corner for the dog you two were supposed to sacrifice your life for if needed (that's how Chenle described the seriousness of the duty). "You were too…" But you're far enough not to hear the disappointment in Donghyuck's voice after waking up all alone.

"She wasn't here when you woke up?" you ask, standing in front of the couch.

Donghyuck shakes his head no. You start picking up the tangle of blankets and throwing them in the direction of Donghyuck, who hardly catches them in his arms. It's confirmed that Daegal hasn't been trapped under the blankets and at least she hasn't suffocated to death. Although that doesn't give any of you any comfort; the doggie still is nowhere around.

"Oh my fucking god," you say, trapping your head in your hands. "We lost Chenle's dog."

"She has to be somewhere around."

"We lost Chenle's dog and we didn't even go out with her," he hears you repeat all the way from Chenle's bedroom, where Donghyuck checks if the little dog is hiding. He looks under the bed, inside the closet, and inside the bathroom, only to find nothing. "We must be the dumbest babysitters in the world," you finish when he's back in the living room.

He looks down at the watch on his wrist and notices it's almost four thirty, which makes him start to sweat from the nerves. "Chenle's about to come back. We need to find this dog right now."

"Chenle's gonna kill us."

"y/n, just look for the dog."

"He will find out and probably hire a contract killer to deal with us for losing his baby." Donghyuck sees your desperation and calls your name once more, but you don't listen to him. "I'll never see Baekhyun live again!"

And the doorbell rings, followed by a knock on the door and Chenle's screams coming from outside, telling you to let him in.

"Fuck my life," Donghyuck mutters and goes to open the door.

"Hyuck!" you hiss while following him closely. "What are you gonna tell him?"

He silences you, looking back at you and placing his index finger over his lips. Donghyuck takes a deep breath, puts his hand on the handle, sweats a little more despite fighting to calm his nerves, and finally opens the door. Mark is the first to enter, anyway, and he doesn't greet any of you; he simply calls for Daegal, and Donghyuck knows that this is the moment where he should start begging Chenle to let him keep his life and promise him that he will find another dog that looks exactly like–

"Daegal!"

Like the little white ball of fur in your brother's arms.

Donghyuck looks back at you once more, his eyes and mouth wide open in astonishment, and you return an equally astonished look.

"Thanks guys for taking good care of the baby," Chenle says once he's done greeting his dog, who appeared literally out of nowhere and left you and Donghyuck stressed enough for probably three or four months. "She didn't give you any problem, right?"

"Oh, no. Definitely, no." Donghyuck and you are quick to deny at the same time, which might sound a little suspicious as Chenle looks at both of you with narrowed eyes.

Then, he's moving his head to focus his gaze on the mess you left behind when you were rummaging through the couch and the blankets, looking for the dog. "Alright, lovebirds. Then I hope that disaster isn't because you two fucked on my couch while I was gone."

part two coming next week !

taglist: @matchahyuck @sundamariis @thesunsfullmoon @babyjenono @chenfleur @bettyschwallocksyee @sundhaelatte @injunier @justalildumpling @lanadreamie @dhyucktopia @143rachafm

#haechan #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #donghyuck x reader #haechan fluff #lee donghyuck x reader #zh-lele

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just-here-with-my-thoughts · 3 months

Text

i'm not trying to replace you (only hold on to your memory)

@summer-of-bad-batch bonus prompt "Can you braid my hair?"

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Omega, Tech (mentioned) Set after the finale when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1950 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Omega misses the quiet rituals that had been hers and Tech's alone, and turns to Hunter for comfort.

Author's Note:- You all know @kybercrystals94, right? The brilliant mastermind behind the Summer of Bad Batch event? Detail Work is one of Kyber's earliest fics, and one of my favourites. When the hair braiding prompt came up during voting for the event I immediately had an idea for a story that occupies the hollow space of Omega's loss, and leads perfectly into my fic Beach Days & Hair Braiding So go read Detail Work and show Kyber some love, and enjoy this slice of Hunter comforting Omega too! :)

“Hunter!”

The tone of Omega’s cry had Hunter on instant alert, head jerking up from his task stirring the dinner. Omega flew in through the door, running straight at him and into his chest, face buried in his apron.

“Woah,” he soothed, carefully laying the sauce-stained wooden spoon atop the pot and instead cupping one hand to the back of her head, smoothing her hair as he brought his other arm round her shoulders in an awkward embrace. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” came the muffled reply. It was the least-convincing lie he had heard since Wrecker claimed he wasn’t the one who had devoured the entire tray of delicately-prepared dainties Hunter had made specially for one of Echo and Crosshair’s visits.

“Nothing,” he echoed sceptically. He settled her more firmly in his embrace, dropping his head to press a soft kiss to the top of her hair. “Alright then. I guess if nothing is up, I’ll just hold you for no reason… ‘til you’re ready to talk?”

He let his voice lift the sentence into a question, and Omega’s answering nod bobbed against his chest. Hunter squeezed her tightly, pressing reassurance into her with both arms now as they stood in the quiet kitchen and listened to the pots bubble on the stove.

After a while Hunter began to hum a tuneless, absent-minded rhythm, the noise vibrating through his chest and to Omega. Her breathing was evening out now, although he could still feel the pressure of her hands bunched tightly in his shirt-front through the apron.

The apron had been a gift from Omega who had gotten tired of helping him wash the food-splatter stains out of his shirts when he first started learning to cook. Wrecker was much better at cooking than he was, and endlessly teased his brother about being unable to smell when his food was burned or over-seasoned despite his enhanced senses. But Hunter persevered, determined to prove himself capable as more than a weapon of war – to be able to provide for his family in more ways than simply defending them from danger.

“Need to stir this,” he cautioned, nudging the toes of his boots against Omega’s feet. Obediently she lifted them one at a time, standing onto his feet, and let him waddle-shuffle them round so he could face the cooker again, reaching out to retrieve the spoon and attend to the bubbling pot.

Hunter shifted his arm lower across her back, holding her close to him and away from the hot pans.

“Think I made too much,” he said conversationally. “Who shall we invite round for dinner to eat the excess tonight?”

“No-one,” mumbled Omega against his chest. Her hands finally relaxed their death-grip on his shirt, only to go round his middle instead. She turned her face to the side, cheek resting on his chest, and her words became easier to make out. “You can save the leftovers for another day. We should have a quiet night.”

Something was definitely up, but Hunter merely rested his chin on her head as he worked and hummed an agreement.

“Sure, kid. Whatever you want,” he promised.

When everything was cooked – at least, Hunter hoped it was properly cooked – he turned off the heat and carried Omega, still standing on his feet, in the same awkward waddle across the tiny kitchen to retrieve plates.

“Not as easy as when you were small,” he lamented with a smile, and that at last drew a giggle from Omega as she hopped down from his feet to help set the cutlery out.

Hunter’s gaze turned pensive as he watched her, though he quickly smoothed the expression into a smile when Omega glanced his way. She had grown so much in the months since they had settled on Pabu – finally, full-time, no half-commitments, settled down. For good.

She still bore the scars of her trauma from Tantiss, probably always would. Kriff, they all did. But each day that passed with more smiles than pain was a victory, and the longer they went without the shadow of the Empire darkening their lives, the more fully Omega relaxed.

Like she finally believed she might be safe.

Even then, she had the occasional day like this.

Plating up their meal and setting both dishes on the small table, Hunter sat opposite Omega. He cast one of his brief smiles her way, before turning his attention to his food.

“So what have you been up to today?” he asked, tone light and conversational; he wasn’t a sergeant asking for a debrief any more. Not to mention that the open question would let Omega tell him as much – or as little – as she was ready to.

“Me and the boys–” meaning the clones Mox, Stak and Deke, “spent the morning cleaning the bay from last night’s storm,” Omega told him, shovelling food into her mouth. At least she hadn’t lost her appetite. “There was loads of cool stuff washed up there. Oh!”

She paused, laying down her cutlery, and reached into her jacket.

A wan smile lit her face behind the hesitation in her eyes, but she looked straight at Hunter as she said, “I made this for you.”

She pulled forth a length of string, coiled and knotted, and threaded with a spiral shell at the bottom. The twine – old fisher-net rope, if Hunter judged it correctly – was pushed through a natural perforation near the top of the shell, and the whole thing still carried the salt-rich scent of the ocean.

“It’s a necklace,” Omega supplied, as though it needed the explanation.

Hunter reached out and took it from her, carefully turning the shell in his hands and admiring the gentle intricacy of the spiral and the soft iridescence as it caught the light. Then he looped the string over his head, letting the shell hang against his sternum, over his heart.

“I love it,” he told her with a genuine grin, continuing to hold the shell with his left hand as with his right he resumed eating. “Did you find anything else?”

“Some tarpaulin we can probably patch,” she said, “and… I think it’s part of the Marauder’s nav console?” And she produced a dented metal cylinder, the transparisteel cover cracked and broken.

Hunter nodded, inspecting the part. When the Marauder exploded – was destroyed – debris had scored the mountain-face of the island near the docks, and been scattered wide into the ocean. They were still finding pieces all this time later.

“We can probably repurpose it for something,” he said, setting it down to continue his meal. “What did you do with the rest of the day?”

“I was helping Phee rewire her ship–”

Omega’s words choked off and she stuffed a huge forkful of food into her mouth to cover it. Hunter had noticed though. He watched as Omega chewed, gaze downcast and eyes too-bright, and knew they were getting close to what had upset her.

“Something happen with Phee?” he asked carefully, nudging her ankle under the table to show his support.

“Not really,” said Omega with a head-shake, then abruptly, “Can you braid my hair?”

“What?”

Hunter blinked, nonplussed at the sudden turn in conversation and Omega’s demanding tone. She was staring at him with a hard, uncompromising line to her mouth, the corners just downturned, and with her brown eyes shining with near-tears she looked for all the world the same as his brothers had when they were stubborn cadets. Probably looked like he had, too.

“I, uh…” He glanced at her blonde hair, the lengths escaping her pony-tail tucked behind her ears. “I don’t know how,” he admitted, then gestured vaguely. “Why don’t you ask Lyana?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Omega’s expression closed off, her gaze dropping away from his once more.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, then pushed her plate away. “I’m finished. Gonna have an early night–”

“Now hang on a second–” Hunter stood with her, chair scraping on the floor as he stepped quickly to block her path. She wouldn’t look at him but she didn’t shrug him off as he rested a hand on her upper arm, rubbing soothingly. “Omega. Why do you want me to braid your hair?” he asked, making sure to put the gentle emphasis in the right place.

Omega sniffed, and at last those threatened tears beaded on her lashes, starting to track down her tanned cheeks.

“I miss Tech,” she whispered, voice wobbling a little through the tears she fought to swallow. “He used to braid my hair for me. I… I was hoping you would…”

She trailed off hopelessly, and with a sympathetic noise Hunter pulled her back into a hug, holding her close and swaying slightly.

Casting his mind back, he remembered coming back from supply runs to find Omega with a neat pair of braids in her still-short hair, tied carefully at the nape of her neck. He pressed his cheek tightly against her hair now, giving her ponytail a gentle flick.

“Tech did your hair?” he asked with a smile, surprised to find the thickness of grief in his throat as he spoke. “I always thought you did it yourself.”

Omega gave a laugh which was almost a sob. “I found some instructions on the holonet but I couldn’t get it right. Tech was… Tech was so good at detail work.” She was trembling in his arms, but this was good, that she was releasing the pressure of her grief instead of keeping it inside for fear of upsetting her brothers. “I was hoping… You might be able to…”

Hunter angled his head, pressing a fond kiss to her temple and holding her tightly. “Of course,” he murmured, voice holding a promise he didn’t know how to deliver, but Force help him he’d try. “I’d be honoured.”

She relaxed a little into his arms, a shudder of grief passing between them as he willed love into her. Eventually she pulled back, swiping at her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve, but she was smiling.

“You’ll learn to do it then? Braid my hair?”

Hunter nodded fervently. “I’ll find someone to teach me.”

He reached up, stroking the stray ends of her hair that clung to her damp cheeks and brushing them back so he could see her face, blotchy and pink with crying. He took her cheeks in his hands, holding her face gently cupped as he smiled down at her. Letting a glimpse of his own sorrow leach past his usual mask, he breathed out a sigh.

“Can’t promise I’ll be as good at it as Tech,” he cautioned, playfully flipping the ends of her hair. “Your hair always looked lovely like that, Omega.” He smiled, keeping one hand cupped to her cheek. “He’d be so proud of how you’ve grown.”

Omega sniffed, but now she was smiling even if it was with an ache of sadness.

“I think I’m still going to have that early night,” she said, stepping back at last.

Hunter let his arms drop to his sides, a slow movement that ached with the reticence of releasing her, but that was his role in her life now. Learning to let her go. Still being here when she needed to run home to his arms.

“Sure thing, kid,” he said softly, offering her one last pat to the shoulder. “I’ll clean up out here.”

“Maybe… I could keep my door open?” suggested Omega. “So I can hear you?”

Hunter smiled and gave her a gentle push towards her room.

“Whatever you want,” he promised, and he meant it.

Whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed.

He would be there for her.

Time to learn to braid hair.

#summerofbadbatch2024 #bonus prompt #“can you braid my hair?”#can you braid my hair?#tbb hunter #tbb omega #tbb tech #the bad batch #tbb fanfic

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sweetbutpsychobutsweet · 11 months

Text

Owe You One

Chapter 6

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: A new discovery about the nature of orcs leads to a drastic decision on your part. And Thorin surprises you by behaving in a very un-Thorin-like manner

Warnings: angst, no use of y/n, implied eating disorder/starvation to avoid menstruation

author's note: Hope y'all enjoyed the events of last chapter😉 I'm working on creating a master list for my page so it's easier to navigate through my fics in the future!

Also, without giving away too much of what happens in this chapter, I added in the warnings that there are mentions of the reader starving herself to delay getting her period. Because it doesn't come from a place of body dysmorphia I didn't want to mislabel it as anorexia, but if this is a potentially triggering topic for you please be aware that you might want to skip the next few chapters.

If you or someone you know is suffering from an eating disorder you can call the helpline at ♥888-375-7767♥

Word count: 1622

You allow yourself a few minutes to just sit on the bed in your towel. It takes some time to form a coherent thought, and even longer to regain feeling in your legs.

Once you do finally gather enough energy to stand you make your way over to the armoire to dress for dinner. Your stomach is already starting to rumble in anticipation of the feast you know will be waiting for you just down the hall so you decide to dress quickly.

You choose a dress you know you can slip into easily, not wanting to fuss with pulling on trousers at the moment. You pull on a clean chemise to go underneath, then choose one of your favorite evening dresses to pull on. It’s a dark, forest green color, made of a shimmery fabric that catches in the light with your every movement. The sleeves flow down your arms before splitting open at the elbow to drape loosely down the rest of your arms. The laces cross in the front of the bodice instead of the back so you can tie them easily yourself.

Not wanting to wrangle with your wet mess of hair you simply pile it on top of your head and pin it in place. You step into a pair of matching silk slippers and head out the door, following the mouthwatering smell of Elven cuisine.

You force yourself to walk slowly down to the dining hall, worried the others might be suspicious if you arrive too soon after Thorin does.

You pass through elegant archways to find your company poking at the vegetables before them with great displeasure. But not quite as much displeasure as you feel when you realize the only seat left is right next to Thorin.

You had hoped to avoid him for a while in a vain attempt to put off the inevitable discussion that will need to be had. About what happened between the two of you, and what exactly it means moving forward.

“These swords were made for the goblin wars of the first age,” Lord Elrond is explaining when you take your seat between him and Thorin. “How did you come by these?” he asks curiously.

“We found them in a troll hoard on the great east road shortly before we were ambushed by orcs.” Gandalf replies with excitement.

Lord Elrond looks at you with suspicion. “And what were you doing on the great east road?”

“Weren’t you listening?” you ask as you start to pile food onto your plate, “we were being ambushed by orcs.”

Your Elven friend simply laughs, knowing better than to try and get an answer out of you.

“We’re incredibly lucky you arrived when you did,” you tell him, “we’d probably all have our heads mounted on spikes by now if it hadn’t been for you.”

“We were doing just fine,” Thorin grumbles from beside you but you elect to ignore him.

“They are vicious creatures,” Lord Elrond agrees with you. “While you’re here I’ll have to show you some literature I recently found on some of their hunting strategies. Some scholars seem to believe that orcs are able to smell blood from several miles away. If their intended target loses so much as a drop of blood they’re as good as dead with an orc pack on their trail.”

You freeze with your fork midway to your mouth.

Blood? You think to yourself in panic as you start to do the math in your head.

You drop your fork onto your plate in alarm and everyone turns to look at you in concern. You smile sheepishly and reach for your water goblet with a trembling hand. Everyone turns back to their conversations.

Everyone except Thorin. Whose gaze you can feel burning a hole in your head.

You refuse to meet his eyes, too afraid that if he sees the panic on your face he’ll be able to realize the exact same thing you just did.

Orcs can smell blood, and your menstrual cycle is due to start in five days.

If its true that even a single drop can attract orcs from miles away, then the pack currently hunting you will certainly notice if you suddenly start to lose a large amount of blood.

If Thorin and the others find out that the only female member of the company is about to pose a great risk to everyone’s lives then the only logical solution would be for them to leave you behind.

For Thorin to leave you behind. Again.

You’ll be left bleeding and alone while they go off to continue reclaiming Erebor without you.

You know it isn’t fair to blame them. It’s not their fault you have this monthly inconvenience any more than it's yours. It is for the good of the company that you stay behind for a little while if you’re about to start bleeding.

Unless you don’t start bleeding, you realize.

You look down at your plate as an idea starts to form in your head.

The stress of the journey will likely cause your cycle to come late anyway. But if you were to stop eating for just a few days, that would definitely prevent your cycle from coming. At least long enough to put more distance between you and the orcs.

You push your plate away from you, your decision made. Certainly, you can manage to go a few more days without eating, if it means saving the company from any further risk. Your stomach grumbles at you in protest and you can tell Thorin is still looking at you with suspicion. But that will be a problem for later.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Our business is no concern of elves,” Thorin’s voice echos off the walls of the dark study you have all gathered in.

“Here we go,” you mutter to yourself.

“For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map!” the wizard cries with mounting frustration at the leader of your company.

“It is the legacy of my people, it is mine to protect as are its secrets,” Thorin replies stubbornly.

“Thorin,” your voice is gentle but assertive and for the first time since dinner his eyes finally meet yours.

“You can trust Lord Elrond, I promise.” he remains silent as his eyes search your face. You can still see the dark cloud of his inner turmoil as he struggles to hold his ground against you and Gandalf. His resolve may be starting to crack, as he realizes this is in the best interest of the quest. But knowing Thorin he would rather die than admit defeat.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Gandalf cries, “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in middle earth who can read that map, show it to Lord Elrond!”

Thorin gives no indication that he heard a word Gandalf said. His gaze has not left yours.

“If you won’t trust Lord Elrond, will you at least trust that Gandalf has our best interests at heart?” you ask him with a sigh. “Will you trust me, Thorin?”

He remains silent, clenching his fists at his side, and your irritation grows as you steel yourself for him to refuse yet again.

But he doesn’t.

He reaches into his tunic and pulls out the map.

“Thorin, no!" Balin protests but Thorin simply shrugs him off and hands the map over.

Lord Elrond begins to carefully unfold the map as you repeatedly open and close your mouth in shock, not knowing what to say.

Thorin averts his eyes from you as Lord Elrond and Gandalf begin discussing amongst themselves. Their voices fade around you in a blur and your attention drifts away as it can only seem to focus on one thing: why would Thorin do that?

He never backs down, not even when he realizes he’s in the wrong. Even before there was this tension between the two of you, convincing Thorin to set aside his pride when he feels so strongly about something is next to impossible.

What could have possibly caused him to change his mind this time?

“Cirth Ithil,” you hear Lord Elrond say and your attention immediately snaps back to the present moment.

“Moon runes!” you translate with breathless excitement.

“Of course!” Gandalf cries, “An easy thing to miss.”

“Well in this case that is true,” continues Lord Elrond, “moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

“Can you read them?” comes the important question.

Lord Elrond leads the others off to a moonlit space where the runes will be illuminated. But before Thorin can follow the others you reach out to grab his arm, pulling him back from the group.

He turns over his shoulder to look back at you but avoids meeting your eyes.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, “What made you change your mind?”

He gently removes your hand from his arm and turns to face you fully. Your breath catches in your throat as he takes a step closer to you and memories of what happened in that pool earlier that same evening come rushing back.

You hadn’t noticed until now that a strand of hair had fallen loose from the others, and hung by your cheek. Thorin reaches up gently to tuck it behind your ear. His warm palm lingered against your cheek.

“It’s like you said,” he mumbles as your eyelids flicker in anticipation, “I owe you one.” his hand falls away from your face and you can’t help but feel more than a little disappointed as he turns to follow the others outside.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

#thorin x y/n #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader smut #thorin oakenshield smut #the hobbit #thorin oakenshieldx fem!reader #thorin oakenshield x afab!reader #thorin #thorin fic #thorin x reader #the hobbit fanfic #thorin x fem!reader #thorin oakenshield angst #thorin oakenshield x y/n #thorin smut #thorin angst #thorin oakenshield x reader angst #thorin x reader angst

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roach-works · 6 months

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Hi!!!! I recently read When the Wolf Comes Home and I loved the premise the where the fic was heading. I know it hasn't been updated since 2017 so I was wondering if there was any intention of finishing it? I know it's possible you've moved on from that fandom and that is totally fine! If you are, would it be possible to share where you wanted to take the fic? Thank you, I absolutely loved your writing!!!

im a little stuck on that one because yeah i do sometimes noodle a little more on it and i had a pretty solid plot for the first year, after which i was going to be Very Firmly Done because so many rewrites attempt to take on the whole seven year span and founder on the complexity. but the problem is im really ambivalent and undecided on how much i want to participate in harry potter fandom at this late date, with JKR going mask-off nazi sympathizer. it's a weird situation where you can't argue for death of the author when the author is annoyingly alive and arguing that you should be dead.

im deeply reluctant to denounce people still participating in a fandom that i myself found incredibly fun and rewarding for, yknow, several decades of my life, and i don't think i'm better than them, just fortunate to be more interested in other projects.

but ambivalence towards the fandom and deep resentment towards the creator aren't really a productive headspace to actually write in, and i also don't want to finally work through my own doubts, finish another chapter, and then get my head torn off by people who are certain that i'm supporting JKR's toxic fuckwittery.

all in all it's easier and more rewarding to play with other fandoms and work on my many original projects.

where the fic was going:

as far as i remember, in When The Wolf Comes Home, draco was going to get his dad to hire lupin as his defense against the dark arts tutor and rent out the shrieking shack for the man to work out of, thus circumventing the curse on the DADA position and giving draco a werewolf mentor and independent bolt-hole.

quirrelmort was going to continue trying to figure out how to use or dispose of draco on his way to get the philosopher stone, a side-plot draco knew almost nothing about. draco would continue to try to maneuver harry into quirrel's way and snape out of his way, with indifferent success. harry and ron, lacking any voice of reason to temper their enthusiastic partnership of 'baby griffindors looking cool in front of their first real friend ever', would continue to believe that draco, the saddest wet puppy, was an evil monster and the cause of all their misfortunes. draco would continue to be the most mentally and emotionally unstable kid in the castle, taking all the heat off neville, who would end up looking fairly cool and collected by comparison. rita skeeter would feature somewhere in there, hired by narcissa to write little puff pieces on how tragic and brave draco was being about going to school with such a tragic disability.

remus lupin would end up with a full schedule tutoring DADA students about to take their NEWTs and OWLs and make a bunch of money. with lucius as his patron and PR agent, he would be accepted in hogsmeade as a dashing and heroic warlock who had been off having reams of secret agent adventures as dumbledore's key man in the muggle world. remus would not really know what to do with this but eat as much as possible and smile gamely when lucius showed him off to people.

eventually towards the end of the year quirrel would get rid of draco by orchestrating a fight between ron and draco where ron cut his fist on draco's teeth. this would count as a bite and draco would get thrown in azkaban and belatedly realize that he had completely and totally forgotten about sirius black's whole Saddest Wet Dog situation. sirius would do his best to take care of his tiny insane werepuppy cousin until the malfoys and longbottoms and weasleys combined to lever draco back out, using ron's ashamed testimony. draco would immediately turn around and reveal scabbers. the malfoys would end up looking like champions of truth and justice and the weasleys would, unfortunately, have to just stand there and smile gamely for the cameras.

while all this was happening harry would go after quirrel with hermione and neville and take him down. dumbledore would show up at the end, when voldemort was defeated and sirius was exonerated and several deep family feuds had been laid aside, to dispense twinkling paternal wisdom.

draco would kick him in the fork.

THE END.

#time traveling baby werewolves #writing #fic

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physalian · 5 months

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Content Warnings for Original Books

Can we please encourage content warnings for smut and other triggering topics in published literature? This needs to be a thing. Everyone bashes fanfiction for being fanfiction, but I’ve never seen a fanfic where the smut or trigger warnings weren’t tagged to high heaven somewhere in the description or in the opening author’s note.

AO3, compared to FFN, even has a specific “mature” rating just for sex—”E”—that FFN didn’t have. FFN had nervous authors throwing objectively mild content into the “M” rating (e.g. "rated M to be safe"), which meant that if you wanted to read a story that was a little bit violent, you had to turn off your filters as a kid and sift through all the smut just to find that one smut-less, but violent, fic.

When I was a kid in my early FFN days, I was probably exposed to way more stuff I shouldn’t have been reading because I had to disable the mature filter, just so I could read so-called “graphic violence” from pearl-clutching authors. I’d be looking for that one action-adventure fic that happens to have a little murder in it, and sift through fifty pure-smut summaries that ranged from vanilla to straight BDSM—of which had a high chance of being incredibly unhealthy, but you wouldn’t know that at 10, 11, 12 years old.

Fanfic authors, especially when the fanfic platform gives them the freedom to tag, are very clear to let you know just what you’re getting into.

—

I doubt I need to explain what a content warning is on Tumblr, but I will anyway. A content or trigger warning is a heads up at the beginning of a work of media that there are some elements not meant for younger audiences, or for sensitive audiences, or for people who have experienced situations depicted in traumatic ways, or for people who just don’t want to consume media with such content.

In film, this is obvious. If it’s rated R, you generally know what to expect. Generally. Because an R rated film could be R because of anything from profanity to graphic sex/assault and torture scenes. The MPAA rating system is garbage and ‘harsh language’ is not nearly on the same tier as sex in terms of what we should expose our children to.

Before streaming like Amazon as a platform to get around cable censorship rules, you had premium networks like HBO for all your adult content, and then some shows greenlit on smaller networks like AMC—never on ABC, CBS, TNT, etc. HBO wasn’t only for adult stuff, I used to watch Crashbox all the time.

That was the place you went for media that circumvented foul language, violence, and nudity rules in America. It kind of came with its own built-in content warning by virtue of being on those networks, and even then they still give warnings for shows on HBO, Showtime, Starz, etc.

At the start of every episode, you either get a full screen from Starz with the little icons for profanity, nudity, violence, etc, or it would be up at the top around the episode's title. You'd know exactly what you were getting into.

—

In a fanfiction, because I’ve never seen one in an original book, much less for generic vanilla sex scenes, this is what we’re all familiar with:

A/N: Trigger warning! This story contains mentions of rape/non-con. Turn back now, don’t like don’t read.

They also tend to appear at the top of the chapter that contains said scene to double down on the warning, or will, upon completion, include which chapter or chapter section to skip in the work’s summary or opening author’s note. In the old FFN days, there might even be a 4th wall break mid-chapter. Though the terminology we use over the years shifts, we still manage to get the point across.

Like, if I turn off all the filters on AO3 trying to browse for tags and underloved characters that may be lumped in with stuff I’d rather not read, I’ll see tags like “DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,” which was not a thing in FFN days, even if FFN had allowed things like tags.

While it’s easier to tell in movies due to that shitty-but-functional rating system, that’s not really the case with fiction books. With books, I know the genre, and I know the intended audience age group. If I pick up a book in the children’s sci-fi section, I know it’s going to be something about robots or space or the future and our characters are going to be about twelve years old.

If I pick up a YA thriller, I know I’m going to have a cast of sixteen-to-twenty-somethings and there’s going to be some violence, very vanilla cussing or the author’s own slang, and probably some murder.

Adult or new adult romance—Sex. At least one scene guaranteed.

The problem is that unlike films and TV shows, we don’t get a breakdown for books on what to expect and the nature of those scenes. There’s no little ‘R’ sticker on the back cover and there’s certainly no little insert between chapters to let you know what’s coming next. There's no "trailer" I can read to get a sense of your tone.

So if I’m in the mood for a new adult supernatural romance novel and I have to sit through a vanilla sex scene, that’s fine, that’s what I’m reading it for. But if Mr. Badboy is incredibly aggressive and dominating and being an asshole with very dubious consent, that’s different (although, objectively determining what is and isn't 'dubious' is mighty difficult).

Should I still expect that I take my fluffy or angsty romance with a fat grain of salt just in case?

What happens if it’s not a romance novel, but I get a surprise rape scene as my character’s Tragic Backstory? What if it’s an adventure novel? Spy thriller? High fantasy or historical fiction or murder mystery? If there’s no indication in the genre, summary, or by the style of the cover that I’ll have to read about two characters getting it on?

Some people don’t want to read your characters in all the nitty gritty details. They really like everything else about your book, they just don’t want to read a sex scene, and they really don’t want to be super invested, hundreds of pages and even years of series dedication in, and be massively turned off by smut.

It doesn't need to be this big to-do or hyperdetailed like fanfic. In my upcoming book, I had beta readers with personal and moral objections to some of my themes. From then on, I made sure to ask up front so I didn't trigger my betas.

ENNS is about vampires. I haven't settled on what my content warning page might look like or how exactly I want to phrase it, but it might read something like this:

Dear readers, this is a content warning for graphic violence and adult themes. This book contains mentions of assault, self-harm, and suicide. Please be warned that these themes are present and prevalent in this story and readers should take the utmost care for yourselves when approaching this book. Thank you.

Something like this, just a quick, lighthearted heads up for your novel would suffice:

Dear readers, this book ain’t for kiddies! Be prepared for some adult themes and suggestive romance between characters.

I'm definitely not in the camp of pearl-clutching suburban conservatives, but if I'm browsing for a new novel for my tweenage bookworm and I opened up a book with an intriguing summary, and saw that warning? I'd be much happier with the author for their consideration, instead of buying it blind for my kid. You have no idea why someone wouldn't want to read a sex scene. They might be prude, or they might be a survivor just trying to enjoy a new book.

Because romance and sex is taken for granted, most people are at least going to be open to the possibility of sex, but not everyone will be expecting it or wanting it or think it warranted. It’s not spoilery, it’s not revealing some surprise plot twist, it’s a kind and considerate gesture for those members of your audience who just don’t like sex scenes. And heck, maybe they don't want to read it right now, but they'll remember you and pick your book back up later because you tried.

—

TL;DR: I don’t mind smut. When done well.

There’s a reason romance such a compelling story and why it dominates fanfiction and original works leagues ahead of all other plotlines.

But it still needs a content warning, even if you think it’s obvious, or spoilery, or patronizing. Because if I’m not in the mood for it, it just drags and I want to put the book down instead of reading all your hard work to completion.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing a book #writing tools #writing #writeblr #I cant even tag this with content warning #ao3 #ffn #fanfic

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bunkoos-mole-enthusiast · 10 months

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Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors :) Calling You Cool: After your band finishes a coveted club gig, you’re frustrated that your dope ass night ends with you hiding in a bathroom stall. At least, this is what you figured - until someone comes along to change that. https://kithtaehyung.tumblr.com/post/714257289848160256/calling-you-cool-m-jjk Of Skin: The sexploits of a man made of skin and bones. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21048614/chapters/50068430 Blackout: You’ve just been laid off, and all you want to do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget. Unfortunately, the neighborhood block party is tonight, and the festivities turn downright chaotic when the entire city loses power. Don’t fret, though. Jungkook will help take your mind off things for a while. https://bonvoyagenoona.tumblr.com/post/686722234680786944/blackout-jjk The Cul-De-Sac Cons: Your two-story Tudor sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, miles away from the life that you used to lead. The life that involved more than a few scrapes here and there. The life that kept you on the run. But here, with your darling husband, you’ve found roots. You’ve found peace. The kind of peace that, unfortunately, could only be ruined by the new neighbors moving in. https://bonvoyagenoona.tumblr.com/post/644486168112742400/the-cul-de-sac-cons-jjk-jhs Corrupt: You’d be crying out in pain begging me to play my games. I could corrupt you, it would be ugly. Vampire au. https://bratkook.tumblr.com/post/621115500050694145/corrupt-jjk-m Center Of Attention: It was supposed to just be you and your boyfriend tonight but your friends decided to come over for an impromptu slumber party. Of course, he’s not happy about it but he’ll get the attention he wants, one way or another. https://bangtanintotheroom.tumblr.com/post/673832725356134400/center-of-attention-m Show Me Something: He was your first kiss years ago, only to become your first heartbreak the next day. Your life would have been much easier if only you would forget about him and move on. https://yoonia.tumblr.com/post/647238369227702272/show-me-something-m Frost Impressions: Jeongguk is so disgustingly smitten with his new coworker that he ends up making a terrible first impression, and neither of them realize they’ve actually been in love with each other for the better part of a decade. https://www.tumblr.com/fortunexkookie/190071380261/frost-impressions-m-jjk Little Bean: Nothing has been normal for Jungkook since he moved to Seoul to become a trainee as a boy, and yet noticing a beautiful girl in a coffee shop is the most normal thing a young man can do. Asking her out, super normal. Falling in love, totally normal. Everything about Sasha makes him feel normal and important, and yet nothing can ever be truly normal when your relationship has to be secret. https://archiveofourown.org/works/27237484/chapters/66536458

#bts jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic recs #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts fic recs #bts smut #bts imagines

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excalibur-gone-missing · 4 months

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Paring: The8x fem!reader

Requested: no

Genre: angst, established relationship, hint of fluff

Warning(s): themes of grief, loss, major character death, mourning and hospitalization (im not a doctor so please excuse my medical knowledge)

Summary: You never thought of your husbands life as fleeting. But time did its dutiful job of reminding you so.

Word count: 1.1k

Other works

Beta reader: none

disclaimer: this is not the exact representation of the subjects in real life. I just use them for my inspiration.

a/n: I would greatly appreciate it if all of you could take a moment to comment on this fic. As an author, I find great value in your feedback, as it allows me to better comprehend my readers, and I thoroughly enjoy interacting with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcome, so don't hesitate to talk about this fic or send me an ask.

[permanent taglist] [only for those interested, don’t fill the form otherwise]

You wore the baby blue dress, adorned your eyes with waterproof mascara, and got ready to go out. Your son shouted from the kitchen, “Mom, I packed one more hotteok for you. Have it with Dad. He will love it.”

Smiling at how thoughtful of a young man your son had grown up to be, you walked out of the bedroom to caress his head. “I will eat it. Don’t worry so much.”

The boy gave you a hug in return, promising to visit you with his wife sometime soon. After all, the girl was pregnant and would need as much care from you as possible during her pregnancy.

With that, you walked out, ready to meet your husband for his birthday lunch, which was packed in the heat-retaining bag with you. It was almost an hour’s drive to the place from where you lived. The commute never got easier, no matter the time or the day.

You got into the taxi; you were never one to learn driving. It was just not needed, as someone at your house was always there to help you commute, be it your husband or your son. So at times like this, you felt the absence of the skill.

But it was not like life didn’t go on. It was not something you wanted to change at this age. You were scared of banging the car into some random tree and feeling the wrath of your husband for causing damage to the love of his life, Vivian. Yes, that indeed was the name of the car. And yes, it was the great idea of your husband to name it so. Some might say you both didn’t have a daughter, but he would like to disagree with them, because you both obviously had Vivian. You sometimes suspected he loved that godforsaken car more than you.

The man was shameless enough to agree with those accusations, but he was too cute to argue with, so you let him be.

The time passed inside the car thinking about your husband, the times you both had spent together, all those rocky yet satisfying moments, and all those nights you both ditched all your friends and family to stay in together, basking in each other’s presence. It was one of those feelings that made you warm and mushy inside, no matter what.

----

“Do you think we will be together forever?” Minghao asks you. It's been a year since you both tied the knot after dating for two, and yet you still feel like your breath stops every time you see him. He just has that effect on you; it's not reasonable, but it's true.

“What do you mean? You are stuck with me. I will hold onto you no matter how much you try to escape!” you say as you pull him in for a kiss.

Satisfied with your answer, he happily goes back to doodling in his diary.

----

As you walked into the hospital, you gave the guard a kind smile, which he returned. After all, when you frequent a place long enough, you end up becoming acquainted with almost everyone who works there.

Quickly, you walked to your husband's cabin. As you entered the room, you could hear your lover whining at the nurse about something, a sound that immediately ceased as his eyes found you.

Without wasting any time, he stretched his arm towards you, his eyes asking for you to hold him. As you embraced him, the nurse walked out, giving you both privacy.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you said quietly, as he rested his head on your chest.

“What did you bring me?” came a quiet whine from underneath you. Laughing, you let go of the man and began to show him, one by one, the feast you had prepared for him.

The minute he laid his eyes upon them, his face broke into a childlike smile, waiting for you to complete plating his food so he could enjoy them.

After all, it had been a long time since his doctors allowed him to have something you brought for him. Within seconds of putting the food on the plate, it was gone. Not that you were complaining, but it was still a record for the man. Never had you seen him devour your cooking this fast.

“Slow down,” you had told him, but the man had all his attention focused on the food, too much to care for his wife.

The nurse didn’t let you stay in the room long after that. The authorities were a bit too strict about maintaining the rules for your liking, but it was okay.

With a last meaningful glance at each other, you exited the room to meet his doctor to complete the procedures for his discharge.

----

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N,” your husband cries out loud from your embrace, and you hold him, rocking gently.

“But you promised you would hold on. What will I do without you?” you say, trying to hold back your tears.

Looking at you, he wipes the stray tears that have escaped. “I can’t live like this. It’s too much. I’m three surgeries in already, and I don’t see any hope anymore. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be. Plus, this place feels too suffocating for me to be in.”

Not being able to come up with a rebuttal, you just stay as you are, trying to understand why it has to be him who goes through so much pain while simultaneously pleading with some supernatural being to give you all his pain.

That night you both spend crying. But what has to be done will be done.

----

Minghao had been dancing most of his life. Even after he stopped being a professional dancer, he was a dancer at heart. The constant heart attacks that resulted in him being permanently attached to life support, along with the surgeries, killed him inside. They slowly murdered the dancer in him. He lost his sense of freedom, something he treasured the most.

It was then he realized nothing was worth his freedom, not even his life. So there you were, arguing with the doctor to let him be discharged, even though he was at high risk of having another heart attack and should be constantly monitored.

“I understand that, sir, but this is what my husband wants, so I would like you to prepare his discharge papers,” you said, persistent.

“Sure, ma’am. It will be done by tomorrow,” the doctor said reluctantly after realizing there was no winning with you.

After completing the procedure, you went back to your husband to give him the good news about going back home the next day. He looked happy. You could see it in his eyes, and you were happy for him.

If only you had known that the next day you would take your husband away from that hospital for good, but not in the way you had hoped to.

That night, Minghao suffered another attack, one that was hellbent on taking him away from you. It ended up succeeding.

As you sat there at the funeral home, beside the beautiful picture of your smiling husband, and with your son greeting the guests coming to pay their respects, you couldn’t help the tears from falling as you thought of the happy memories you both had shared and how even eternity was too little time for you to spend with him.

The End

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someonexsomeone · 1 year

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Love to Keep Me Warm

Title: Love to Keep Me Warm

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: Harry has learned to keep secrets from his best friend, but it helps when his best friend is a dense as a pile of rocks.

Authors Note: Day 3!...Week...3? Anyway, this fic was kinda heavily inspired by Lily's Boy by SomewheresSword on ao3. I literally devoured it in like a week, it was so good. I hate JK with a passion, but her characters are so yummy. Shorter this time, but I hope you guys like it all the same!

Love him to death, but there was only so much Ronald Weasley Harry could put up with. His best friend, to be fair, was a teenage boy with about 8 times the usual amount of sibling jealousy coursing through his veins which made him act irrationally more times than not. And, no doubt being best friends with the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Savior of the World, the Boy With the Scar - you get the picture - made those jealous spikes just a tad worse, especially now that his Mum saw Harry as one of her own children. So, Harry being the good friend he was, something he said to himself to justify his action, tried his best to be on his good side, sometimes bending to his will more than a standard friend would. Hermione, for instance, never made him feel like he couldn’t spend his money on an expensive new pair of Quidditch gloves, or a Wireless to keep up with the news. A glare, maybe, if the purchase was a little reckless, but that was her just looking out for him. Ron on the other hand…

Harry knew it was selfish, to want to spend the money he had on anything he wanted, but having grown up with nothing to his name, objects found themselves being a nice, new addition to his wizarding life. He got into the habit of buying two of everything, just to make sure Ron felt included. Ron’s bashful smile was more often than not a nice reprieve from his unknowing jealous glare.

All this being said, there has been a lot Harry had learned to keep private. Yes, the big things are harder, he still remembers the outraged look on his face when Harry told him about making Seeker, but the smaller things, those have gotten easier to cover up. Spending more time with Hermione? Easy deflection towards Ron’s recent tutoring sessions. Got a high mark on an essay? Ron trusts his word enough that paper proof is not even needed. Getting along better with the twins? He volunteered to be their new test subject so Ron didn’t have to.

Harry does feel a little bad. Should it be this easy to lie to your friends?

If that wasn��t enough, Harry was starting to feel strangely proud about being able to navigate his way through Ron’s troubled attitude. After all, a year ago he couldn’t imagine being so cunning without the fear and shame of deceit.

Peering across the Great Hall, he locked eyes with a certain green-tied classmate, blushing to the tips of his ears when he was met with a wink.

“Maybe if you followed the essay plan I made you, you wouldn’t be so far behind,” Hermione snarked, flicking her pen accusatorily at Ron across the table. Ron grumbled, waving the feathers away from his face.

“I can’t help it, ‘Mione! You have to admit that even you struggle to stay awake in History of Magic. It’s bloody awful,”

“Some of us actually like to learn, and any subject is interesting if you find something you like.” Harry could barely hear her, too preoccupied with the gentle smile he got in response to his goofy one.

“That’s not fair! You like to learn and you think everything is bloody interesting.” Ron huffed again, pushing away the heavily edited draft Hermione was passing over. “Let me get one minute of peace, at least while we eat. It’s nearly Christmas anyway, no one even cares about papers right now.” Harry subtly caught the flying kiss that was sent in his direction, mouthing ‘Seeker’ with a devilish The responding giggle made his heart flutter.

“Yes, they do! There’s a reason we get work over the holiday, mind you, because they want us to learn as much as possible before exams.”

“You’re being ridiculous! Binns is just as excited for the break as we are, he’s not going to expect O level work.”

“He’s a ghost, Ronald! And he doesn’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“Harry!” This made Harry finally peel his eyes away, jumping out of his skin now that he realized that both of his friends were eyeing him. “...what are you doing?”

“What?”

“Were you looking at…the Slytherin table?” Ron’s face only looked so disgusted for two reasons - when he thinks about his time belching slugs, and when he thinks about Slytherins. Harry’s knee started to bounce involuntarily.

“Just trying to get a rise out of, uh, Malfoy, you know. Not important. What were you two saying?” Ron looked mildly skeptical, but there was a little twinkle in his look at the prospect of annoying Malfoy. He spared a single glance to the other table - crap! Malfoy wasn’t even looking in this direction, let alone pissed at all - before deciding it wasn’t worth the extra thought.

“Tell Hermione she’s crazy for wanting to work so close to Christmas.”

“No, tell Ronald that he is going to get a T if he continues to do work like this.” The two stared at him, both daring him to oppose them. Harry scratched the back of his neck, guilty pushing a breath between his teeth.

“Please don’t get me involved with this.” He was thankful that Ron’s betrayed look didn’t affect him as much as it used to, but Hermione’s glare still made his blood run cold. There was something, however, in his eyes that made him suspicious.

“Since you both insist on sacrificing your grades before the holidays, I’m going to the library alone. You can finish your paper on your own!” Ron’s eyes widened, scrambling to grab his things as Hermione stomped away.

“Bloody-” Harry narrowly dodged an elbow, though his lap did get a nice Yorkshire pudding companion in Ron’s haste, “I can’t believe you’re not coming with us to the Burrow. I’m going to be stuck with that all break!” Harry snickered, reaching across the table for a napkin.

“Just be thankful she always ends up helping you anyway.” Ron’s bag fell one more time before he was finally able to pull himself away from the bench, racing out the door to beg Hermione for her help. Merlin knows what will happen if he brings back another P to his Mother.

In the chaos, there were still distinctly Ron things scattered around the table and floor. A quill, for one, and his Transfiguration textbook that Harry knew Ron would need by this afternoon. Harry chuckled to himself, bending down to pick up a fallen piece of paper, pointedly ignoring the little doodle of Hermione’s name with a heart. When he righted himself, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Across from him, with equally devastating smirks, were the infamous Weasley twins. Harry gulped.

“Ah. What can I do for you gentlemen on his fine day?” Harry asked awkwardly, shufflings Ron’s stuff into a pile just to have something to do other than admit that he was just a little bit nervous. Especially when the twins have that look.

“It’s the strangest thing, you know?” Fred started, leaning towards Harry. They boy didn’t dare speak, but leaned forward too, not knowing if he wanted to hear what would be said next.

“What is, Forge?” George said, mirroring his twin. They all looked a little silly, butting heads over the great, big table, but Harry couldn’t find himself laughing at the moment.

“Well, Gred, I think my eyes are started to trick me.”

“Trick you?!” George said in mock surprise. “Whatever could you mean by that?”

“What else could it be, if not trickery? You see, I was just enjoying my breakfast-”

“What a lovely breakfast it was, too.”

“=when I looked over and saw our very own Harrykins with bright red cheeks!”

“Bright red, you say?”

“As red as a baby’s bum!”

“Oh, my!” Harry felt his face burning once again.

“So I looked over-”

“And what did you see?”

“-to see our very own hero fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Wait!” Harry whispered, yanking them in closer. The devil twins had equally large smiles on their faces. He thought of coming up with an excuse for a split moment, but, Harry realized with dread, that those smiles only meant one thing - the twins already knew the answer and were only waiting for confirmation. Whether that confirmation was verbal or not was of little issue for them. A rock formed in his stomach. Knowing the twins, if they didn’t get an answer now… “No one can know.” At this, their eyebrows raised.

“Am I hearing things correctly?” Fred mimed cleaning his ear, George staring at him with blazing eyes. Harry gulped, nodding his head, unable to meet their eyes. Dread for inevitable pranks turned into dread at rejection, a bubbling fear that the twins would do what he always feared Ron would do one day, turn their backs on him.

“Our little Harrykins is all grown up!” George whispered loudly, ruffling Harry’s already crazy hair. Harry’s head shot up, looking up to see equally smiling faces. Mischievous, as always, but there was a certain softness at the corners. Harry’s confusion quickly covered all his other bad feelings. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.”

“...what?”

“I knew you were the savior type, but I didn’t know you’d go as far as actively searching a snake pit.” Fred’s wiggling eyebrows made Harry smile sheepishly.

“It wasn’t on purpose…an accidental meeting, if you will, last Christmas.”

“Oh, ho! We finally have the real reason Mother’s beloved adopted child is not joining us this year.” Harry blushed again. “Now, do we have to go over all the safety procedures of a healthy relationship, Can’t have our special boy be defiled by evil, now can we.”

“No, we can’t, Gred.” Their smiles turned devious again. “Now, what was it Father-dearest said to us? Oh yes, the contraceptive charm is very useful in these types of situations-”

“And you can never be too safe, so remember to take a potion afterwards-”

“Okay!” Harry yelled, standing up. He hastily gathered his and Ron’s items, hurrying to the door. “Thank you very much!”

“We haven’t even told you about the dangers of teen pregnancy.” One of them, Harry couldn’t care anymore, yelled at his back, the other cackling loudly.

“Or the dangers of STDs-”

“That’s quite enough, you two! 10 points of Gryffindor for inappropriate language.”

Harry dared to look over his shoulder at the green table across the room as he exited the grand doors, blushing, something he seemed to be doing a lot recently, when he locked eyes with the one pair he desperately wished wouldn’t have noticed the frankly humiliating interaction. The mischievous twinkle in them made Harry dread the teasing that would come, once most of the school left for the holiday and they were finally able to do more than exchange glances across a sea of unsuspecting classmates. Sappy as it was, Harry thought, he couldn’t wait.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist l What is Laufeyfest? l Laufeyfest masterlist

#harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter x slytherin!reader #harry potter one shot #laufeyfest #someonexsomeone #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts one shot #harry potter fluff

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moonyinpisces · 3 months

Note

thank u so much for vocalising the One thing i’ve never been able to relate to the good omens fandom properly because of!! LMAO like those boys are Selfish! They DO NOT care about the individual, they only wanted to stop the apocalypse so they didn’t have to do their jobs in heaven & hell and could keep drinking wine and eating sushi and going to the ritz together 😭😭 they’re so far removed from humans it’s insane to watch like they would’ve killed an eleven year old boy just so they could enjoy a nice red wine instead of fighting in the apocalypse Please don’t pretend they’re big human rights advocates.. i mean yeah they care more than like. gabriel etc… they were pretty anti killing job’s kids but. still…. it’s a lot more “oh how fascinating humans are and how enjoyable their traditions are” than being Genuinely Good People

there's so many reasons good omens fans are the way that they are but one of them is they weren't here in the trenches in 2019, and they also have no idea how historically rude neil gaiman has been about slash shippers and people writing fic about aziraphale and crowley. they've been so wrapped up in his woke tumblr answers and while i do think people are capable of change, i also think it's easier to believe crowley and aziraphale are X Y and Z when the author is doing whatever he can to win the approval of children on the internet. and you guys are buying it! these characters have proven time and time again that they are, as a whole, delightfully selfish and have spent 6000 years repressing and downright avoiding their feelings for the other. but you think they're both going to be handing out free hugs at pride parades and rioting in the streets for gay marriage? have you WATCHED the show?

#oh but believe you me. them being selfish is my top 3 fav quality in the both of them #ask box

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marvel-ous-m · 3 months

Text

D&D&D (Dungeons and Dragons and Dustin's Birthday)

AO3 Link | WC: 4,979 | Rating: Teen and Up Audiences | Tags: Fluff, Eddie Munson & Steve Harrington, Claudia Henderson is a Good Parent, Enemies to Friends, Hints of Steddie if you squint (and tilt your head), Birthday shenanigans, Mild Hurt/Comfort (like, very very mild, this is mostly just fluff)

This is a gift fic for the lovely @devondespresso!! Dev, I've loved getting to know you through this fandom. You are such a lovely person and a truly outstanding author. I'm so thankful I know you! I hope that you enjoy your day!!

Note: This is a pre-s3 fic taking place in May of 1985 with canon divergence for how Eddie and Dustin meet!

“Steve, thank you so much for agreeing to help with this. Come on in.” Claudia answered the door with her typical bright smile and ushered Steve into the Henderson family residence, leading him to the dining room. “I gave Dusty five dollars to go to the arcade with his friends, so I figure he’ll be out of the house for the next hour or so.”

“Of course, Ms. Henderson.” Steve smiled back at her and took a seat at his usual spot in the dining room. Claudia sat across from him, and Steve took a moment to glance at the various decorations strewn around the table. They were mismatched, and all seemed like lightly-used relics of birthday-parties-past. “So… it looks like we’re throwing a Superman-Science-Robot...Underwater birthday party?”

Claudia covered her mouth to muffle the snort of laughter from Steve’s comment. “Oh no! Could you imagine? I think Dusty would get all impassioned for five minutes straight if I did that, telling me about all the inaccuracies in the theme. No, these are just to help you boys get some inspiration for planning his birthday party! Thank you again for agreeing to do this. Nowadays he thinks everything I do is so uncool, so I thought it’d be best if you two took over the party planning this year.”

Steve’s smile grew a bit tight at that. “Anytime, Ms. Henderson- really. But, uh- I’m sorry, I thought it was just me planning this? Did you have someone else in mind that I’ll be working with?”

“Did I not tell you, honey? I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind, I invited-” Claudia was cut off by the doorbell ringing, and she popped out of her seat in an instant. “Oh! That’ll be him- I’ll be right back.” She rushed to the front door, leaving Steve alone at the table with the pile of old decorations. He began to absently fiddle with a Superman poster as he waited for Claudia to return, mind racing through the various people who she could have enlisted to help plan the party.

Nancy? No, Claudia had said ‘you boys’, so it wasn’t her. Jonathan? Maybe, but as far as Steve knew, Jon and Dustin weren’t very close. Maybe it was one of the other kids? But she’d said that she sent Dustin to the arcade with his friends, and presumably that meant all of the kids were with him…

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Ms. Henderson. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Dustin over the last few months.” Oh no.

Steve knew that voice. He’d heard it more times than he could count, shouting around the lunch room and marking sarcastic comments in class.

No fucking way-

“Oh, you are too sweet, dear. Come on in, Steve’s already at the table, and I’ve got some old decorations laid out that you boys can hopefully make use of.” The two entered the room, and Steve felt his shoulders tense when he confirmed who he’d be working with.

Eddie fucking Munson entered the room alongside Claudia, and was wearing a shit-eating grin when he met Steve’s eyes. “Hey there, Harrington. Sounds like we’ll be working together.”

Steve pasted on his most convincing smile and nodded. “Yep. Sounds like it.”

Claudia, oblivious to the tension between the boys, grinned. “I’m so glad you two know each other! That should make planning a bit easier. Now, I have to run off to go buy some groceries for the week, so I’ll leave you to it! There are cookies on the counter, feel free to help yourselves. If Dustin comes home before I’m back, you boys can just let him know that you’re here to help me do some renovating in the garage.” With that, she grabbed her purse from the living room and left to run her errands, abandoning Steve and Eddie at her kitchen table.

“So… you, uh…” Steve trailed off, his desperate attempt at making conversation failing miserably.

Eddie raised his eyebrow at Steve from where he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Y’know, the kid always talks about you- ‘Steve’ this and ‘Steve’ that, but I kept telling myself it couldn’t be Steve Harrington, that maybe Dustin formed a weird friendship with a different adult man named Steve. Yet, here you are- Fallen so low from the totem pole that you’re planning a fourteenth birthday party for a kid in middle school.”

“Yeah, well, at least I graduate this year- unlike some people.” Eddie’s words had triggered Steve’s bitchy side, he’ll admit it- but genuinely, what the fuck was Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson doing hanging around Dustin? “Also, you’re making fun of me for planning Dustin’s party, but in case I missed something, you’re here too.”

Eddie threw a hand over his heart dramatically and pretended to double over, as if he’d been shot. “Oh, you wound me, Harrington. The rumors are true, I will not be walking the Hawkins High stage this year- but mark my words, ‘86 will be my year.”

“Mhm.” Steve hummed, unimpressed.

“As for knowing Dustin- there was that club fair two months ago for all the middle schoolers to attend, and I got Hellfire a table. Y’know, wanted to scope out the sheepies for next year’s flock. Anyways, I met Dustin and I ended up giving him my phone number because he wanted to talk about campaign stuff. Y’know what that little twerp did? He called me that night and started asking about stats for characters. Then he called me the next night, then the next, and eventually Claudia just told him to invite me over. We ended up painting mini figs- that’s miniatures for D&D- and watched dorky movies all day. It was pretty fuckin’ awesome, and Claudia liked me enough to keep inviting me over.” Eddie grinned at Steve, but the weight of Eddie’s words were not lost on him.

Claudia liked him enough to keep inviting him over. Eddie Munson, known drug dealer and social pariah.

Steve hadn’t formed much of a relationship with him- in fact, he’d pretty much avoided him because he’d heard such bad things- but Steve trusted Claudia’s opinion on things, often more than he trusted his own. She’d become a bit of a mother figure to him over the last few years, and if she liked Eddie enough to trust him with Dustin, maybe it was time for Steve to rethink his stance on the guy.

“Oh.” Steve spoke, his lips pursed in thought more than anything else. “Well… alright. What theme should we make Dustin’s party?”

Eddie’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and he crossed his arms defensively. “What, now you’re fine working with me? Just like that?”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah? Claudia and Dustin both like you, so that makes you alright in my book.”

Eddie let out a huff of surprise, then uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his frizzy curls. “Well… alright then. Uh, I guess I did have one idea. It’s maybe sorta stupid, and I’m not sure how we would pull it off, but I think it’d be fun if we can make it happen?” Eddie’s tone turned hesitant at the end of his ramble, betraying his apprehension surrounding the party.

Steve gave him a reassuring smile. “Well? What is it? In case it’s not clear just by looking at me, I’m less the ‘idea’ guy and more of the ‘execution’ guy.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Steve. You seem like at least a thirty-percent ideas, seventy-percent execution kinda guy.”

Steve quirked his brow. “Stop stalling and spit it out, Munson.”

Eddie didn’t have much of a chance to avoid the invitation presented there, so he didn’t. He came out with his idea, complete with creative ideas for how to go about making it happen on a low budget, and despite all of his hemming and hawing around the theme, it was actually pretty brilliant.

“Yeah, alright- I think we can make that happen, but it’s gonna take a good amount of time, and we don’t have a lot of that to spare. Are you up for that?”

Eddie hummed thoughtfully, and when he finally responded, it was with a playful glint in his eye. “In the pursuit of making Dustin’s 14th birthday everything it should be and more, I am prepared to make that sacrifice.”

Steve smirked at that. “Then I think it’s about time that we get to work.”

Ms. Henderson ended up arriving back home before Dustin did, her arms laden with groceries. She entered the dining room with an eager grin after setting everything down in the kitchen. “So? Have you boys come up with a plan?”

“Yeah, we think so! We’ll need a good chunk of time to set up on the day-of. I have a list of some stuff to shop for and an idea of how to decorate his cake, and Eddie will need a lot of paper in the meantime, like that kind on the rolls at elementary schools. Do you have an idea for how to get that?” Steve glanced up at Claudia from the planning document he and Eddie had been furiously working on for the last few minutes, an excited smile on his face.

Yeah, he was excited, go fuckin’ figure. Eddie’s idea had ended up being pretty brilliant once they worked out some of the kinks, and he was looking forward to seeing Dustin’s reaction on the day-of.

“Y’know, back when Dusty was in elementary school, I was president of the PTA. I made quite a few connections back then- I’m sure I could take advantage of that and get the supplies you need.” Claudia replied, a nostalgic and slightly mischievous sparkle in her eye.

Eddie grinned. “Damn Ms. H, look at you! No better than a common criminal. The more I learn about you, the more I love about you!”

“Oh, stop.” Claudia let out an amused snort and pat Eddie’s shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “I gave more hours than I can count to that school, some butcher paper is the least they can do to pay me back, and I’m sure they know that. Eddie, I’ll go ahead and call you when I figure out a time for us to pick up those supplies. Is there anything else you need from me, boys? Cooking? Baking?”

“No, ma’am- that should be it. I’ll handle the baking, and we figured it’d be best to just order pizza for the party. Everything else is already done or delegated between me or Eddie.” Steve responded.

“Alright! Well, I’m certainly excited to see what you two put together- but for now, it’s probably a good idea to head out. Dustin will be home any minute. How about you two plan to come by the same time next week to set up? I’ll take Dustin out shopping, that should be more than enough time for you two to set up before the party that evening.”

Steve glanced Eddie’s way, and after receiving his nod of affirmation, Steve turned his attention to Claudia. “That sounds perfect, Ms. Henderson. We’ll see you then.”

“Great! Now- go grab a cookie from the kitchen and get going. Remember- if Dusty somehow finds out you were here and asks about it, you’re helping me renovate the garage.”

Steve and Eddie followed Claudia’s instructions and exited the Henderson household together. Before Steve could get in his car to drive away, though, Eddie spoke up. “Man, that kid really doesn’t know what goes on in his garage, does he?”

Steve snorted out a laugh and shook his head, amused. “Get in your van, Munson. Call me if you need help with anything, alright? I wrote my phone number at the top of your planning sheet.”

“Sure, but don’t worry, Steve-O. You shouldn’t be hearing from me until next week, when we meet again here at castle Henderson, and I arrive with my van laden with decorations.”

Eddie called him three days later, after school had already let out for the day. “Dude, did you know how hard it is to paint bricks on gray paper? I feel like I’m dying here, man.”

“Is this you asking me for help? I thought you were all, y’know, arts and crafts-y-”

“Steve, please don’t make me ask twice. I live in Forest Hills- once you get here you won’t be able to miss me, I’m the guy in front of his trailer sweating buckets trying to paint giant sheets of gray paper.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “I don’t think you even asked once, but alright, no need to be so dramatic. Let me change into some painting clothes, I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

Steve hung up the phone and rushed up to his bedroom, changing into a pair of ratty jeans and an old t-shirt from gym class. He grabbed his keys on his way out the door, and just as Eddie had said, when he pulled up to Forest Hills fifteen minutes later, he knew exactly which trailer was Eddie’s.

Eddie was knelt on a patch of grass outside his home. There were a few long gray sheets of butcher paper in front of him, and he was covered in various splotches of dark gray, red, and black paint. Steve parked his car nearby and made his way to the makeshift crafting area, his mouth upturned in an amused smile.

“Y’know you’re supposed to keep the paint on the paper or in the bottles, right? It’s not really supposed to get all over you.”

Eddie’s head shot up when he heard Steve’s voice, and though his expression made him look annoyed, there was a spark of joy in his eyes. “Ha-ha-ha. Laugh it up, Harrington. At least I’m doing work.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, have you planned the campaign yet? You’re the one who wanted to do this whole ‘immersion' thing, it would kinda suck if we hit it out of the park on immersion with no activity to actually make it… uh, y’know. Immersive.” Steve joined Eddie on the ground as he spoke, grabbing an extra paint brush from a pile nearby, then dipping it into a paper plate of gray paint.

“You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that, Stevie. I’ve always got at least three one shots prepped, and there’s one that should be perfect for Dustin and his five friends with a little tweaking. It’s just this painting shit that’s giving me trouble.”

Steve frowned, and couldn’t help but mouth the word ‘pretty’ to himself.

Eddie Munson called him pretty.

Steve felt his stomach flutter with anxiety, and he elected to ignore it.

Eddie Munson was weird.

“Well… hopefully it’ll go quicker with the two of us working together.” Steve smiled through the one-sided awkwardness he was now feeling.

Their conversation ended up spiraling into a debate over music for the two hours that it took them to finish up the painting. By the time they were done, the day was turning to night, and Steve’s limbs were aching from the strain of staying in pretty much the same position the entire time they worked. He couldn’t even imagine how Eddie felt by now- but a look at the other man told him that he was probably about ready to fall over.

Steve helped Eddie clean the brushes off using a nearby faucet, and once everything was packed up, he left to head back home- but not before confirming their meeting time at the Henderson house in a few days and telling Eddie to use dish liquid in the shower to help get the paint off.

Steve and Eddie ended up arriving at the Henderson home at the same time on Saturday. Eddie still had a few flecks of paint on his nail beds and a stripe of red paint on his cheek, even though it had been three days since their impromptu arts-and-crafts day. Steve raised his eyebrows at Eddie when he noticed it, and received a clipped, “Don’t say anything,” in response.

Eddie ended up reaching the Henderson’s front door before Steve, and after knocking, was met with an excited-looking Dustin. “Eddie! What are you doing here? Wait- Steve? Do you guys know each other? Did mom invite you over? That’s weird, because we’re supposed to go shopping in, like, ten minutes- so why are you at my house when I’m not gonna be at my house? Is that paint on your cheek?”

“Uhhh… we- well, I- Steve and me-”

Steve stepped forward and put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder to cut off his desperate attempt at answering Dustin. “Your mom is having us renovate the garage. We’re painting today, which is why she’s taking you out- because… uh, y’know. Fumes.”

Dustin crossed his arms, standing immovable in the doorway. “Why is mom having you renovate the garage on my birthday weekend? Also, you didn’t answer my other question- how do you guys know each other?”

“Dude, we go to school together. It’s a small town, and I can be a social guy when I wanna be. As far as your mom’s reason for having us do this work this weekend- I don’t know how your mom thinks, dude. You should maybe ask her that.” Eddie responded, then slung an arm around Dustin’s shoulders and walked with him into the house.

Steve followed them, impressed by Eddie’s ability to go from stumbling around the truth to selling the lie.

They made their way to the kitchen, where Claudia was digging in her purse for something. Her head shot up when she heard Dustin and Eddie enter the room, and a large smile made its way onto her face.

“Boys! Good to see you. Dustin and I were just heading out. We’ll see you in about three hours, alright?” Claudia slung her purse over her shoulder and pushed past Eddie and Dustin to make her way to the front door. “Come on, Dusty! If we leave now, we’ll have time to swing by the bookstore!”

Dustin sighed and moved out from under Eddie’s arm, shooting Steve and Eddie one last suspicious look before joining his mom by the front door. A slew of questions poured out of his mouth when he joined her, mostly of him asking why the boys were over, why the garage was getting renovated, and other questions along that line that he was saying too fast for Steve to process. Finally, the front door shut behind them, and the rumble of Ms. Henderson’s car leaving the front driveway signaled to Eddie and Steve that it was time to get to work.

“I’ve got the big sheets of paper rolled up in the back of the van, and the red dragon decoration thing is in the passenger seat. The rest of the stuff needed for the campaign is in my backpack.” Eddie spoke as he made his way to the front door, and Steve followed behind him once again, rolling up his sleeves as they walked.

“I have the stuff from the party supply store in the trunk, and the cake is in a cake carrier in the passenger seat. Thanks again for the sketch you drew of that dice thing-y, I think it helped a lot.”

“Oh, right! The D20? I can’t believe you made a cake of that thing, man. I didn’t even know before this that you baked.”

Steve shrugged, stopping behind Eddie outside of his van. He took the painted rolls of butcher paper from Eddie as he unloaded the decorations. “My babysitter taught me when I was younger, it’s nice. Calming.”

Eddie hummed, grabbing the last roll of paper from the back of the van. He shut the doors with a thud, then made his way back to the Henderson house.

They unloaded Steve’s car next, Eddie grabbing the party store supplies while Steve carefully transported the cake from his car to the fridge.

They got to work after that, hanging the castle walls they had painted around Ms. Henderson’s dining room, making it look as much like a castle as possible. Steve had purchased red and black streamers from the party store, which he hung on the ceiling to add a bit of color to the room. Once that was done, he and Eddie had to work together to hang the red dragon that Eddie had crafted in the corner of the room. It was clearly homemade, yeah, but Eddie had put a lot of work into it, and it actually looked really cool. It was flat, but he had used black and red paint to create 3D effects on the paper.

“Y’know Eds, you’re different than I thought you were.” Steve spoke from where he was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, hands on his hips as he took in the transformed space.

Eddie huffed next to him and crossed his arms, clearly offended by Steve’s words. “Gee, thanks Harrington.”

“No- I- shit, that came out wrong. I mean- look, the guys on the basketball team, they would always say so much shit about you. Junkie, burnout, asshole-”

“-You’re not really helping your case here, Stevie-”

“-if you would just listen, I could actually get to my point. What I’m saying is that they’re wrong. They say those things because they don’t understand what it’s like to actually give a shit about something. I didn’t really start to understand that until this last Fall, but the social hierarchy stuff, the conformity that you so proudly protest, that means everything to those guys- for a long time, it meant everything to me, too. In the long run, though? It doesn’t mean shit. You actually care about shit- real shit. You’re fuckin’ talented man, you’re creative as hell. You went to a club fair and met Dustin, and instead of pushing him away or telling him to get a life- which I’m sure most highschoolers would do in your situation after he bugged you three nights in a row- you took him under your wing. You’re a good guy, Eddie.”

“Huh.” Eddie spoke under his breath, blinking at Steve as he processed the man’s words. “You’re different than I thought you were, too. Even after all the shit that went down with Wheeler earlier this year, I couldn’t believe what everyone was saying- no way The King gave up his crown and started babysitting a bunch of middle schoolers. Yet, here you are. Baking a cake from scratch and giving up hours of time to make sure some random kid has a cool birthday, themed around a thing that you don’t even understand.”

Steve rolled his eyes and shoved Eddie’s shoulder. “I’ll have you know, I’ve babysat these kids long enough to know what the fuck Dungeons and Dragons is. I just haven’t played it.”

“You’re an enigma, Steve Harrington- but that’s not a bad thing.” Eddie crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Steve, as if trying to piece him apart with his eyes.

Steve stepped out of the kitchen doorway and made a show out of looking at his watch. “Ah, shit, look at the time! Dustin’s friends will be here any minute, you should set up for the game, I’m gonna order pizza.”

“... alright, man. Sounds good.” Eddie moved back to the dining room, taking a seat at the head of the table to begin setting up the oneshot he had planned while Steve got to work ordering pizza.

Steve ended up being correct- the kids started to arrive a few seconds after he hung up the phone with the local pizza place. They all rushed to Steve, which was predictable, seeing as they hadn’t really met Eddie yet- but after Steve introduced them to the Dungeon Master and told them the plan for Dustin’s birthday, they began to glom onto the guy and ask a million questions about the campaign, high school, and anything else that came to mind.

Eddie seemed to take the questions in stride and match the kid’s energy with his own. He even got El and Max excited about D&D. Steve wasn’t exactly sure how the kids got Hopper to allow Eleven out of the cabin, but he wasn’t about to ask any questions. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Dustin and Claudia ended up arriving home shortly after the pizzas arrived. Claudia entered the house first and set the shopping down in the entryway, then led Dustin to the dining room, her hands over his eyes. The entire time, Dustin put up a fuss about his eyes being covered.

He fell quiet a few seconds later, when her hands fell from his eyes, and all of the kids shouted ‘surprise’!

Dustin’s grinned when he saw everyone, and he immediately ran to his friends, hugging them as he looked around the room, shocked. “Whoa! Mom, did you do all this? How?”

Claudia put her hands in the air, a knowing smile on her face. “This was all Steve and Eddie, Dusty, I just got them to throw your birthday party.”

Dustin’s smile grew impossibly wider as he rushed across the room to hug Claudia- then turned and hugged Steve, then Eddie. Steve was used to the boy’s hugs by now, but the way Eddie’s eyes grew wide in shock, then a bit glossy as he returned the hug, told Steve that maybe this was Eddie’s first time being hugged by the boy.

After Dustin finished his round of thank-you’s, the kids ravaged the pizza and got straight into playing the campaign, eager to play with a new DM for the first time. Steve found a spot to watch them from the kitchen while he multi-tasked with cleaning up from the kid’s lunch and getting cake ready.

Claudia has long since abandoned the group of kids, eager to sort through the shopping she and Dustin had done. About an hour after things started, though, she joined Steve in the kitchen.

“I can’t thank you boys enough for what you put together. It looks amazing in there, and Dusty looks so happy.” Ms. Henderson kept her voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t travel to the dining room. “I know Dustin doesn’t have too many friends- my boy can be a lot for some people, and I’m not naive to that. Still, he loves the people he has. You and Eddie aren’t exceptions to that. He’s not old enough to remember when Walter passed, but… well, I’m just glad he has you two as role models. Men to look up to, y’know?”

Steve’s eyes shifted to Eddie as Claudia spoke, and he felt himself grow emotional at her words. “I mean… friends are one thing, Ms. Henderson, but role models? I’m a washed-up jock and Eddie is…” Steve trailed off, frowning to himself.

“I know what Eddie is, Steve. I’ve heard enough around town. Still, you have to admit, he has a strong work ethic and he’s passionate in the same ways Dustin is. As for you- well, Steve, I’ve put together enough to understand how strong you are, and how fiercely you protect the ones you love. I don’t think I could ask for two better role models for Dustin.”

“Oh.” Steve felt his cheeks grow warm, and swiped a hand over his eyes to brush away the tears gathering there. “Uh… thank you, Ms. Henderson. That’s really sweet of you to say.”

“Thank you for being here for my boy. Not just now, not just for this, but for everything you’ve done. It means the world to us.” She pulled Steve into a hug, and Steve hugged her right back.

“Yeah, of course. He’s…” Steve trailed off, his eyes shifting to the dining room. He could still see Dustin over Claudia’s shoulder. The kid was sitting up on his knees in his chair, practically folded in half as he tried to move one of the figures across the map on the table. “He’s a great kid.”

Later, after the campaign had ended, after all the kids had their fill of the D20 cake that Steve had baked, after the party was cleaned up, the guests had gone home, and Dustin had gone to bed, Steve found himself leaving the Henderson home with Eddie by his side.

“I’d say we did a pretty good job for our first time working together, Harrington.” Eddie nudged their shoulders together as they walked to their cars, a playful smirk gracing his features.

“Yeah, we did do pretty well, didn’t we?” Steve smiled.

Eddie turned towards his car, apparently heading out, but Steve put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder to stop him. “I know you’re not graduating this year, but- the next gathering with everyone will be a graduation party that Mrs. Byers- Will’s mom- and Ms. Henderson are throwing for me. It’d be cool if you came.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You want me at your graduation party?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I have many other friends my age. It’ll be right after the graduation ceremony. I can pick you up on the way, if you want. I’d really like it if you were there.”

Eddie’s expression turned more vulnerable after that- delicate, breakable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Eddie swallowed nervously, shoving his hands in his jacket. “I’ll see you then, I guess. You’ll pick me up?”

Steve nodded, letting his hand drop from Eddie’s shoulder. “I should be to your house around noon, yeah.”

“Cool.” Eddie repeated, and without another word, darted off to clammer into his van. He was gone from the Henderson household in seconds.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly at Eddie’s antics, and couldn’t wipe the smile on his face.

Eddie Munson was a weirdo.

It was a good thing that Steve liked to collect weirdos.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #em writes #steddie fic #steddie friendship #steve harrington and eddie munson friendship #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #dustin and Steve friendship #eddie and dustin #Dustin and Steve

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xxswagcorexx · 4 months

Note

please may I have some fic recs? mainly ones that will have me kicking my feet and giggling- nothing too serious but a light read: the vibes of stand partners by eternal kind of.

hi! i haven't read stand partners yet but i skimmed through the tags and here are some ones i like/hit the same vibe :) it is very long though </3

Pretty Things by ros_is_writing

Laying facedown on the bed was his partner Ashswag, the only other person with keys to Red’s apartment. When he heard Red come into the room he rolled over onto his back and sat up, dark braid flipping over his shoulder at the change of gravity. “Welcome home,” Ash grinned, eyes crinkling in laughter. “This is my house,” Red noted. He put a hand on his hip and looked at Ash over his sunglasses, a joking form of their normal rivalry. “Yeah, but I was here first,” Ash rolled his eyes and scooted off the bed. He casually strolled across the room like he wasn’t the highlight of Red’s day and dropped a kiss into his hair.

Red sees an ostrich by Anonymous

“I don’t think you were smiling this much even when we got married.” “Ash, there wasn't ostriches at our wedding.” “You're allergic to ostriches.” Swagdoons fluff (OOC)

(oh,) to be a comfort by Felix_J

"It is good here, people say." Ash mutters. The words tug at his throat, and it's a bit hard to breathe. He'll manage. "Good place to take your partner." "Says Josh?" Red quirks an eyebrow. Moves his other hand, then, the one that's free, to rest on his knee, and it's where he must register the metal against the palm. Ash stares off silently. He thinks they say not to look at the sun for a reason, because it's too beautiful as it bleeds red into the ocean. But hey, the S.U.N. is the new sun, so they are, and really, the tiny reflections of it in Red's eyes when he hangs his head feel way more important. Just... not easier, to look at. He blinks the tears off. Unlike someone, he doesn't have sunglasses, so that he can admit. "Says Josh." He agrees quietly.

away from the winds by Anonymous

Ash, because he’s a bastard and has never heard of a healthy sleep schedule, shows up at his doorstep at six on the dot. He’s sitting in the kitchen when Red finally stumbles downstairs, spinning the key Red gave him months ago around his fingers with a shit-eating grin on his face.

after closing time by cherubium

after a busy day at the casino, the casino quartet decide to rest.

overdosed on sugar and holiday high by Anonymous

“Morning Ash,” Red greets, supported with a small wave. And as an afterthought, Red adds, “Merry Christmas.” Because he’s soft like that, then to balance the statement, he continues, “Can’t believe you’re still working during the holidays like some capitalist contributing to society.“

Counting Stars by Dreamshadow2

Lifesteal can be extremely dangerous at times. Usually, you can never relax. But some days, when things get a bit too much, you just need some time to relax, to be yourself. Or: ScamDuo stargazing, tons of fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic

(hello) my old heart by Anonymous

What he doesn’t ask is why Ash chooses, over and over, to step through that door, through Lifesteal and Earthbound and the wastelands of an apocalypse. The void knows how many other worlds they’ve followed each other through without a second thought.

sir thats my emotional support human by oneirogen

god!ash sleeping while hugging red to his chest like an oversized plushie. send post

something stupid by starbamnk

'I love you.' Ash had to stop himself from choking. That's not how they were here. It ached, but that wasn't how things were.

ALSO i usually don't rec my own fics but i've written so much fluff that i figured i should share it with you too anon . also willow swagcore author reveal too i guess LOL

fallin' in love

Ash and Red go to a pumpkin patch on their day off.

it’s no big deal (that i love you)

Sometimes Ash understands people when they call him and Red a couple. They are partners, in a sense, but not in that way. After all, when you’ve spent so long as enemies, survivalists, comrades, even, you notice a lot about the other person. From tracking down Red’s movements to stealing that stupid bell from Capital City, to pressing down on wounds and praying it didn’t get infected, they’ve been through everything. Been through the happy, sad, and angry tears together, and everything else in-between. But of course, everything they did had to be a business deal—a private agreement between just both of them. or: ashswag has some thoughts about red while they fall asleep together (ft. swagdoons qpr)

i'd duet again

Neither of them remembers when their morning ritual started, but in the grand scheme of things, that doesn’t matter. The fact is that Red would be the one to wake up first, get ready, start the coffee machine for Ash, and start playing his guitar in the garden. or: ash and red's morning duet

homemade comforts

If Red was being honest, he reveled in moments like this. Moments when Ash and he were far away from all of the violence, all of the responsibilities, and away from any prying eyes around them. Just Ash and Red, cooking together in their shitty little kitchenette that only fits two people.

four of a kind

Ash, Branzy, Clown, and Red close up the casino for the week.

best friends

As they ran back through the streets, they let the rain pour down on them, because they were already drenched. They cackled like madmen throughout it all and in that moment, both of them knew that they had something special. And they were going to get such a bad cold after this. or: how red and ash meet, and how they become friends

temporal

while the world melts around them, ash and red spend the night dancing. that's the fic.

jenga tower

"Dude-" Ash says through a wheezed breath, "Do you think this a little much?" Clown hums, "Mmm, no. I think you're just fineee." "Exactly," Red chimes in, definitely not helping the 'hey wouldn't it be funny if we all laid on Ash?' cause. or: casino quartet turn into a human jenga tower. for roses and smoke week, free day

curtains

It's 7pm, and Ash and Red are exhausted after a 12 hour day of moving. Ends up they forgot the fucking curtains.

#mailbox.core #swagdoons #ashswag #reddoons #sorry that all of them are swagdoons </3 #tw swearing #anyways hope u enjoy anonnnnnn ^_^

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doki-doki-imagines · 7 months

Note

this is inspired by a fic i read but zura and aphrodisiacs? reader was out shopping for valentines day to give zura some -regular- chocolate but she (without realizing what that is) ends up eating a whole box of aphrodisiac chocolate so katsura comes home to a very needy reader who just wants his attention…

author note: matching these requests together!

-Your plan started with a nice idea in mind. All the pastry shops show all those cute chocolates making your job easier. -You know your boyfriend's taste, so it's easy to pick the best box out of so many others. "Why don't you pick this? It's really popular between couples!" The manager smiles at you. "My boyfriend hates blueberries, so I prefer to buy the other box." "Well, you could buy this for you! I promise it is worth it." The sparkle in her eyes is suspect, but you decided to listen to her advice; you deserve to get your sweetness after all. -And now, with sweat drops rolling from your body, you finally understand why that chocolate is so popular among couples. -You don't want to touch yourself, but the temptation is high. The effect was almost immediate, so you worried when your sight got foggy. "This chocolate contains an high amount of aphrodisiacs, eat no more than 3 chocolate." "Thanks" you think, you are the entire box. -You roll around the covers, the previous cold shower did nothing to you. -And then a new smell hit your nose; it's Katsura perfume. You are so desperate you could recognize it even when so far from him. "Zura-" You moan out and you hear steps coming closer to you. "My name is Katsura, not-" He doesn't end his catchphrase, your pitiful condition caught his green eyes. "H-Help me." You remove your panties, a string of your essence still connects the cloth to your core. -Koutaro gets on his knees, his hands already on your thighs keeping your legs open. "You'll tell me later what happened. No excuses." You nod, tears already running down your face. -The moment the tip of his tongue laps at your core a desperate groan leaves your mouth. -Your hand runs on his hair, never gripping or tugging, just caressing. When it slides towards his nape you feel his hands tightening on the fat of your legs, speeding up the rhythm of his tongue. -Soon his mouth latches on your clit, two fingers sliding easily into your core, rubbing your sweet spots deliciously. -You don't last much under his ministrations, a loud moan fills the room. Koutaro doesn't over-stimulate you, pulling away and looking at you. "The chocolate-" You pant out, pointing at the empty box next to your bed. Koutaro easily grabs it, without even moving from in between your legs. "That cheap merchant tried to sell them to me too." Koutaro sighs. -"One orgasm should be enough." He sighs, standing up to kiss your forehead. "But I hope you are still ready for some more." Koutaro whispers into your ear, his warm voice running down your spine, his hands massaging your back, but sliding lower. -Now he looks straight at you, searching for a confirmation. You nod, eyes still watery and teeth biting your lower lips; you look scrumptious.

-And he can't wait to eat you. -Koutaro suppose he'll give you his gift later. He knows how much you'd love a puppy, but now he will have to wait with Elizabeth for a little more.

#gintama x reader #gintama headcanons #gintama imagine #katsura kotarou #katsura x reader #gintama smut #it's short soooryyy #but I absolutely wanted to post it in time

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causeitsagame · 1 year

Text

Fic: Aquila (1/?)

Pairing: Hajime Hinata/Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

Author: @miggylol

Notes: In the midst of bigger fics, this little ship story came to me. I'll put it on AO3 later. Expect friendships with the five survivors, logistics of how they're supposed to survive together on the real Jabberwock, and the main duo acting like idiots for a chapter or two until they figure themselves out.

Excerpt: Since waking, Fuyuhiko mostly talked about things that he still needed to handle. Hajime had forgotten that the yakuza were known for helping during disasters, and so Fuyuhiko felt like logistical responsibilities were uniquely his to shoulder. But sometimes, he relaxed and let himself just exist, too.

This seemed to be one of those rare moments. Fuyuhiko craned his neck, taking in a night sky wholly unhindered by light pollution. "We're going to be looking at this for a while, huh?"

Hajime studied the night sky overhead in all its incredible detail. The long, elegant curve of the Milky Way, overlaid by the intricate constellations visible at this latitude. Tiny, colorful dots of planets. There were no moving lights from distant planes, though; those wouldn't return to the skies for a long, long time. "Yeah."

Fuyuhiko took a while to continue. When he did, he breached a topic that all of them had avoided, consciously or not. "Forever?"

Now that the unfortunate topic was raised, there was only one answer. Hajime breathed in and out a few times, using the familiar ocean scent and the sound of rolling waves to center himself. "Forever."

-----

"Anyone want to get back into the simulation?"

At Kazuichi's words, Hajime looked over, chuckled, and pulled out one of the enormous weeds that only he and Akane could manage to remove. "Now, why would you want to do that?"

As expected, Kazuichi took that as a challenge, and proceeded to tug and yank uselessly on the towering stalk in front of him. The rain-soaked dirt curved upward but didn't actually let go of its prize, no matter how he strained at it. Gritting his teeth, Kazuichi let go of the weed and studied it like an enemy.

Hajime reached over with one hand and pulled it out.

"Hey!" Kazuichi protested.

"Sorry," Hajime said with a shrug, and tossed the weed toward the compost pile he'd soon build. With the island's climate, it'd be easy to have the pile reach internal temperatures that would kill off any troublesome seeds. Not that the others had thought of that.

"Well, I loosened it for you," Kazuichi grumbled, wiping off his hands.

"Absolutely. Thanks." Hajime turned to study the raised garden beds surrounding them. They were still getting used to the real Jabberwock Island, which did not have flawlessly maintained hotel cottages and an infinite supply of delicious food. There was a lot of construction in place, though, and the archipelago was recently enough abandoned to make much of it still usable. With a little work.

The simulation had warped or expanded what actually existed, but they recognized the source material enough to instinctively use the same labels. The airport here on the "first island" was much smaller, and by now, any ranch pens for the local goats and chickens had fallen apart and let the animals run wild. There wasn't only one resort with sixteen perfect cottages, but instead, a variety of hotels dotted the island's beaches. They'd settled on this one, for now, with a single central building holding typical hotel rooms. Cottages had been nice, but maintenance was easier with just one building to worry about.

The hotel also had these garden beds, sitting outside of what had apparently been a renowned restaurant. Pampered foreign tourists had strict expectations for the quality and variety of their meals. They wouldn't have accepted vegetables slowly shipped from overseas, but neither did they want to eat only authentic local cuisine. Well, bless those pampered, spoiled tourists, because their finicky demands meant that the five survivors had discovered a practical forest of abandoned and overgrown crops.

"Akane and I have got this, really," Hajime assured him, gesturing to the other side of the garden. Akane had turned her weeding task into a competition with the boys and was easily outpacing them. "I know you've got more to do than anyone, right?"

"Except for you," Kazuichi countered, but folded his arms together and shrugged. "Solar panels don't make for very good conservation."

Since he'd been working on those panels since morning, Kazuichi had apparently reached his limits of flying solo. "I mean, it's nice to have you," Hajime added, and moved to the next weed.

Kazuichi smiled back, and decided to turn his attention to the multitudes of smaller shoots. Those did come up when he grabbed for them.

An hour later, someone who didn't mind working solo walked out from the hotel door. "I've reviewed everything on this island, by now," Sonia said, and tapped a pen against the clipboard she held. "When will we visit the others?"

"Whenever," Kazuichi shrugged. "I've got the boat working, so you and Fuyuhiko can coordinate on when you're going to check where."

Sonia nodded, and turned to look around the space like Fuyuhiko would suddenly walk in behind her. The two of them had initially worried that they'd have less to contribute, but that faded as soon the sheer scope of their situation faced the survivors. They needed to prioritize everything from scientific research and power supplies (their sleeping friends) to food and shelter (not dying in the meantime) to regaining communication abilities (identifying when someone else might want them to die in the meantime). That meant assessing their situation, taking stock of their resources, and rank-ordering activities. All of that, the duo raised to be leaders could definitely do.

He didn't appear, and Sonia obligingly started tying overgrown tomato plants back to their trellises.

It took nearly another hour for the last of their group to arrive. Hajime looked up before anyone else, concerned that he heard footsteps that suggested a foul mood. Ah, he soon realized, and smirked. No: a fowl mood.

"There are too many fucking chickens on this island," Fuyuhiko muttered, and offered the two roosters he'd carried back from his inspection. He'd spent his walk plucking them, and after a few more feathers, they'd be ready to be butchered.

As Hajime reached for the food he'd apparently be preparing tonight, Kazuichi looked between him and Fuyuhiko with dismay. "Wait, you killed them?" After they'd all done over the past years, it might sound odd to worry about two dead chickens. At the same time, it fit just right on Kazuichi Souda.

Fuyuhiko looked flatly at him. "Have you ever eaten meat before?"

"Oh," Kazuichi said, and looked at the bodies. "Yeah, I guess."

"We probably should capture or cull the livestock," Hajime agreed as he picked some vegetables, then turned for the kitchen. "They're invasive species. They shouldn't have been left to breed and run wild." Sonia and Kazuichi nodded reluctantly at the proposal, while Akane just looked ready to fill the restaurant's freezer.

Even for his altered body, these were long days. Hajime's mind fell pleasantly blank as he butchered and cleaned and cooked, and it almost felt like a surprise when he looked down and saw a meal with more than enough for tomorrow's leftovers. They all attacked it with vigor, in the remains of a restaurant that had once earned five-star reviews.

"Thanks for dinner," Hajime said as he walked out to the water later that evening, and stretched his arms over his head. "We needed that protein."

Fuyuhiko turned from where he was resting, where a bed of thick grasses met crisp white sands. "Hey. And no problem. Besides, you fixed it." This stretch of the beach wasn't conveniently next to their hotel, but walking out to this further point gave a better angle across western waters. It made for a glorious sight.

The horizon was still crimson slashed with gold-edged clouds, which would soon fade to plum, and then deepest night. The darkness brought its own beauty. Out here at the far reaches of the world, it felt like the entire grandeur of the universe was visible overhead. Such a vast array of stars left Hajime feeling insignificant, but he didn't mind that. He doubted the others did, either. After the past few years, it was a relief to feel like he could live unnoticed. "Mind if I…?"

Fuyuhiko shrugged as Hajime gestured to the sand, and waited for him to stretch out next to him. In companionable silence, they watched the sky ease itself completely into night, minute by peaceful minute. Part of Hajime's mind felt like it took a pleasantly relaxed eternity, where he could simply and comfortably exist next to someone he cared about. The other part of his mind said that the process had taken approximately twenty-eight minutes to reach astronomical dusk. He tried to focus on the first part.

Since waking, Fuyuhiko mostly talked about things that he still needed to handle. Hajime had forgotten that the yakuza were known for helping during disasters, and so Fuyuhiko felt like logistical responsibilities were uniquely his to shoulder. But sometimes, he relaxed and let himself just exist, too.

This seemed to be one of those rare moments. Fuyuhiko craned his neck, taking in a night sky wholly unhindered by light pollution. "We're going to be looking at this for a while, huh?"

Hajime studied the sky overhead in all its incredible detail. The long, elegant curve of the Milky Way, overlaid by the intricate constellations visible at this latitude. Tiny, colorful dots of planets. There were no moving lights from distant planes, though; those wouldn't return to the skies for a long, long time. "Yeah."

Fuyuhiko took a while to continue. When he did, he breached a topic that all of them had avoided, consciously or not. "Forever?"

"Yeah." Sighing, Fuyuhiko rolled onto his side. The sand shifted under him as he propped up his head on an angled arm, and studied Hajime instead of the sky. "I don't know if the rest of them have accepted that, yet. Or even let themselves think about it."

"Probably not," Hajime admitted. Kazuichi and Akane would simply deny it, and Sonia was more of an optimist than the two of them. But it was true: the world outside no longer had room for them, and they themselves were the ones who'd made it so. They were incredibly likely to spend the rest of their lives on these six islands as the world moved slowly on from what they'd done to it.

One comfort in this new life was Hajime having confidence that he'd be able to wake up their friends in the pods. Eventually. It would take time, though, and possibly a long time. Until then, it would just be the five of them. In the meantime, at least Hajime had someone he could go to for the hard conversations. Out of all of them, Fuyuhiko had always been the easiest one to talk to.

At least, once he finally let anyone talk to him.

"What are you grinning about?" Fuyuhiko asked with suspicion.

Grinning, Hajime also rolled onto his side. "You."

Fuyuhiko's good eye narrowed as he studied Hajime in the darkness. "Meaning?"

"Oh, I'm just thinking how I'm laying out here next to you, totally unconcerned and defenseless…"

"…And?" Fuyuhiko eventually prompted.

The Ultimate Impressionist had been a member of Class 43 of Hope's Peak Academy. With that talent, Hajime said with a perfect echo of tone and pitch, "I'll sacrifice the lives of everyone here if it guarantees my survival."

Fuyuhiko stared blankly back at him, needing a few moments to process how he'd just heard his own voice coming from someone else's mouth. After he understood the mimicry, he paid attention to the actual words, and annoyance instantly filled his eye. "Hey! That's a cheap damn shot!"

Cackling, Hajime laughed to the sky. "You were a dick, man."

"I changed my mind, go away and fuck off."

Hajime's laughter changed to lighter giggles. "Or what?"

"Or I'll just fucking leave," Fuyuhiko muttered, and shifted his weight on the sand.

Hajime reached out and caught his wrist before he could rise. "Sorry," he said, though amusement still filled his voice. "I was just thinking about how much the two of us have changed, all right? I don't know if there's anyone I trust more than you, by now, but we started… there. It's funny."

"Let go of me," Fuyuhiko grumbled, and futilely tried to wrench his wrist out of Hajime's infinitely stronger grip. When Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu's mood soured, he didn't let it improve without spreading around a bit of that misery, first.

"Come on, I'm sorry. Don't run off," Hajime pleaded, and pulled him back down. His right hand held Fuyuhiko's left wrist, and when the other man still complained, Hajime's left hand reached over to hold Fuyuhiko's right against the still-warm sand. "I'm just trying to say that, even if we are stuck here, I'm glad we're here together. All right?"

With how Hajime had tried to hold both of Fuyuhiko's arms against the sand, he'd wound up crouched on top of him, looking down at the increasingly irate blond. Fuyuhiko futilely tugged his captured arms a few more times, then opened his eye to stare up at Hajime. In the deepening darkness, his expression turned very strange, unlike anything Hajime had seen on him before. Surprise turned to confusion, soon replaced with growing outrage and uncommon alarm.

"Get the fuck off of me," Fuyuhiko demanded in a thin, reedy panic.

Something about that sounded far too real to think that they were joking, any more, and Hajime instantly pulled back and lifted his hands. "Sorry."

Without explanation, Fuyuhiko turned away from Hajime and hurried back to the hotel.

Distraught, Hajime sat back on his heels. What the hell had happened? He knew Fuyuhiko well, and throwing verbal jabs back and forth was practically a favorite sport. Maybe it was because he'd thrown out a quote from just before the horrors with Mahiru and Peko? But that didn't seem right, not when those pods would open at some point in the future.

He'd fucked up, somehow, and all of the Ultimate Therapist and Psychologist and What-The-Fuck-Ever talents in the world weren't telling him how to fix it. Damn it. With a bone-deep sigh, Hajime pushed himself to his feet and dusted off the sand that clung to him. Well, he'd just been handed another to-do for tomorrow, because they couldn't let any tensions build between them.

Not when they were there forever.

#hajime hinata #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #kuzuhina #sdr2 fuyuhiko #sdr2 hajime #my fic #fic: aquila

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