#how I sleep knowing every jumbled pile of person has a thinking part that wonders what the part that isn't thinking isn't thinking of <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

balaroo · 3 years

Text

Negative Reinforcement

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku one shot.

Summary: Bakugou Katsuki was the last person who should be picked to give emotional support- especially when he's stuck in a hospital room and bored out of his mind, but Izuku had shut down after their battle with Shigaraki, blaming himself for not being able to stop the carnage. When not even their classmates can pull him out of his mood Katsuki takes it into his own hands.

Aka, Katsuki has to cheer up Izuku and it goes surprisingly well.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, Soft Bakugou Katsuki, Worried Bakugou Katsuki, he's trying his best, It Can Be Read As Platonic But Who Am I Kidding, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Cuddling, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bakugou Katsuki is a Good Friend, Post War Arc, not spoiler free, no beta we die like nighteye, this is so self indulgent you have no idea, Depressed Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Feels Guilty, One Shot, short and sweet

Author’s Notes: I'm not really happy with how this turned out honestly. I loved the idea but I struggled to write it well, forgive me. Anyway, wanted to post it before the leaks for the new chapter come out and break me. This is my fluffy interpretation of what should happen but watch Hori stamp on my dreams.

Set right after chapter 296, there are many spoilers ahead and a few guesses about what will happen next! Thank you for reading and please leave some constructive feedback if you can! I'm still very new to writing fics like this.

Cross posted on my AO3 account, the link to which is in my bio if you’d prefer to read it there.

Rest of the work below the line!

Negative Reinforcement

If there were two things Katsuki hated more than he hated everything else the first would be hospitals. The sour smell of disinfectant that clung to each surface and the constant background hum of machines slowly drove him insane, that combined with Katsuki's own opinion that he'd spent enough time in the damned places already did not make them appealing to him. The second most hated thing would be dealing with other people's emotions. Hell- it was tiring enough having to figure out his own, let alone being expected to somehow know what other people were feeling and even if he got that bit right he was still meant to act accordingly. It was exhausting, so he tried to avoid it whenever he could. In this situation, avoiding it was not possible.

When Katsuki first woke up his thoughts had been jumbled, fleeting and fearful, considering the last thing he could remember was bleeding out in a ruined city it seemed fair enough. The room had been dark, cast in shadow with only the soft flashing lights of various medical devices to give any indication that Katsuki hadn’t been thrown into a void. He’d tossed fitfully in the hospital bed for a second, not quite grasping his surroundings and cried out as white-hot pain shot across his chest as if someone were tugging on his insides. “Kacchan?” The familiar voice was quiet but echoed with desperation and Katsuki frantically sought out its source, twisting his head, eyes finally adjusting to the gloom until he could make out a dark mound on the far side of the room that was moving. Katsuki finally separated the figure from the pile of blankets and pillows, ruffled hair stuck out in all directions and if he tried hard enough, Katsuki had been able to make out the faint gleam of green eyes piercing through the darkness locked directly onto him. “Thank goodness.” Izuku breathed as he saw Katsuki twist to look at him, his form slumped again, fading back into the shapeless mass of the hospital bed and Katsuki twitched anxiously in response. He felt completely disorientated, the thoughts in his head were moving too fast to pin down.

He’d tried to respond but his mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy, barely managing to rasp Izuku’s name in a thick croaky voice he wasn’t sure the other could even hear, struggling to lift the medicated fog that wrapped heavily around his mind like a thick blanket. Mingled feelings of relief and fear flitted around his head as he began to remember the carnage and bloodshed- Izuku was here, he had made it out and that alone calmed Katsuki enough to relax back into the bed. But what about everyone else? Their classmates had been fighting their own battles all over the city. He had barely been able to focus but managed to form a few words, “The others?” Each breath, every swallow and twitch of his head sent fresh waves of pain rippling through his body, black spots threatened to overcome his vision but he fought through it. He could almost feel the other boy hesitating, it made him more distressed. “The class is fine.” Izuku had told him at last in a heavy voice, “You should go back to sleep.” Katsuki could remember thinking how defeated the other teen sounded. He’d ground his teeth together, feeling frustration building in the pit of his stomach that he was so helpless, unable to do anything more than shake and let his eyes fall shut again, slipping back into a fitful rest.

He woke the next day, feeling much more himself and determined to find out exactly what had happened but was immediately shut down by Recovery Girl who insisted he had to stay in bed or risk an even longer ban from training. Though, if he was honest, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to stand up, let alone shake someone down for answers. Katsuki then tried to interrogate Izuku about it but the freckled nerd was annoyingly quiet for a change, spending most of his time with his back to Katsuki facing the bare white walls of the room. It was worrying, to say the least. Katsuki tried to tell himself that Izuku was just recovering from the wounds he’d sustained from All For One, damage that might not ever heal according to Recovery Girl. Izuku might never be able to use his arms in battle again.

Another day crawled by insufferably slowly. The only people allowed in their room had been Recovery Girl and a few different nurses who would bring food and water, all of which had clammed up the second Katsuki tried to ask them for news. He was frustrated with being talked over again and again, his hands tingled with a need to blow something up. So even by his own standards, he was in a lousy mood when their classmates were finally able to visit. Recovery Girl had forbidden the entire class from coming, “Only a few at a time.” She’d said as she’d been checking on their bandages, “If either of you reopens your wounds then I’ll have to put in overtime, and I won’t be quite so nice.” Katsuki snorted, tapping his fingers against the side of the bed impatiently. He’d spent the morning trying to coax a conversation out of Izuku. Well, not so much coax as annoy or tease, but they were solid tactics that usually got a reaction. Today, however, he got nothing more than one-word replies until Katsuki had gotten so annoyed he’d just given up completely. He’d prefer it if Izuku would just yell at him, yelling he understood. Just say Katsuki had made him mad, anything other than this stony silence. It had Katsuki on edge.

He was brought back to the present as he saw Izuku move so he was sat up in the bed facing the door. Katsuki could finally see his face properly for the first time. It looked drawn and tired, eyes that were usually bright stared blankly at the wall and there were dark bags under them. Katsuki briefly wondered how much Izuku had actually been sleeping while he was turned away from him. He thought again about trying to get his attention but then the door swung open, banging against the wall noisily and making Recovery Girl tsk in irritation. Iida was the first through the door, his face was still bruised slightly in places and his wrist had some kind of support on it but other than that he seemed okay. “We are here to represent the class!” The dark-haired teen announced. His good hand gripped a mixture of brightly coloured heart-shaped balloons all with ‘ Get well soon!’ scrawled across them. Katsuki’s eye twitched. He’d never wanted to leave a room more than he had at this moment. The others were filing in now. Including Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, Mina, Kirishima, and Sero were the first ones who’d come to see them. They all bore marks of the battle in some way shape or form. Todoroki had a bandage wrapped around part of his face and Kirishima’s left arm was heavily bandaged. The rest had scratches that had been taped up but it was their expressions that made Katsuki realise something was wrong.

They entered the room with forced smiles which were surprisingly eerie and didn’t match the dullness in their eyes. They all looked so tired. Though when they saw Katsuki and Izuku both sat up in their beds, watching them, they did seem to brighten up. Mina was the first to move forwards, dropping to perch on the edge of Katsuki’s bed with a loud exhalation, “You two had us all worried!” Iida was now tying his balloons to the leg of a table between the two beds and Uraraka hurried forwards carrying an assortment of chocolate that she put on the table as well. She then turned to Izuku with a nervous smile. He was regarding their classmates with a far-away look in his eyes but he did meet Uraraka’s gaze. “We uh- got those mint chocolates you like.” She began awkwardly, “How are you feeling?” Katsuki watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. He could tell she was taken aback by Izuku’s state but she was doing a poor job of hiding it. For a moment Katsuki wasn’t sure if the green-haired boy was even going to respond, then, at last, he smiled faintly, though it seemed more like a grimace, and said, “I’m okay.” A brief rush of relief hit Katsuki as he saw the boy sit up a little more, though he still had that glazed expression.

Then Katsuki’s view of them was blocked by Sero and Kirishima who moved a few of the visitors' chairs to crowd around his bed. “It’s so good to see you, man!” Kirishima exclaimed, he had a grin on his face and patted Katsuki on his non-bandaged shoulder as he sat down. “They told us you guys were fine but they wouldn’t let anyone come near you. Are you doing okay?” Katsuki growled and picked at a spot on his bedsheet where the thread had come loose, “I’m just about ready to break out of here, consequences be fucked.” Sero chuckled sympathetically and glanced around at the very clean, very sparse room, “Pretty bored then huh?” Katsuki’s patience was thinning rapidly. He was glad to see them all in one piece but if he had to walk around social niceties to get a straight answer from someone he really was going to lose it. “Not just that,” He snapped, “No one here will tell me anything. What the hell happened after the battle?” He didn’t miss the way Mina caught Kirishima’s eye with a startled expression as he turned to look at each of them in turn. When no one offered up a quick answer Katsuki had to stifle another growl, they were holding something back from him and he knew it. “I know we’re here because the bastard set his Nomu’s loose or whatever and they thought they’d come after us, but why hasn’t anyone told us anything? All Mig-” Katsuki broke off and stared bitterly at his hands. He’d been about to say All Might hasn’t even been to see Deku but he didn’t want Izuku to overhear him. He could hear Todoroki talking faintly in the background so he hoped the other invalid teen hadn’t been listening to him about to point out the obvious but Katsuki was mad the former symbol of peace hadn’t been to see them yet. If anyone could pull Izuku out of whatever stupid funk he was in, it would be All Might.

“Bakugou…” Kirishima started warily, “A lot happened, we’re-” He stopped mid-sentence and glanced helplessly at Sero. “We’re not supposed to say much.” Sero finished for the redhead, “They said you needed more time to heal befo-” “Fuck that.” Katsuki snarled, his stomach was twisted into knots with anticipation. He wanted to stomp his foot like a child. Maybe break something against a wall. If they left without giving him any answers he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait to have another chance. They were all watching him with concern and Katsuki realised he’d been gripping the covers tightly in his fists. He let go quickly but he’d already left scorch marks smouldering in the pale blue sheets. He struggled to relax his jaw and tried again, “If I have to lie here one more day without knowing what’s going on out there, I really will get out of bed and find out myself. That sound like a great way to heal to you?”

It was Sero who broke first, “I guess, I don’t think I could stay still either.” He admitted, looking at Kirishima who sighed but murmured in agreement. “He does have a point,” Mina said from where she was still sitting at the end of the bed, “And I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak out.” She stuck her tongue out playfully as Katsuki glowered at her, but he was silently glad to see her acting normal. Kirishima breathed out heavily, slumping forwards in the chair and meeting Katsuki’s gaze. “What do you want to know first?” “How is everyone?” Katsuki asked immediately, “We could only get them to tell us no one else from the class was in hospital but that was pretty much it.” Smiling softly, Kirishima nodded, “Everyone’s okay. Kaminari wanted to come today but he’s still on bed rest.” He waved a hand as Katsuki opened his mouth, “Just in his dorm. He got a pretty bad knock to the head but he’s fine, really.” Katsuki closed his mouth and eyed the others quietly. There was still something they hadn’t told him, he could see it in their faces, in the smiles that looked too fake and the unspoken grief he could feel around them.

“What happened?” Was all he asked, “Something went wrong, didn’t it?” He could almost see their facade’s failing, Kirishima wouldn’t meet his eyes now and seemed very interested in his hands while Sero leaned further back into his chair, tugging subconsciously at the hem of his shirt. Mina’s head dropped and Katsuki could see her bottom lip trembling as she stared down at the floor, when Kirishima offered a hand to her she took it and clutched it tightly, like a lifeline. Her entire demeanour changed in a few short moments. Whatever had happened, it really distressed her. There was another silent moment before Kirishima started talking again, “You were there when Aizawa sensei was hit with a quirk deleter round?” Katsuki nodded grimly, “He took his own leg off, I saw.” The redhead winced, “He’s still recovering, it was bad.” “But he’ll be okay?” It was Sero who answered, “We haven’t been able to see him yet but Shinsou said he’s doing better.” Katsuki wanted to relax but the other’s tone of voice sounded heavy. “There’s something else…” Kirishima began, “When we were trying to keep Gigantomachia from reaching the city we…” Another deep breath and his bright red eyes looked watery. “We lost Midnight.” Mina’s shoulders shook and her body convulsed in a choked sob but Katsuki could only stare in disbelief. Midnight had been their teacher for almost a year, she couldn’t just be gone. Katsuki’s focus wavered, his mind drifting. He could tell from their reactions what they meant and felt a deep pit open in his stomach. After everything that had happened, all the fighting, he never thought they’d actually lose someone. God, he was fucking naive.

The others gave him a little while to process it and Katsuki found himself wishing for the umpteenth time that he was anywhere else. “Bakugou?” Sero asked eventually and Katsuki quickly returned his attention to them. Mina’s eyes were red around the edges and he knew now why they all looked so drained. “How did it happen?” He managed to ask. His body felt oddly numb but when he spoke his voice sounded unsteady, even to himself. Mina leant forwards and breathed out shakily, “W- we don’t really know. We hadn’t heard from her and then we just found her, lying there.” Tears trailed down her pink cheeks and she lifted her free hand as if she was reaching for something. “I was- I held her hand.” Her voice ended in a whisper, dark eyes hazy. Katsuki shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. He didn’t like being confined in one space for moments like this, it made him feel nervous as if he were trapped. Kirishima was trying to comfort Mina though he seemed just as broken down himself. Sero watched them sadly for a moment before glancing back at Katsuki, “Other heroes were killed too. No one we knew well but they got the number 6 hero, Crust.” The dark-haired teen hesitated before continuing as if he wasn’t sure how much he should say. “Most of the big heroes are out of action. Hawks and Endeavour are still in bad condition, Miruko as well. But they’ll heal.” He sounded unsure of himself. The numbness settled a little deeper into Katsuki and he closed his eyes. All the destruction he’d seen from Shigaraki’s quirk and then Gigantomachia tearing the city apart, he didn’t want to ask about civilian casualties.

There was silence then, nothing more to say really. Sero returned to consoling the other two, whether he was unsure of how to do the same for Katsuki or thought the blonde wanted the space Katsuki couldn’t tell, but he was grateful for it. During the break from their conversation, he tried to focus on what his other classmates were saying to Izuku. They’d arranged themselves near the freckled teen’s head and Uraraka was saying something in an upbeat voice. “Recovery Girl said you’d be okay to go outside for a bit,” the round-faced girl was saying, “Stretch your legs, maybe see Eri. She’s worried about you.” Todoroki and Iida murmured agreement but Katsuki could make out Izuku’s face between Kirishima and Sero now, he still had his eyes fixed downwards with that subdued look on his face. Katsuki wondered if they’d told Izuku about Midnight or if they thought he couldn’t handle it yet. “Maybe.” Izuku replied, Katsuki was vaguely relieved to hear this voice sounding a little louder, “I’m still really tired.” Uraraka and Iida exchanged glances. “We can uh- leave you to rest a bit more?” Iida asked though he sounded like he didn’t want to. When Izuku simply nodded mutely and settled back down into the bed, turning to face his back to them, Iida’s face fell. He said something quietly to Todoroki and Uraraka that Katsuki couldn’t make out but the three of them got up and made their way dejectedly towards Mina and the others. Katsuki wanted to yell at them to keep talking to him but he just stared worriedly at Izuku’s back, if he was refusing to talk to his friends, how could Katsuki get him to say anything?

Uraraka joined Mina at the foot of the bed, Katsuki felt the mattress shift beneath her weight as she put her head in her hands. Mina patted her on the back and Iida stood in front of her, looking concerned. Todoroki had come to stand closer to the Katsuki. He leaned forwards slightly, “Has he said anything to you?” He asked quietly, his eyes were anxious and Katsuki knew he was just as worried about Izuku. Katsuki wrinkled his face, not pleased with the fact he hadn’t, “No.” He returned to picking at the loose thread on his mattress. For a second, he thought he saw Todoroki smile faintly as if Katsuki’s reaction had amused him. But when he looked up, it was gone. “I feel so helpless,” Uraraka said through her hands, catching the blonde’s attention again. “He’s just…” She trailed off miserably and looked back up at the rest of them. Iida reached out to rest his hand tentatively on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She gave him a weak smile in reply but still looked close to tears. Katsuki hated to agree with her but as he glanced across at the pitiful figure of Izuku, still curled up against the wall, his heart thumped uncomfortably hard in his chest. He felt like he needed to confront something, preferably something physical. If he could just get out of bed and blow off some steam maybe he’d be able to think clearly. But no. He was trapped here, in bed, with a bunch of emotional teenagers and no anger outlet. Definitely a worst-case scenario.

Katsuki finally drew his eyes away from Izuku as he saw Kirishima shift in his chair. He exchanged an apprehensive look with Sero and opened his mouth as if he were going to say something more. “Bakugou...” But Iida cut in before he could get anywhere. “We should let you get some rest.” Iida fixed Kirishima with a pointed look and the spiky-haired teen glanced away, still looking guilty. They all made a move to get up but Katsuki spoke first. He wasn’t going to let them leave without telling him the truth. The whole truth. “What are you hiding from me now?” He demanded, his voice bitter. He’d had enough of all the secrets now. More glances were exchanged between the visiting party and Katsuki furrowed his brow even deeper. “Tell me or get the fuck out.” He snapped at them, patience far beyond gone. If they wanted to keep shit from him, that was fine. Well, it wasn’t actually but he didn’t want them here if that was the case and if they kept looking at him like some fragile thing he was going to go feral.

Iida sighed at Katsuki’s brash tone and pushed his glasses further up his nose. He cast a look over his shoulder at where Izuku lay unmoving and shuffled closer to Katsuki, speaking in a low voice as if he didn’t want the other teen to hear him. “None of the teachers wanted us to tell you, but…” Another pause as he built up the nerve to continue. Katsuki blinked in surprise and his anger faded slightly. Iida going rogue? The strict class representative was finally getting interesting. Iida stole a glance at where Recovery Girl was sitting in her usual chair in the far corner, head bowed as if she were dozing. She certainly wasn’t paying them any attention. “You’re being kept behind U.A’s defences because not long after Shigaraki disappeared, he sent his Nomu’s to Tartarus.” A cold feeling was beginning to settle in Katsuki’s stomach, “All For One’s prison.” He murmured. Iida nodded gravely, “Yes. Most of the top pro-heroes were still out of action or unaccounted for- There was no one to stop him. He took back his real body and broke out some more nasty criminals along the way. No one’s seen him since.”

If All For One had his body back and control of Shigaraki’s powers as well as the Nomu, everything they’d sacrificed… Had it done anything? Katsuki shook his head as if shaking away the thought. No, he couldn’t think like that. They’d saved most of the city just by holding Shigaraki down, Gigantomachia too, it hadn’t been useless. He side-eyed Izuku’s bed again. Was it just his imagination or had the boy shifted slightly in his peripheral vision? Returning his attention to the others, Katsuki clenched his fists. Though he wasn’t happy that they were being guarded, he could admit it made a lot of sense. The U.A Barrier was pretty formidable but he wasn’t sure it could hold off the bastard if he really wanted to get to them. Another flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and Katsuki was sure of it now. “You should go.” He said to them. Kirishima started, “W- Bakugou, are-” Rolling his eyes, Katsuki interrupted him. “I’m sure, Shitty-Hair. Get going, I want to sleep.” The redhead hesitated then nodded slowly and got up. The others said their goodbyes and did the same, stacking the visitors’ chairs back up and piling them in the corner before heading for the door.

Katsuki was so focused on watching Izuku for more movement he didn’t realise Todoroki was lingering by the edge of his bed until he coughed. The other teen kept his voice low as he said to Katsuki, “You’ll talk to him, won’t you?” Katsuki knew what he meant instantly and scowled, “What do you think I’m doing, bastard?” Now piss off.” Todoroki backed off, but Katsuki could see that same knowing smile on his face as he turned away. Though he tried not to focus on it, Katsuki’s face felt flushed and he glared angrily at Todoroki’s retreating back. Soon, their classmates were gone and the room felt bare once again. Though Katsuki had been sure Recovery Girl was asleep, the moment the door swung shut she got slowly to her feet. The old medic gave Katsuki a wry smile. “I’ve got other things to get done. You two rest.” She paused, “and heal .” The emphasis she put on the last word made Katsuki uncomfortable again and he was sure she knew exactly what they’d been talking about. Then she left and it was just the two of them.

Katsuki took a deep breath and glanced across at the other bed. Izuku was still, his back turned to the room, looking pretty much dead to the world like he had done for the last few days. But Katsuki had been sure he’d seen him twitch when Iida had spoken of All For One. He was awake, and he must have heard what their classmates had said. “You should talk to them.” He said before he could lose his nerve. Izuku stiffened from across the room and Katsuki waited before continuing, “They’re worried about you.” The silence between them stretched longer and Katsuki was sure Izuku would just ignore him as he had done since he’d woken up here until finally, he shifted. “And tell them what?” The green-haired boy’s voice sounded so tired and bitter that Katsuki winced. He’d never seen Izuku so hopeless before. He’d always been the first to bounce back from everything, it was one of his most irritating qualities. “The truth. They want to help you, idiot.” More silence, then at last, “What is the truth?” Even quieter than before and Katsuki had to strain to hear it. Katsuki blinked, “Huh?” What the hell was he talking about? Izuku rolled onto his back and Katsuki caught a glimpse of his face. It was streaked with tears, more running silently down his cheeks and Katsuki’s chest tightened painfully. “The truth,” Izuku repeated, his voice catching in his throat. “That I wasn’t able to stop All For One. I was given this power to be a hero and I couldn’t even protect the people I care about the most.” Katsuki gawked incredulously at him, “ That’s what you’ve been upset about?” He demanded, “You have got to be the thickest person I h-” He broke off abruptly as Izuku lifted one of his heavily bandaged arms in front of his face. “Hey! Stop it. You’re not supposed to move them.” But the freckled teen didn’t seem to hear him, “All For One was right.” He murmured, “I’m worthless, I don’t deserve this power.”

Katsuki could only stare at him in shock- It was one of the last things he’d expected Izuku to be hung up over after everything he’d seen him accomplish in a single year. He struggled vainly to find something to say. This was the exact opposite of what he was good at. Izuku had dropped his hand back to his side, staring emptily at the ceiling, and Katsuki’s stomach twisted painfully again. Part of him just wanted to yell at the dumbass about how, well, dumb he was being. Could he not see everything he’d done? All the lives he’d saved? But his mouth felt thick and heavy, his heart pounded so loud now and he had to bite down on his tongue to stop from cursing himself. This was pathetic, not even able to tell Izuku, someone he’d been willing to die for, that he was impressed with him. What kind of person did he have to be to find jumping in front of those spikes easier than admitting he was wrong? If he was doing this it would be his way. The first step was to make Izuku realise how stupid he sounded.

“Deku.” He said after a few minutes of silence had passed, “Come here a second.” Wide confused eyes stared at him, “W-what?” “Come here.” He repeated. “Why?” Katsuki’s eye twitched, “Because I can’t get up and- Fuck’s sake, just move it!” The bedsheets rustled softly as Izuku pushed them aside and slowly got up. It was a bit awkward, not being able to use his arms to prop himself up, but he managed it and then stood there, pausing for a moment before he walked cautiously over to where Katsuki lay. He stopped near the top of the bed and Katsuki huffed in annoyance, beckoning the other one closer. Izuku still looked confused but shuffled another few steps forwards, leaning down until he was close enough for Katsuki to whack him upside the head. It wasn’t a particularly hard hit but Izuku still yelped and stared at Katsuki in disbelief, “What was that for?!” He whined loudly. Katsuki couldn’t help but smile slightly at the indignance in his voice, it felt like a long time since Izuku’s voice had sounded anything but broken. “Negative reinforcement,” he said, “When you say something stupid about yourself, I get to hit you.” Narrowed green eyes met his own but he was sure they seemed more focused than before. Katsuki sighed, shifting in his bed. “You really think you didn’t do anything to help?”

Izuku was watching him closely, his expression clouded with an emotion Katsuki couldn’t bring himself to figure out. But he didn’t reply so Katsuki continued. “For starters, the second you realised Shigaraki could track you, you led him away from the evacuation. Which was pretty fucking stupid because you tried to do it without telling anyone.” Izuku snorted but didn’t interrupt, he’d stopped crying now which was a win, right? Katsuki had to tear his eyes away from the teen, the itchiness he felt was back, crawling all over his skin until he ground his teeth together, hard. “Then you unlocked float,” Katsuki counted it down on his fingers as if he were making a list, “ And used blackwhip to keep everyone from being destroyed by decay.” Another finger down. “Kacchan…” Izuku said hesitantly and Katsuki glanced back up at him. Freckles stood out against a bright red face and he took another step forwards so he was right next to Katsuki’s bed. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, he was sure his own face was flushed too but he managed to keep his voice steady as he said, “What? Are you saying you didn’t do that?” Izuku shook his head slowly and Katsuki could swear he saw the hint of a smile begin to tug at his lips. “Exactly. Now shut the fuck up and let me tell it.” He heard a soft chuckle to his side and blinked rapidly, trying to remember where he’d stopped. It was an effort to keep talking. He didn’t like that reassuring someone else meant he had to say embarrassing things like this. “You managed to stop All For One from stealing your power then still got up and kept fighting him again. Am I missing anything?” Izuku was stood with his bowed, dark hair in his face but Katsuki could hear him sniffing and figured he was crying again.

Shoulders shaking slightly, Izuku looked back up and yep. He was definitely crying again. “I could only do that because you saved me! You, Lemillion, Todoroki, Iida, you all helped me. And I couldn’t even stop you from getting hurt!” Another sob shook him, “If I can’t protect the people I care about, what good am I?” Katsuki frowned and rapped Izuku’s head with his knuckles again. It wasn’t as hard as the first time, more like he was trying to knock some sense into him but it still made Izuku start. He stared at him, the tears in his eyes glittered in the harsh hospital lights and Katsuki faltered. He was sure his stomach was now trying to escape his body by making him want to throw it up but he drew in another breath to steady himself. “That’s our job, dumbass. We’re all trying to save as many people as we can.” Izuku shook his head, he moved forwards somewhat uncertainly to perch on the edge of the bed. It dipped slightly under his weigh and Katsuki moved further back towards the wall so Izuku could turn to face him, now sitting cross-legged on the sheets which took a degree of shuffling around. Katsuki was very aware of how Izuku’s knees were pressed against his side on the small space. It was through the sheets but he was sure he could feel it. When the other didn’t say anything about their new position, Izuku started again. “With One For All though, I’m meant to save everyone. That’s what I was given it for.” His gaze fell again, “Midnight, everyone who was killed, I should’ve saved them. But I couldn’t do it. I shouldn’t have this power.” He went silent, looking even more miserable. “They told you?” Katsuki asked. He tried to stay quiet but he was surprised Iida or either of the others would’ve said anything to him. Izuku shook his head glumly, “I heard the nurses talking when they thought I was asleep.”

Katsuki regarded him with a sad expression, that must’ve been why he’d been in such a slump, learning that their teacher was killed for the very thing he believed he should’ve prevented. He’d had the worlds biggest burden dropped on his shoulders in the middle of a war, but he wouldn’t ask anyone to help him carry it. Which was Katsuki’s fault. All through their childhood and then their teenage years, Izuku had just wanted to be included, he always tried so hard never to be a burden. Izuku glanced back up as he heard the other boy sigh, his face tinged pink, probably from all the crying, and Katsuki tried again. “Deku. You can’t save everyone, not all the time.” Izuku flinched and Katsuki hurried on, “Not even All Might could do that so stop putting so much pressure on yourself.” Those bright eyes were staring at him so intensely now but Katsuki couldn’t stop, Izuku had to hear this. He swallowed dryly, “All For One, One for All, they’re both cursed powers.” Izuku tilted his head to the side, “They’re not the same though,” He protested, “One For All is meant to help people.” Shaking his head, Katsuki struggled to sit up taller, ignoring Izuku’s worried protests. He had to make Izuku understand this. It was something he’d realised pretty soon after All Might told them about the other wielders of Izuku’s power.

“Just fucking listen, okay. One For All is only as good as whoever uses it. Every one of its past users died alone, trying to stop All For One because they thought like you. They thought they had to fight that bastard on their own so no one else would get hurt, but that’s exactly why they all died.” He stared straight into Izuku’s eyes, willing him to realise it. “If you keep trying to win by yourself then you’ll get killed. You have to let other people help you.” “But what if you get hurt again? What if you get killed? I don’t want that to happen!” Izuku’s voice was insistent, his eyes were set in the way Katsuki could tell he was going to be stubborn about it and his own temper flared up in retaliation. “What, and you think I’ll be okay if you die?!” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them but he felt the heat creeping into his face as he realised what he said. It did succeed in silencing Izuku however, and Katsuki took the opportunity to keep talking. “Even if you did manage to defeat All For One, it wouldn’t be a victory for any of us-” He willed himself to say it again, “For me, if you get killed.” The heat was now spreading down his neck and he dropped his head to avoid Izuku’s gaze, frustration or something else was making his own vision blurry. The other boy was quiet and Katsuki very much wanted to curl up in a hole somewhere and think about what he’d just said for a few years or so. He resented how difficult this was. Neither of them moved until Katsuki heard Izuku sniff. He looked up in surprise to see more tears on the boys face. Had he said something wrong? Katsuki started to move forward and opened his mouth but Izuku shook his head, rubbing the tears off his cheeks with his shoulder. “Sorry, Kacchan. I’m just-” He sounded hoarse but there was a soft smile on his face, “When I was fighting Shigaraki, all I could think about was what would happen to you and everyone else that I-” “That you didn’t think about yourself.” Katsuki finished with a sigh, “I fucking hate that about you. Can’t be a hero if you’re dead, can you?” He’d meant it to be a rebuke but Izuku’s smile widened even more and he laughed. A proper laugh, the first time Katsuki had heard in what felt like forever, and he couldn’t help but relax at the sound of it. Okay, this sucked and he felt itchy all over, but it was rewarding to see the enthusiasm return to Izuku’s face.

The laugh faded and Izuku returned to staring at Katsuki with such a fond expression that he felt a sharp twinge of guilt in his gut. He knew Izuku had only ever wanted to be close again, like how it had been when they were kids, and he was still waiting after everything that Katsuki had done to him. Part of him wished Izuku would just hate him, it would be easier to understand for one thing. “Kacchan, thank you.” The soft voice broke him out of his thoughts, “Everything All For One said to me…” He trailed off and stared at his arms, still thickly bandaged and splinted. “I thought I had gotten past it but it made me feel so useless. I guess I’m still just Deku.” He said it so sadly that Katsuki felt the twinge grow into a gut-wrenching pain. That stupid nickname. Izuku had tried to reclaim it but it seemed he didn’t really believe it himself. Katsuki probably could have pulled his heart right out of his throat at this point, “Well, duh, Deku. You said you were always gonna try your best, right?” He tried to make it sound casual, but he was admitting to something he'd known for a while. That Deku hadn't meant worthless for a very long time.

The look of surprise on Izuku’s face only lasted for a second before his eyes filled with tears yet again, his bottom lip trembling as he sobbed out, “Kacchan.” Then he was launching himself towards Katsuki who promptly stiffened in shock. It was an incredibly uncomfortable hug to manoeuvre, it would've been without the weird position. Izuku couldn’t lift his arms so he sort of squished himself against Katsuki’s side, face mashed between Katsuki’s shoulder and neck. Katsuki’s heart was going haywire, he didn’t even notice the pain in his side and very slowly, he wrapped his good arm around Izuku’s shoulders, patting him clumsily on the back as he cried against his collarbone. “You’re pathetic,” He mumbled, uncomfortable with the silence, “Moping around for days and making everyone worry, bastard.” Izuku laughed between deep breaths, trying to stifle his sobs. “Should’ve said something earlier.” Izuku twisted his head so it was laying on Katsuki’s shoulder, “You’re meant to be nice to me, I’m upset.” He said though Katsuki could feel his lips curved in a smile against his skin. His face felt like it was on fire now, “This is me being nice, and you’re always upset about something.” “I know, thank you.” The other replied. Katsuki’s skin tingled where Izuku’s eyelashes fluttered against his neck, still blinking away tears. Katsuki wasn’t sure what to say after that. It was complicated. He knew Izuku needed him right now, but Katsuki hadn’t done enough to deserve it yet. It felt wrong to be so content that he was the one Izuku reached out for. Just be there for him now, he decided, be there for him and try harder to earn it.

He wasn’t sure exactly when Izuku fell asleep on him. At some point, his breathing evened out and he’d relaxed against Katsuki’s side. The blonde was still too wired to relax. Who knew a conversation could fill him with such adrenaline, he was struggling not to shift around and wake Izuku up. The boy had looked so tired, with everything he’d been holding in it wasn’t a surprise that he’d not gotten any peace. Katsuki hoped he would sleep soundly now. He was still awake when Recovery Girl stepped back into the room. She took one look at the two of them, curled up together on Katsuki’s bed and he was sure she’d say something about how they should be resting in separate beds, maybe she had to check their wounds or something and Izuku would be forced to move. He couldn’t lie that the thought made him a bit panicked. But she simply gave him a strange look, one eyebrow half-raised as if she were asking him a question. When Katsuki didn’t move the old lady shrugged, turning to leave again. She flicked off the light as she did so, leaving the room in dappled shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky. Was it that late already? He hadn’t noticed the time passing by but he was starting to feel tired. Emotions were just as draining, sometimes more so, than being in a fight, and Katsuki certainly felt like a battle had been won in that room today.

With a sigh, Katsuki accepted there wasn’t much more he could do at the moment. The warmth of Izuku against his side made him feel drowsy and he finally gave in- shifting in the bed as carefully as he could until he was lying down. He wrapped his arm a little more firmly against Izuku and smiled faintly as he felt him hum in response, pressing closer to Katsuki’s chest. Izuku was lying on top of the sheets and there wasn’t any way to get him under them without waking him up but there was a spare pile of blankets that rested on the chair closest to Katsuki’s bed and he managed to drag a couple closer to him, draping them over Izuku’s form. With that sorted, Katsuki could relax. He rested his head gently against the mass of green curls and let his eyes drift shut, trying to empty his mind. It didn’t matter if All For One was out to get them or if Izuku’s arms wouldn’t heal right. They were both alive for now, and they would figure it out.

91 notes · View notes

zawasscarf · 3 years

Text

Void - Keigo Takami/Hawks One-shot

Warnings : none/ reader is gender-neutral.

Genre: angst! i got inspired from a tiktok I saw, the link for it is here.

Prespective: second person

Synopsis: Hawk's and you have been broken up after villians revealed his secrets to you, but having no time to drown in sadness, he forces himself to attend a press conference, where he reunites with you...but it doesn't go as well as imagined.

Void. Empty. Still. That's how he would describe the feeling in his heart when he woke up to his empty, cold bed. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, pumping blood into his veins, reminding him that he was alive for another day. That he had to suffer for another day. That he was just existing, barely even alive.

He lazily rolled from one side to another, his eyes gazing up at the alarm clock he had knocked off the counter in a fit of frustration when it started ringing early in the morning. Normally, he wouldn't need an alarm clock, knowing that you'd wake him up by peppering kisses all over his face. Knowing that you'd lay on top of him, and whisper sweet nothings into his ear until he is fully awake and motivated for the day. But you weren't there. You weren't, so he had to use this stupid, lifeless machine to wake him up. It displayed the hour. 12:30. He had to go. He was already late for the conference he had to be attending. So he got up, and headed to the bathroom, dodging the empty bottles of sake on the ground and the dirty laundry piles that were looking more like mountains. The apartment was never left in such a messy, dirty state before. Carpets stained, laundry gone unwashed for days, bed un-tidy, used plates in the sink, piling on top of one another. Hawks was for-sure forgetful when it came to his laundry and his chorus, but you would always remind him. And with you it was easy to do his chorus, even if you would be doing most of the work, while he sat there, distracting you rather than helping.

Hastily, he splashed water across his face and brushed his teeth. Then he looked into the mirror, and ran a hand into his hair. He looked miserable. Facial hair untrimmed, overgrown blonde hair on the top of his head, eyes worn-out, wings a dull colour of red. He couldn't remember the last time he looked presentable. He wasn't the only one who noticed this, the press also did. They noticed everything, that's why he didn't want to be seen in public. That's why he has been locked in his skyline complex for days, only going out in complete disguise to buy food or get groceries.

He dragged himself out of the bathroom, and moved to the way-too small pile of clothes thrown on the floor. Getting dressed in his hero outfit, he put his hand on his back to reach for the zipper.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to zip up my bodysuit, baby bird. What does it look like?"

"It looks like a chicken is flailing trying to scratch it's back."

"Well, if you stop being so sassy and help me, I wouldn't be flailing. Come on, I'm going to be late for work."

"Maybe I want you to be late.."

"Oh?"

He found himself staring at his messy bed. Where you would stare up at him, wearing nothing but his shirt, trying to get him back to bed even though you were the one to wake him up. For a moment, he could vividly see you. See both of you. Sitting on the bed as you helped him with his zipper, laughing when he pulled you into his lap to kiss you, to tickle you and shower you with love. He could still feel your tender hands on his tinted cheeks, caressing them oh so softly, telling him that he was the world's most wonderful boyfriend, that you would love him until the stars die, until the sky falls, until the world ends, and maybe even then, you wouldn't stop loving him.

His heart clenched, making it hard to breath. His eyes were on the verge of welling up with tears. "No," He thought, putting on his pants and his matching jacket. He had to go and say something. He couldn't hide like this any longer. Endeavor wasn't good with the press, and as the number two pro hero, as the charming one, he had to make up for it. The one that could handel all the talk, while also being an inspiration to everyone. He had to pull himself together. It's been too long. He had to accept that he isn't going to see you anymore.

Slipping on his black sturdy boots and fixing his hair and eyeliner, he opened the window and flew out, a few of his long red feathers fell, leaving a trace of him on every inch of the city. He looked down. The streets were busy, but peaceful. Buzzing with open shops, with traffic, kids were laughing, it was so tranquil, considering there was a villian attack on this part of town only two days ago. He bit his lip. He wasn't able to help that day. Too drunken and heartbroken to even pick up his cellphone. He felt like such a failure. He failed the pro heros that day. He failed the civilians. He failed you. He failed you, and now he was living in a limbo. A limbo that only you could get him out of, but you wouldn't. And he wouldn't blame you. He deserved this. He was a selfish bastard. He was too secretive. He was. And god, if he could just turn back time..for just one day..

Kids pointed up at the blue sky at the winged hero. They wore shirts with his face on it, one of them was even wearing a costume like his. They were waving, waving and waving, praying that he notices them. Hawks waved back with a slight smile on his sleep-deprived face. Like little chipmunks, they squealed, being noticed by him was a dream of theirs.

"Hey, would you ever want kids?"

"With you?"

"Of course with me. Anyone else you're seeing behind my back that's offering you to have kids?"

"Shut up," You laughed whole-heartedly, and put a hand on his chest, letting him carry you as both of you flew over the glimmering city. "But the answer is yes. I would love to have kids with you. Maybe a baby girl or a baby boy. It'll be our little cozy family."

"Little? I was thinking maybe we could have seven kids. I am ready to give you an entire football team."

"That doesn't sound very pleasant, Keigo."

"The process would be worth it, though."

His smile fell. The memories. The talks you shared when he picked you up and flew you over the city. God, they always meant so much to him. He always tried to linger a little longer in the sky, to share a few more laughs. To share a few more conversations. He lived for moments like that. Moments where it felt like time stopped. Where it was only you and him that existed in this vast universe. Moments where he could hold you close to his chest, breath in your scent and perfume. Fly with you up in the sky. Fluster you. Cuddle you. Hug you. Kiss you.

Forcing himself out of his misery, he landed down on the roof of the building he was suppose to be interviewed infront of. The press were already huddled up at the front door. There were civilians too, waiting for him to appear. He could see Miruko, Snipe, Endeavour and Gang Orca, all ignoring the press asking them about his whereabouts. Miruko had her phone pressed against one of her bunny ears. She was calling him. Hawks swiped left on the call, and took in a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to forget about you for an hour. Forget about how his heart was in shreds, how his rib cage was suffocating his lungs, how his brain felt all jumbled. He fixed his wings, calling all his feathers back to him, and then he flew down to the side of the building.

The camera shutters increased when he emerged from the shadows of the alleyway. Journalists squeezed each other, all spewing out questions for him already. Microphones were shoved at his face, but he deflected them, doing his best to give them his infamous million-dollar worthy smile, trying to pretend that the sadness in his eyes wasn't as visible as the sun on this summer day.

"Where were you?" The booming voice of Endevour cut his tracks. He looked up at the larger, much taller pro hero, and his smile disappeared. "I over-slept." His answer short and dry. That made the line of standing pro-heros all tense up. This wasn't like him. He would usually tease Endeavour. Tell him to take it easy. That the press wouldn't go anywhere even if he appeared three hours later. Not today.

Hawks made his way up the stage, and stood infront of the mic. His playful voice was dull, and he looked far more serious than when he first walked in.

"Alright, folks. I'll be taking all your questions today, but in order. I won't know what to answer if you all throw your questions at me." Hawk's sharp, golden rhinestone eyes scanned the crowd. So many people. So many people wouldn't make him anxious, but he could feel something was off. He felt..watched. Like someone was staring right through his soul. Goosebumps raised on the nape of his neck, but he chose to ignore it. It had to be nothing, everyone was staring at him all the time anyway. "Okay," He pointed at a reporter with dark hair in the very front. "let's start with you. Go ahead—"

"Hawks, if it's not a bother, can you tell us why you did not assist with the fire attacks two days ago?"

He tensed up. Not from the question. From a feeling. He felt something rumble in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it was because he didnt have a bite to eat. There was no way he was feeling uncomfortable just because a bunch of reporters were looking at him. Or maybe it was the three glasses sake he had yesterday before heading to bed. "Uh," He paused, trying to think of a quick excuse. "I was..out of town."

Lying. That what he resorted to. No wonder you left him. He lied to you. He lied to you and hid everything about himself from you. He hid everything, and now you were gone.

"Next question." He pointed at another reporter. "Who do you think is the suspect of these attacks, Hawks?"

"The League of Villians." The answer came short and quick. He knew who was behind those attacks. "They may not seem much of a threat as Overhaul or the nomus Endeavour and I fought, but they are a dangerous organisation and I am sure they had something to do with this." Moving to a question to another, he answered almost a hundred questions, all of them filled with lies and excuses. He couldn't go through two questions without lying. What could he do? Tell them that the reason he has been MIA is that he was on his floor every morning, sobbing his heart out on his lost love, that he searched the streets every night for his lover to apologise. To make you come home, to him.

Hawks pointed at a tall man, who had his hand raised at the back. Oddly enough, the man wore a dark hoodie and sunglasses. The hood was up, and he was looking at the ground, as if to hide his identity. He didn't have a camera, a crew, or even a microphone, but his voice was still loud for Hawks to hear his question.

"You haven't been seen with the Pro Hero: Light Monarch for a few weeks now. Nor has they been seen in public. Mind telling us why..." The man looked up. Hawk's face fell, as he saw those fiery, glowing blue eyes staring back at him. His breathing rapidly increased, his chest rose and fell in unrythmic ways. His hands clenched the sides of the microphone stand, until his knuckles turned white. "..wing hero, Hawks?" The mockery in his voice. He was enraging him on purpose. He was mocking him. Mocking him for being unable to protect your relationship. For being unable to protect you.

Other reporters picked up his question and started twisting it into different questions. Ranging from 'Has your relationship fell apart?' to 'Is Light Monarch even a hero?', but all he could focus on was Dabi. Dabi, who was secretly recording all of this. Dabi, who was the main reason your realtionship fell apart. Dabi, who he strived to make suffer for what he did to him. Hawk's eyes were so fixated on Dabi, that when someone nudged him away, he immediately looked over to them.

They were wearing the villain's long coat, along with a hoodie similar to Dabi's. They were nudging him away, trying to make him move out the crowd. Dabi only put an arm around them, pulling them close to his lean body. That's when Hawks caught a glimpse of their face.

And that's when everyone saw the winged hero unfold.

He leaned into the mic, and closed his eyes. Possibilities flooding his mind, clouding his senses. Why were you here? Why were you wearing Dabi's coat? Did you come here just to see him? Why was Dabi holding you so close to him? Why does he have his arms on you like that?

"Because I'm an idiot." He spoke into the mic. A hush fell on the crowd, and you looked up. Both your eyes met, you could sense the hurt in his eyes, you could see the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. "Because I hid information about myself that I shouldn't have. Because I slipped and everyone was watching me. Because everyone just couldn't let us be." Hawks closed his eyes.

For a moment, a flash appeared before his eyes. It was you. You in all your beauty and grace. You comforting him after a long day of work. You smiling and laughing at his corny jokes. You running your fingers through hair and untangling it for him. You kissing his bruises. You sitting on his bed, tinkering with something you found in his house. You holding him after a nightmare. You. All he could think about was you. How your lips felt against his. How your foreheads touched whenever you finished kissing. How your hands felt so warm holding his. How he was a lucky bastard.

"So.." head raised, the first few strand of his hair falling into his tear filled eyes. He choked on air, his lip quivering. "So, baby bird, I am sorry for being such a selfish bastard." His voice was shaking. His hands were shaking. You were staring at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. The eyes that he would stare at for hours, without feeling a hint of boredom. "I am sorry for hiding the truth. "His voice got louder, louder and louder until he was yelling. "I am sorry for letting you go so easily. I am sorry for hurting you!"

"Hawks—"

"Bastards, all of you." He spat out, looking directly at Dabi and the frozen crowd of shocked journalists. They were the reason. They were the reason you weren't with him. They were the reason your laugh and your smile were stolen away from him. If they could've just let him explain.

"Songbird, I love you." Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes that were full to the brim with tears were now spilling your emotions into view. Dabi only noticed when your figure started shaking in his arms. "Hey, let's go.." He tried to drag you away, but you wouldn't budge. Keigo was staring right at you, unfolding into a mess, a crumb of a man he once was. Tears streaming down his handsome face, eyeliner ruined. Your heart felt crushed. Like it was an ornament that was knocked down by a carless child. You couldn't imagine what he was feeling, but you were sure that he wouldn't be able to handel all that pain alone. So you stepped to the front subconciously, and if it weren't for Dabi's hands around your waist, you would've ran right over and reunited with your lover.

"I love you." He repeated, desperate. Memories were flashing right before his eyes. Your first meeting in that grocery store infront of UA. Your first kiss under the moonlight during a patrol. Your first dance. Your first date. Your cuddles on the couch in winter. Your odd sleeping positions in summer. Moments. The way you would lean into his chest when he sat you on his lap. The way you liked him to tuck his wings around your body because it felt warm and you like the feeling of feathers against your skin. "I love you! I love you!"

"Let's get out of here." Dabi grabbed your hand and squeezed just a bit, not too forcefully. You were surprised by his gentleness, but you couldn't take your eyes off him. "I love you. I love you.." He was staring at you with such desperation, such longing, such regret. You didn't want to forgive him, you tried not to. But you couldn't. You couldn't, because he made it so hard. He made it so hard to hate him.

"Till the stars die and till the sky falls, remember?" His voice was much lower now. He was leaning over the stand so much that it almost fell over. You clasped a hand on your mouth, and let out a silent sob. You could feel everyone's eyes on you. Cameras were pointed at you. That's when you looked away, after giving Keigo a long, parting look. That's when you followed Dabi into the crowd.

Hawks watched as you walked away, back given to him. He wanted to move, he wanted to follow you, he was telling every limb on his body to move, but he couldn't. He looked down at his body. It was glowing. Glowing with a white aura around it. You. You were using your quirk on him, forcing him in place, not letting him move and rescue you.

He didn't understand why. Why didn't you want him to rescue you now that you found each other again? Did you really loathe him that much? Did he really mess up that badly?

So, all he could do was helplessly watch you go. Watch you as you disappear into the crowd, with the flame user by your side, knowing that one day, you might reunite again.

And then when that time comes, he won't mess it up.

a/n: aaaaah! my first oneshot on tumblr. i hope you liked it. posting this is basically testing the waters, but i enjoyed it so i think I will keep writing on here!

#hawks x reader #wing hero hawks #hawks headcanons #hawks imagine #hawks one shot #boku no hero x reader #anime

62 notes · View notes

captaincvans · 4 years

Text

Chapter Four: Skin to Bone

03/01/20

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1667+

Warnings: Language; TW: Miscarriage

Series Masterpost

A/N: I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! I hope I do this story justice, and I hope you all enjoy the updates. If you have a kind word or two to spare, please drop by my Askbox- I really need it.

Y/N turned around at the door, seeing the hard face of her ex-boyfriend before he slammed the door at her face. She stumbled through the city, trying to numb her emotions and think about her next steps. She needed a place to stay, luckily it was still the holidays, and she had the next two days off. The first hotel she went to was booked up, and so was the second one, and the third one. She opted for a small motel in the quieter part of town, where it wouldn’t be bustling with tourists. She managed to get a single room with a king sized bed for a reasonable price. Chris didn’t leave her with much stuff, just her phone that was quickly losing battery, her purse, and a duffle bag that she threw her essentials in. Luckily, she always brought a battery pack in case of emergencies. She chewed on her lip for a while, wondering what to do next.

“Fuck it,” she muttered under her breath. She typed a quick text to Chris, hoping he hadn’t blocked her number yet.

I need the rest of my stuff. When can I pick it up?

She waited a few seconds before her phone pinged.

Tomorrow morning. John will be there.

Y/N didn’t bother to text back, her body exhausted from the day, her mind shutting down to protect herself from the incoming wave of emotions. She decided to retire for the night, just after showering in the dirty bathroom, she thought it would be best to stay in the clothes she came in, unsure of the last time the bedsheets were actually clean. Once in bed, the weight of the day came crashing down on her. Their three-year relationship was gone, just down the drain. Chris was someone she found herself imagining living the rest of her life with, but now their relationship has ended like this. Once a drop of tear escaped, there was no turning back. She was angry at him for not giving her a chance to speak, for not giving her the chance to tell him about the baby she might be carrying, but overall she was just sad. Chris had never behaved like this towards her, or anyone he knows for that matter! It would have taken a lot to get him this upset, but she just didn’t know what she did to make him upset like this- or if there was even a reason. Perhaps that was the most upsetting part of it all, he never gave her a chance to fix the relationship. He just gave up on them. He didn’t fight for them. Y/N spent hours grieving over the relationship she lost, mourning over the future she thought she would have.

Her heart was bubbling with anger and hurt, the feelings making her want to vomit, but she remained strong. She lived all her other years without Chris, and would be damned if she let him ruin her life like this. Overall, she felt defeated with the turn of events. Chris was as stubborn as a person would get, he wasn’t going to change his mind or listen to her while he was still this hurt. After a restless sleep, she woke up at around 9AM, unusually late for her, but she was grateful for the fact that it was now a reasonable time to head over to Chris’s apartment. She took her car, thankful that she always had a preference towards a CRV instead of smaller cars.

“Hi John,” Y/N greeted quietly, not knowing what his mood was going to be. She wasn’t even sure if he knew the whole story, and if he would be resentful towards her.

“Hi Y/N,” he replied. He gave her a small smile, sympathy in his eyes. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged. “Not great.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to say. “Do you need help getting these in your car?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

John grabbed the box closest to him, and placed it inside her car. Slowly, but surely the car was starting to get full with all her stuff, and it left her heart aching more. Once the last of her items were in the car, John stopped her. “Before I forget. Chris wanted me to give you this.” He handed her a stapled contract.

“Oh right… The agreement,” Y/N mumbled. She never thought her relationship with Chris would end this badly, she never thought it would end, period. She was sure he was the one she would spend the rest of her life with. She would never forget signing this form when they reached their second year anniversary, almost a year ago. Chris hadn’t even told her about this directly, John had given her all this information on his own.

“Sorry about all this, Y/N.”

“It’s not your fault, John. How should I make the payments?”

“You can deposit it into the account shown on the last page. It should have all the information you need, and if you have any questions feel free to call me.”

She read over the letter, heart sinking when she saw the amount of money she owed, but she wasn’t surprised. Chris had spent quite a great deal on her and the relationship. She dragged her feet to the motel, hoping to find some apartments around the area that she can afford. She was far from poor, but if she needed to make monthly instalments to Chris, she would need to be smart with her budget. Afterall, paying someone $50 000 was not in her mind when she was making the budget for the year.

The first thing she did was book an appointment with her family doctor to confirm her pregnancy. Y/N was hoping to make the first appointment with Chris after she had told him, but now she supposed everything had to be done by herself. She went back to work the next day, refusing to stay in bed and wallow in her sorrow.

Her doctor’s appointment was on a rainy Wednesday, the weather matching her foul mood. She was grateful that they didn’t ask too many questions about the baby daddy, and instead focused on the her and the baby’s health, giving her all the information she needed.

A month after they separated, the investigation started. Y/N wasn’t sure what to think. She knew for sure she would never steal from Chris, she was adamant in proving that she was never with him for his money. But no one seemed to believe her. She couldn’t blame them. If Chris didn’t even believe her, how could she expect strangers to believe her? She did her best with giving as much information to the police as possible. They were looking into her accounts, but she was confident they wouldn’t find anything. She was positive in her innocence.

The stress was getting to her, pressure from her friends and family on why she and Chris broke up on top of the investigation was piling up. She woke up in her one bedroom apartment, a sharp pain in her abdomen. A pressure in her chest was building as an ominous feeling dawned on her. She made a beeline to the bathroom, seeing the blood seep through her cream shorts, and she felt nauseous. She phoned her OB/Gyn in a panic, quickly washing up to Uber to her doctor. She wasn’t going to risk driving in this condition.Two long hours later, and she got her result. She had a miscarriage. While her doctor was going on with how often it happened, she tuned out. There was an empty feeling in her heart, and she wasn’t sure if it would ever be filled again.

Y/N had no time to grieve the loss of her baby because a month later the press found out about the whole investigation. After that her life became a living hell. The journalist and press were following her around like a piranha smelling fresh blood. Once the news became public that she was remotely involved in this fraud case, she was fired from her workplace with the excuse that they didn’t want to have the negative press on her team. The next few months were unbearable to say the least. Every day was harder than the previous.

Y/N left her home to do a quick grocery run, her small home was packed with paparazzis around her. She asked her lawyer a few months ago to move to a smaller apartment and somewhere she could have a small sense of security, losing her job and the payments she made to John made a considerable dent to her savings. Unfortunately, her lawyer said no. There were strict rules on what she could and couldn’t do as a part of this investigation as outlined by the court, and moving was not an option. As she was coming back, one of the journalist had gotten close to her, enough to hit her with their giant cameras.

“What do you have to say about the investigation?”

“Were you just with Chris for his money?”

“Did you steal from him?”

“Did you plan all of this?”

Questions were thrown at her, each one hitting her harder. She knew that she never had any intention of hurting Chris, even after all this time, she was no longer mad at him. Instead, she felt sorry for him. It must have been hard for him to accept that the people closest to him betrayed him, and she knew how sensitive he was to the people around him. He was always so friendly to people, and there were some that took advantage of his kindness.

“Please leave me alone,” she said, trying to avoid more cameras hitting her.

“What was that?”

“Can you repeat that?”

“Did you say to leave you alone?”

It was the first time she acknowledged them by talking to them, and they were eating it up. Now she was even more anxious. She knew not to have given them anything, Chris had told her that all the time when they were dating. Once they think they have a chance to get something out of you, they would attack and be more aggressive with their advances. Finally, she made it inside her home, quickly locking the door behind her and throwing her groceries on the kitchen counter. Once her hands were empty, she fell to her knees, tears quickly falling down her face.

Scott drove them both home, Chris being unfit to even get behind the wheels with his mind so jumbled.

“You gonna be okay?” Scott asked once they arrived at Chris’s farmhouse.

Chris nodded numbly, offering a forced smile. “Yea, I’ll be fine. Go on your date.”

“I can cancel-”

“Scott, really, it’s fine.” Chris punched his brother’s arm, trying to give him a semblance of his old self. “I’ll be fine. I’m good.”

“Okay. If you need anything- and I mean anything, call me, okay?”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. He grabbed his duffle bag of stuff he brought when he stayed over.

Once Scott left, Chris fell to his couch. Dodger padding towards him, and throwing his toy next to him. “Not now, buddy.” He did, however, scratch the back of the canine’s ears. “I fucked up, and I gotta figure out a way to apologize to your mom.” He pulled out his phone, trying to find any sign on Y/N through her social media. She’s never been an avid user, especially once their relationship became public. He wasn’t surprised to find that she hasn’t been active since a bit before they broke up.

However, something on his Twitter caught his eye. It was a paparazzi photo of Y/N from the morning exiting a grocery store, and a few more from outside of what he assumed was her home. She was highly distressed, her sunglasses failing to hide the crease between her brows, and the way her body curled in itself. The tweet itself was hateful, telling Y/N she brought this upon herself. Chris flared with anger, seeing the replies and other tweets, all blaming her. Just like him, they didn’t hear her side of the story. He went through the journalist’s tweets, they wrote clickbait articles using her name, getting quotes from her friends and family that he knew weren’t all that truthful. One of the article broke his heart. There was a quote from her begging them to stop following her, to leave her alone, but they made a joke out of it in their writing. They weren’t interested in telling a story. They were there to just break her even more.

Chris went back to his page, and tweeted something for the first time in a few months.

<-- (Chapter 3) (Chapter 5) -->

- Tag List -

@lost-in-t-h-e-abyss @vogueworthy-barnes @hista-girl @tfandtws @aletteredaffair @traceyaudette @lupine-princess @songforhema @stella2445 @coffeebooksandfandom @qrndevans @straightforwardly @cesarofangirl78 @buckybarneslove76 @kaithezaftig @evanstush @ownerofthebastard @jadedhillon @ka-x-in @lili-ann-love @bulldozed88 @dolan-mendes @jeleners1430 @yougurt-con-avena @fandomoneshots-imagines @patzammit @ramblingsnfandom @beanthedoggo @luckylightfiction @luckyfiction17 @chrisevanssleeping @snave-sirhc @gemgemswift @firstangeldragonranch @hiddlesbitch1 @virtualmemmecollector @heladoom @crimeshowtrash @notyourtypicalrose @peach-acid @uneniffler @cloudyskylines @simmisblog @shikshinkwon @queenkronk @aubageddon91 @thefandomzoneisdangerous @the-soulofdevil @lizblinder @what-is-your-wish @natdrunk @capsiclesdoll @genesgoingtohamslam @kapokipa666 @mom---nicole @cltex84 @star-spangled-steve @sassyspacedust @dlb113 @bojabee @iwik3it @samsebsblog @friyak1 @multireality @joannie95 @mrsfox79 @lady-x-red @princess-evans-addict @aria253264 @fallenoutofrose @bitchwhytho @frencchfries @shmara100 @honeymarvelz @jilybeanz @saiyanprincessswanie @chi00072 @youaremyfiveever @madisonpillstrom @13-reasons-ideas @christocrave @impairedmuse @itsallyscorner @bellaireland1981 @icanfeelastormbrewing @thereisatardison221bbakerstreet @sweet--rabbit @samsebsblog @stilltoomuchafangirl @kaetastic @sweetlittlegingy @bigbandbombshell @mishagreenleaf @shannon124 @the-wayward-robot

#chris evans x reader #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fandom #chris evans oneshot #josephine writes #steve rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #steve x reader #marvel #chris x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel oneshot #marvel fics

257 notes · View notes

sophisticauthor · 4 years

Text

Profile: Callahan, Alexa D.

Description: Brown hair, Brown eyes, 5 feet 7 inches

Birthdate: September 18

Age at conviction: 16

Current age: 19

Birthplace: Rochester, New York, United States

Current Location: UNKNOWN

Family:

Mother: Alisa Callahan age 47 - deceased

Father: Geoffrey Callahan age 52 - deceased

Siblings:

Jennifer Callahan age 12 - deceased

Benjamin Callahan age 19 - deceased

This file contains eye witness accounts of events related to and/or allegedly caused by Alexa Callahan.

Eye witness account by Victor Drell

Age: 37

Occupation: High School Teacher

September 18,

I never saw the explosions, but I heard them. My wife Mary called the police as I went to go investigate. We live two houses down from the corner, I could see the apartment building on the opposite side - or where the building used to be – in a smoking heap. A couple of houses around it were knocked around too, but the residents there seemed to be fine.

When I got closer, I noticed the other neighbors start to come out as well. I climbed into the rubble hoping that someone was still alive. I noticed crushed remains of corpses lying everywhere; I wanted to vomit. One man was missing an arm and groaning loudly, so I called to the others to help move him to a place where rubble wouldn’t fall on him.

One of the neighbor kids called out from behind me that there was a girl who was still breathing. I told someone to take my place with the man, and rushed over to the girl. She was still breathing. She looked to be about fifteen and was wearing a white dress that was all tattered around the edges, her hair was a little singed, and I thought she probably suffered some trauma from what seemed like a fall from the second floor. But she looked mostly fine otherwise, which in hindsight was a little odd. Seemed like a miracle at the time. That’s when the police and paramedics arrived and took all the living away.

I learned later that the man’s name was Carl Stephenson, and the girl was Alexa Callahan, who was turning sixteen that day. I heard on the news that Carl Stephenson had died in the hospital and was taken by family for burial. But not that Alexa girl, she had no family left, and she was alive. A real shame, to have a bomb like that go off on your sixteenth birthday.

Report by Vanessa Bradford

Age: 42

Occupation: Nurse

I was assigned to a girl by the name of Alexa Callahan. She had suffered from several injuries caused by the explosion of her building. The full extent of the damage done to her was: A few broken ribs, a hairline fracture in her arm, a mutilated ankle, and trauma to the head. She seemed to have landed on her left side, and somehow managed to save her spine and vital organs. She was unconscious for 72 hours after the operations were finished. When she finally awoke, she was mostly unresponsive. She played with the recliner on the bed for a while and just stared at faces for a long time. She didn’t speak to anyone; not to doctors or nurses, not to the other patients. She didn’t respond to food or water, and didn’t even react whenever we adjusted the needles in her arm.

Many of us tried to coax her to eat or speak and she did neither for almost two weeks. Her doctor was beginning to wonder if we should be running tests on the speech part of her brain when she finally spoke.

She asked me when she could go home.

I told her that we had to make sure we had treated all her injuries first. Then she asked me what happened. I told her that authorities were still figuring it out, but it seemed as if someone planted a bomb in the building, possibly a terrorist attack.

This made her jump up in a panic, she just shouted “It wasn’t!” Her heart rate spiked, and she almost tried to get out of bed. I calmed her down a little and asked her what she remembered.

What she said didn’t make any sense. “People, people talking happily; singing, my singing, singing for me; color, lots of color, piled on the walls and the room; fire, there was fire and ticking. Tick tick tick. Incessant humming, thousands of bees humming in the walls. You can‘t hear it? Tick tick tick. I made a wish, then BOOM. Fire, fire! A little boy calls for help. Help her, help her, is she okay?”

I cut her off because she was flailing about and going on about nothing. She kept talking. Nonsense, more about the ticking and the humming. I tried to get her to sit back and relax, not to strain herself with the memory, and I eventually managed to get her to sleep. I remember she whispered “not terrorist, no terror. Make a wish” as she drifted off to sleep.

I only witnessed one other event that was significant.

A couple weeks later when she was being encouraged to walk around, we found that she would disappear for hours on end. We were deciding what to do with her, the ramblings hadn’t stopped and we were getting worried. Furthermore, she had no living blood relative that anyone could find. Meetings were being held to come to a decision. I was lucky enough to be personally involved in the discussions.

She burst in to one of the meetings. I don’t know how, we thought the doors were locked. Her hands were bloodied as if she had cut them on sharp glass or metal or something. She took a seat at the table with us and said something odd.

“I realize that I am the main subject of these meetings. And I feel obligated to put my two cents in.” Then she dropped two gears on the table, like they were the two cents she was putting in. I don’t know where they came from, but they were covered in the blood from her hands. A couple of us stood to try to help her back to bed. But she waved us off and insisted that she needed to continue speaking. She said “I’m not yet so far gone that I don’t know what is happening.” And then something like “I have completely lost all relatives, I am underage, and I’m raving mad.” And she dropped another gear on the table for each thing she listed. Her grammar would get all jumbled up, because I remember she said “I would think it advisable that under any circumstances you do NOT create me another family. I could not handle an artificial mother.” Which was worth four gears for some reason. At this point, we were starting to realize that these were clock parts. And then she told us that she didn’t want to be sent back into society, that she was too crazy and too dangerous before dumping the rest of her bloodied clock parts onto the table. We wanted to stop her, but I think we were all too shocked.

She started to rearrange them in some order and I remember she said “But time is running out, and you really need to come to a decision” Then she pulled out two clock hands and placed them in the center of her bizarre pile. Then she wrote “tick, tick, tick,” on the table in her own blood, stood up and said “Thank you for your time” like she had just asked for a little favor, not made a mess of the table.

I have never seen a transfer report go through more quickly.

On October 23 Alexa was transferred to The New York Psychiatric Institute, and then by an anonymous request, to Castle Facilities in Virginia. The transaction of this was only documented once. The only legitimate information recovered from this document was the location and the date she was moved (February 15).

She remained at Castle facilities for about two years, until authorities started to take an interest in her case and launched an investigation. However by the time they arrived at Castle facilities, Miss Callahan was unable to be found.

At the alleged location of Castle facilities only ruins were found. It was apparent that the site had not been visited for many months. The building was demolished in a way that was similar to the explosion at the Callahan residence.

This leads authorities to believe that the explosions were caused by the same person. Suspects include: Alexa Callahan (missing), Justin Carter (missing), or Jamie Lucas (deceased).

At the site of the wreckage, few pieces of information were recovered. However, there was one piece pertaining to this case that proved to be interesting. A badly documented journal by Dr. Harvey Lancaster (deceased) containing vital information about the Callahan case.

Much of this journal is either missing or illegible. Therefore, the following information contains errors and assumed information. The following information is paraphrased, not quoted, and only vital information was inputted. The full copy of Dr. Harvey Lancaster is not available for viewing.

Information is as follows:

1. Alexa Callahan has a strange fascination with clocks. She is known to either disassemble the clocks, or to change the time inaccurately. The number that she chooses seems well thought out and precise and she changes every clock to the same time, though it is inaccurate. She attempts to change all clocks at once. Every attempt at this results in a different time. The purpose of this behavior is unknown.

2. Alexa Callahan had no apparent intentions of harming the other patients or facility employees.

3. Alexa Callahan has moments of near sanity where she would stop her mumblings of clocks and ticking and the end of the world where she will occasionally ask about her family or the facility. During these states of mind she would frequently ask about her friends Jamie Lucas and Justin Carter. Both Carter and Lucas came to visit Alexa in the Castle exactly twice, but not at the same time.

4. Alexa refuses, under any circumstances to believe that she is wrong in her ramblings, though she will admit to the doctors that she is insane.

5. Intense flashes of light, fire, loud noises, and shaking or sliding scare Alexa. She afterwards falls into a bout of crazed, relieved laughter, and more rambling about ticking.

6. Alexa can accurately tell the time without consulting a time piece. It is unknown how she is able to do this, but it is not any of the conventional methods.

7. Alexa made many references to the fall of the kingdom and gave an exact time, down to seconds, of the alleged time. - As a discovery not recorded in the journal of Dr. Harvey, it seems that this number led to the explosion of the mental ward.

8. All ramblings about the past from before the explosion are real memories, not stories of her own invention.

9. She is unable to walk in a straight line; her movement pattern sways back and forth.

10. She is able to recognize people and speak clearly with them. She seldom mistakes the identities of people around her.

11. She avoids all effort to make social interactions, however is not fearful when approached.

12. She enjoys acronyms, puzzles, word games, and brain teasers.

13. She fights most attempts at physical and eye contact.

An investigation was launched to find any survivors of the explosion. 15 recorded patients were reported alive. Eight patients were discovered in a nearby town (about 13 miles away). Local authorities had discovered the patients and were housing them while awaiting orders of what to do. Six of the seven remaining patients were recovered in the woods surrounding Castle facilities.

Alexa Callahan, the only unrecovered patient, is theorized to have fled to the woods surrounding Castle facilities. No bodies or sightings that match her description have been reported, leading authorities to believe she is still at large.

Authorities have lost all trails but refuse to give up the search.

Alexa Callahan is suspected for murder and terrorism. If identified, it is recommended that authorities are alerted immediately so that she may be taken into custody.

Do not try to approach, converse with, or make eye contact with Alexa Callahan. It is uncertain how she will react.

Do not flash lights or light fires in her presence; she is known to react violently.

Do not try to detain Alexa Callahan alone, she is known to be violent when angered.

TAKE CAUTION.

If Interaction is unavoidable, refrain from sudden movements, physical contact, and eye contact.

If conversation is unavoidable, keep voice at a low register and avoid any loud noises.

If she begins to make a countdown, inform authorities immediately. If this action is not an option, remove yourself from the vicinity. Countdowns from Alexa Callahan seldom lead to anything less than disaster.

If these guidelines are not heeded . . . god save you.

#oneshot #creepypasta #my writing

2 notes · View notes

cchellacat · 5 years

Text

Working On It

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge

Day 5 ~ Kissing

Exactly no one in the Tower was surprised at how well Darcy and Bucky Barnes bonded once he and Steve moved back to New York.

Darcy’s bubbly personality coupled with her insatiable drive to fix people had her stalking the former Winter Soldier within hours of him stepping foot in the Tower. She was dogged in her determination to welcome him.

Under her constant assault of charm, light flirting and encouragement to join the larger group for dinner and movie nights, Bucky slowly came out of his shell.

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

The first time she kissed him was in the heat of the moment. She’d been running form Sam after he discovered she’d replaced all his coffee with de-caff. She’d burst into the gym, breathless and giggling wildly when she came across her new friend.

“Hide me, quick, or Sam is gonna string me up.”

Bucky had flicked his eyes towards the vault box and lifted the top, revealing the cavity within.

Darcy wasted no time in running over and trying to climb in, but being short had its disadvantages. Before she could complain Bucky had lifted her up, princess style before lowering her in with a wink and replacing the top.

A few minutes later Sam had come huffing into the gym.

“Barnes, you seen Lewis?”

“Not since yesterday, why? You need her for something?”

“Yeah, something.” Sam muttered angrily before leaving.

Darcy held back the cackle that was threatening to burst. The top lifted and Darcy spring up like a jack-in-the-box, flinging her arms around his neck in a victory hug.

“My hero!”

He pulled her out and placed her down again but before he let go of her she placed a smacking kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks, big guy, gotta go… don’t forget, Saturday at 7, dinner and a movie.”

She was gone before he could do more than lift a hand to where she had pressed her lips.

Bucky stares in consternation at the door, wondering what the hell just happened.

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

Steve’s not stupid, he’s seen the change in his friend ever since Miss Darcy Lewis had steamrollered into their lives. The girl is hell on wheels and doesn’t seem to take no for an answer.

There had been the Welcome Back cupcakes with silver frosting and red star sprinkles, Steve had nearly choked when she’d thrust the plate into Bucky’s hands, fully expecting him to react badly, but instead he had frowned at the girls hand, a tiny crinkle appearing in the corner of his eyes as he took in the silver pained nails, her middle finger’s adorned with a bright red star on each. Steve wasn’t sure what it was that Bucky found funny about it, but he had.

Then there had been the Harry Potter movie marathon she’d insisted they sit through. She’d provided pop corn and chips and beer and had proceeded to talk the whole way through, her feet propped up in Bucky’s lap like they belonged there as she explained everything she felt was culturally relevant. She ignored Steve’s attempts to indicate that she was invading Bucky’s space and, when about an hour into the first movie Bucky had grabbed her ankles to keep her still he’d thought the worst. Instead Bucky had just pulled her closer until her calves were over his lap and he’d slung an arm round her to support her back. Darcy had just snuggled right in and continued her ramble while Steve gaped from the armchair.

It had taken a few months for it to sink in with Steve that Darcy treated Bucky the same was she did everyone, with irreverent respect, tongue in cheek humour and tactile affection. She was a hugger, she cooked for people, she always had a way of cheering everyone up, even on the worst days. Other than Pepper, Darcy was the only one allowed into Tony’s lab without a security override. Bruce positively beamed as she chattered to him over breakfast tea and even Natasha let the girl drag her off shopping or to the spa. He’d thought at first that the art supplies that kept showing up in his apartment were from Tony or Natasha, but no, Darcy Lewis had somehow figured out his favourite brands and needs and provided them without expectation of thanks.

Bucky seemed to get the full experience though, she brought him shopping and encouraged him to buy things that made him feel good. She brought a pile of books after Bucky had casually mentioned his love for science fiction. And every Saturday night she made him dinner and played the big band music Bucky had loved back in the 40’s.

That’s what he walks in on, the music’s blaring loud enough that neither of them hears him come in and he stands still and watches the couple before him. It’s like he’s suddenly back in those crowded dance halls in Brooklyn. It’s like seeing a ghost he’s thought long dead. Bucky is grinning at her as she laughs, spinning out on the floor and letting him swing her through the air with shrieks of delight.

He doesn’t stay, but backs out of the room slowly, feeling as though he’s seem something he shouldn’t have. Before he can close the door, the music stops and the two clutch each other breathlessly, Darcy leaning into him, Bucky’s hands on her waist. He watched as his friend presses his lips into her hair-line bestowing a kiss, and thanks her for the dance. The radiant smile she returns to Bucky hits Steve like lightening.

As Steve walks away he ponders exactly what it is he’s feeling, but honestly it’s a jumble of emotions that all lead back to one fact. Where Steve had failed to find his old friend inside the damaged shell of the winter soldier, Darcy Lewis had succeeded. She’d brought him back, slowly but surely. Instead of the jealousy and resentment he knows is itching in the back of his brain he focuses on the gratitude instead. He can see where it’s headed, this thing between them and he resolves then that he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they get their chance at happiness. Bucky deserves nothing less from his friend. Steve will protect Darcy Lewis till the day he dies because he knows, if something happens to her, Bucky will retreat and allow the soldier back.

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

The first time he does more than press a kiss into her hair, it’s not because anything monumental happens. It’s a day like any other, Darcy has handed out packets to all the Avengers with the briefings for the press conference later that day and she is rushing around the common kitchen making sure everyone has had breakfast as she tops up her coffee and fixes one for Bucky since he’s only just come in. When she brings him the coffee and places it on the table in front of him he turns his head and gives her cheek a quick peck in silent thanks, she squeezes his shoulder briefly before leaving, calling out to remind everyone they’re due in the lobby at four.

Darcy keeps her smile fixed firmly in place until she reaches the elevator and the door close and then she allows herself a moment to freak out a little. He’d just kissed her, right in front of everyone and yeah, okay, he’s been pressing tiny kisses into her hair for a month now when they danced or snuggled on the couch and she hadn’t taken it as anything other than brotherly, but that…. That was… well it was something else entirely. It had felt like a sleepy morning hello, the sort of kiss you gave your other half after months of living together, like a part of your daily routine that needed no explanation, but they were just friends, right? Except friends didn’t have lunch every day and spend evenings watching Netflix together while cuddling on the couch…. Christ on a cracker, has she been dating him and never even noticed? Did he think they were dating? Were they?

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

Christmas was only a week away and the Tower was hung with holly and mistletoe, trees were festooned with ribbons and tinsel and Darcy was about ready to cry with the preparations for the Christmas Eve ball. All she wanted was to go home and sleep for a week. Instead she was stuck counting chairs, ordering the place cards for the dinner and finding a seating arrangement that wouldn’t lead to a political nightmare.

She was just about to leave the common room and head to her apartment when a voice stopped her.

“Darcy, I’ve been looking for you, Doll.”

“Hey Bucky, what’s up?”

She was standing in the hall just outside the kitchen when he caught up with her.

Before he said a word, he looked above her and raised an eye brow. She tilted her head and smirked. There was a bunch of mistletoe hanging right over where she stood.

They both unconsciously moved a little closer.

Unbidden, her thoughts all went right there. He was so close she could smell him, the intoxicating scent sandalwood and gun oil making her dizzy. Although they spent a frequent amount of time together and he had kissed her cheek a few weeks ago, she still hadn’t managed to figure out a way to make a move on him. Now, overhead was the perfect way to settle the question once and for all.

“Huh, I guess I’m just gonna be stuck here till someone kisses me.” Her teeth catch her lower lip and she looks up at him with big blue eyes, willing the universe to please, just please listen to her just this once.

Bucky thinks if he doesn’t make a move now, they’ll still be where they are this time next year.

“Could be a while, everyone’s out right now.” He drawls mischievously.

“Yes, they are.” The smile on her face widens as he draws closer. He’s got this look in his eyes, like he thinks she might back out, but that is so far from the truth as to be laughable.

Darcy hooks her fingers through his belt loops and tugs him even closer, till there’s hardly a space between them at all. He mirrors her earlier expression, that bottom lip of his held down by his teeth like he’s stopping himself form saying something particularly filthy and a thrill runs up her spine

Slender fingers walk a path up his chest, and he catches her waist in one hand, their bodies now pressed together hip to chest and Darcy feels the hitch in her breath at the warmth of him. His other hand runs through her hair, tugging the locks back from her face before his thumb traces a line down her neck.

There’s a moment in that silence between them, before they kiss that feels like the universe paused for just a second and it makes her head swim.

Pressing up on her toes, her belly fills with butterflies. His eyes darken and the hand on her moves smoothly around till it’s splayed against her back, keeping her steady.

At first, it’s just a light brush of lips, both of them figuring out how this will work. It grows stronger and deepens, heat rushes through her blood as she hooks her arms round his neck and sinks her fingers into his hair.

The little moan he makes draws a smile to her lips and he traces the seam of her mouth with his tongue, begging entrance. Now it’s her that moans, as he teases into her mouth, all hot and wet and tasting like coffee and cherries. Nothing could have prepared her for the sudden zing of fire rushing through her core, the insistent need that ached for far more than a simple kiss. He felt it too she knew, if the way he intensified the assault on her mouth was anything to go by. Then she was drowning in him, sparks dancing over her skin where he touched her, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once. For those blessed minutes the only thing that existed for her was him, the firmness of his chest, the soft sweetness of his lips and the strength of his arms holding her up. Lightheaded they finally broke away from each other, surety and excitement in every short breath.

“Do I need to hang mistletoe everywhere to get you to kiss me like that again?” She asks him with a grin.

The soft smile he gave her turned to full blown laughter and he picks her up, spinning her around as she yelps in surprise.

“Don’t need nothing except you, Doll.”

@captain-rogers-beard

#love all the marvel ships #love all the marvel ships challenge #darcy/bucky #wintershock #kissing

53 notes · View notes

adobe-outdesign · 6 years

Text

I Found You [Sequel to Dear Father, a Sister Location fanfic]

(Dear Father can be read here.)

He’s not sure how many days he’s been lying there. He’s not even sure he wants to know.

Michael’s pretty sure he’s seen the light from his window increase and decrease at least four times, maybe five. He’s not positive. Ever since he had given up, time had been slow, murky, a molasses-like monotony broken only by the sound of a fly buzzing around in his room.

This was the new plan he had formulated. He wasn’t supposed to be alive, so he wasn’t going to act alive, either. He would just lie here and quietly rot away in his room, and no one would be the wiser. Unfortunately the idea had proven more difficult than expected, and his inability to sleep despite his sense of exhaustion had created nothing but a sense of boredom and listlessness.

The fly lands on his outstretched hand and he watches it, not moving. It crawls a few feet to a particularly rotten section of his finger, then bends its abdomen and lays a single white egg under his skin.

Michael jerks upright and strikes the spot, hard, leaving a black twitching mass where the fly had stood. He darts to the bathroom, trying not to panic. It’s just a fly. What did you expect? You’re dead.

He grabs a piece of toilet paper and quickly removes the fly’s remains, then steadies himself. He pinches his flesh, not directly looking at the spot, until the egg slides out between his fingers where it’s quickly smashed. He sets his hands down on the sink for support, feeling ill. There could be more eggs, he thinks to himself. Maggots crawling around inside of him like the endoskeleton had done, eating what’s left of his skin-

A bath. He needs to take a bath.

He leans down to start the tap, then realizes that his stomach wound - could it even be called a wound at this point? - would make it impossible. He had debated on sewing it shut shortly after it happened, but closer inspection had revealed that the Scooper had ripped out not only his organs but most of the skin on his torso. The open gaping hole would let in water, which would only make him rot faster.

Michael settles for stripping off his clothes, stained with who knows what kind of bodily fluids, and using a wet washcloth with a bit of soap to wipe down the outside of his skin. It’s an odd feeling - this rotted purple Thing no longer even feels like his body. It’s as if he had found a corpse outside and was washing it instead of himself.

He moves to cleaning the hole in his torso, involuntarily shivering at the unfamiliar sensation of touch on the inside of his skin. He keeps going until the washcloth comes away black, then brown, then with nothing on it at all.

Digging into the hall closet reveals a large container of antiseptic fluid, the kind you’d expect to see in a hospital. When he had first discovered it, he had wondered why his father would need something like this. He no longer needs to wonder.

He rubs himself down with the sanitizer, then fetches a fresh set of long-sleeved clothes - the less skin he had to see, the better - and wonders if he looks any less awful now that the most rotted areas have been cleaned.

He doesn’t know. All the mirrors are still covered.

MISSING THREE-YEAR-OLD FOUND SAFE IN TEXAS, the headline reads. Michael skims the article, only halfway interested, before continuing to flip through the pages. He skips past the comics entirely, and only pauses long enough at the sports section to see who won the Superbowl (the Giants, apparently). He slows down when he gets to the articles, reading over the latest news.

IT BURNS! Fazbear’s Fright burns to the ground

A new local attraction based on an ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight...

Michael remembers what he had promised his father, and decides on a new purpose right then and there.

I’m going to come find you.

Michael pulls the box off the shelf and beings rummaging through its contents. Most of the items were simply scrap - bits of metal, bolts and wires that no longer connected to anything. He studies them, then sets them aside in an ever-increasing pile.

He moves to another shelf, glancing behind him at the doorway. There’s no one here, he reminds himself, but he can’t help but remember the unease he felt when he first took this job. Nothing had really changed since then save for some new caution tape around the front entrance, but there was something empty and dead about the place that somehow made him more anxious than when the animatronics had been there.

He returns his attention to the shelf, selecting a white mask. Probably a prototype of some type, he figures to himself. He sets it on a considerably smaller pile of parts, its contents being more complete, more finalized than the first pile. And more expensive, Michael thinks, and he smiles to himself. A few hours later the parts and service room in Circus Baby’s has been picked clean. Michael walks away with a jumble of half-finished animatronic pieces, being careful to stay as far away from the Scooping room as he can.

As much as Michael had grown to hate his father’s creations, they would certainly fetch a nice price in the papers.

Michael swears he can smell the smoke still wafting from the ruining building in front of him - if you could even call it a building at this point. You don’t even have a nose anymore, he reminds himself, but he still can’t quite dismiss the scent.

It’s difficult to see the building in the nearly moonless night, but he can just barely make out the silhouette of the attraction, black against the night sky. It’s little more than a skeleton now, the wooden supports that once held up the building once now charred and collapsed completely in some areas. A single sign reading “FAZBEAR’S FRIGHT” is the only indication of what the place used to be.

Michael walks around the perimeter of the area, unwilling to get closer to the unstable rubble. The newspaper wasn’t exaggerating - it looked like the entire place had been stripped down of anything Freddy’s related. Michael stares at the scene for a moment before turning away, something bitter settling into his hollow chest. He’s not here. At least, not anymore.

He starts to walk away, and nearly misses the large, oddly-shaped footprints trailing off into the woods.

Come on down to- He’s winding up for the pitch and- Win a boat and a new pair of pants!- I can hear the Fox laughing from his temple- Matt, how could you!- These are America’s Most Wanted-

The remote clicks endlessly, without enough pause to really take in what was being shown on the screen.

Every day since it happened, Michael had sat in his favorite chair in the living room, always at the same time, always on the same channel. Being able to still watch his favorite show was one of the only good things that had come of his unexpected immortality, and it had become a ritual of sorts, a coping mechanism that made dealing with his situation just a little bit easier. Now he simply scrolls through the channels, verifying what he already knows.

His copy of the TV Guide had come in. He had reread it three times, just to make sure he wasn’t simply missing it, before coming to terms with the listings in front of him.

The Immortal and the Restless had been cancelled.

Michael holds the bank statement in his hands silently. He knew this would happen, but something about seeing it on paper was a jarring wake-up call.

$31.29

He had really only made it this far because he had a tiny bit of money tucked away into savings - and because he no longer needed to buy groceries or utilize the air conditioner. But he still needed to pay mortgage, and the electricity bill, and the water bill, and thus rest of his finances had gradually drained away, bit by bit.

He double checks the box of parts he took from Circus Baby’s just to make sure. Almost all of his father’s animatronics had been sold off already - at least, the ones he figured were the least likely to kill and/or maim anyone. He reaches his hand into the box and pulls out his personal favorite item, a small plastic figurine of Funtime Freddy. He rubs the buttons on the toy’s torso as he sits against the wall, pondering.

He needed to find a job - that much was certain. However, the idea was much easier in theory than it was in concept. It was already dangerous to go out at night, let alone to a job interview in the middle of the day. Michael idly wonders again for the hundredth time what someone would do if they saw him in the daylight.

He looks down at the figure, and something suddenly clicks. I don’t have to go outside during the day. There were plenty of night shift jobs available, and if he found one that he could do alone, no one would ever need to see him.

Michael would be smiling, if he still could. Instead he stands up, brushes himself off, and slips the figurine into his pocket.

The interview is over the phone. Michael feels like whatever God put him into this situation was slowly starting to warm up to him.

“Hello hello?”

“Hello. My name is Gabriel Keller,” Michael announces. He had been embarrassed of his accent as a child and had taught himself how to hide it, which was proving to be a valuable skill right now. “I’m applying for the management position at the new pizzeria. The ad was in the newspaper,” he ads hastily. There’s something familiar about the voice, but he can’t place where he’s heard it.

“Gabriel?” he asks, and Michael’s heart would’ve stopped if it was still in his chest. Does he know?

“There was an employee that worked at my last location. He was named Gabriel,” he intones, and Michael relaxes, remembering something he read about how it was a good idea to make small talk during an interview.

“So you’ve run a pizzeria before-?” he starts to ask, then freezes.

He knows who’s speaking.

“...Only a small one. It shut down after a few months. I figured that trying again fresh might be worth a shot, but I need someone to manage the place while I’m away,” Henry states.

Henry. Michael didn’t know him too well personally, but his father certainly did. His old business partner, the one who had helped him build Freddy’s. The one whose children he had killed. Michael’s grip tightens on the phone, wondering whether or not he was doing a good enough job at hiding his voice.

The next few questions are generic - was he old enough to work (yes), did he have reliable transportation (yes), was he a legal US Citizen (do corpses count as US Citizens? He went with yes). Then there were a handful of questions that were more job specific.

“Do you have experience working with dangerous machinery?”

The hole in his torso seems to hurt more. “Yes, I am.”

“Are you comfortable with working late hours, a high-stress work environment, and signing a waiver form?”

A little late for that, he thinks, nearly laughing out loud at the thought. Instead he restrains himself. “Of course.”

“Well, that’s all I have for now. You seem like a responsible young man, Michael. I have one other candidate I’m hoping will apply, but if he doesn’t you’ll be contacted immediately.”

“Thank you, sir,” he replies, the line going dead on the other end. He continues to hold the phone to his ear, something clicking in his mind.

He called me Michael.

He pulls one of his father’s many journals off the shelf, and a photo album falls down with it.

Michael’s surprised. He never thought of his father as much of an album person. William wasn’t exactly what he would call a sentimental person, especially when it came to his family.

Opening the album seems to confirm his thoughts at first. It’s mostly pictures of robots, some finished, some not. Most have dates and model numbers written under them, but no other information. He recognizes a few of them - Baby, Funtime Freddy, Ballora. Some aren’t as familiar, such as a yellow-eyed Freddy endoskeleton.

He turns to the next page. This one has shots of people mixed into the robot pictures - there’s one he recognizes of William, back at Fredbear’s, in the Spring Bonnie costume. Henry was with him, and they were both laughing. Michael honestly can’t tell if his father was genuinely happy or not.

Michael moves to the next row of pictures, and it feels like everything stops as he realizes what he’s looking at. That’s me.

It was his last high school photo before graduation. The figure in the photo is standing in front of a purple background - he remembered that he hated the way it looked, but purple was his father’s favorite, so purple it was. His hair was neatly combed and gelled into place - he remembered spending a good hour styling it that morning-, and he’s wearing a nicer shirt than usual. This is me. He runs a hand across the rotted, torn flesh making up his face, suddenly overcome with the feeling of loss and anger. This used to be me.

He realizes he’s clutching the photo so hard it’s starting to fold. He forces himself to relax his grip and takes a moment to recompose himself the way his father had taught him to. There’s nothing you can do about it.

He sets the photo on the carpet, face-down. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore.

The rest of the photos are pretty standard - more robots and a few scattered pictures of William at various events and stages of health. But there’s one more that gives him pause.

It’s one of the only family photos in the album. He vaguely remembers getting the photo taken - they had moved back to England for a short period to pick up the new member of the family, another product of a one night stand that William had just been informed about. Michael is still a child in it, but even back then the resemblance to his father was uncanny. William stands behind him, still robust and lively, not the emancipated and scarred man that usually came to mind when he thought of his father. In his other arm he holds a bundle of blankets with a mop of blond hair coming out of it. Elizabeth.

He feels like he should feel something at the sight of her, some sort of anger at her for what she did to him, but there’s nothing. The monster that had killed him no longer bore any resemblance to the baby in the picture. If anything, she was as much as a victim as he is.

He pockets the family photo and burns everything else.

The shadows created by the flashlight beam create odd shapes, and he jumps at what appears to be a slumped figure only to realize it’s nothing but a pile of trash bags. He rubs the figurine in his chest pocket to calm himself and moves into another alleyway.

He sees the ears first, and as he moves closer he can make out the rest of it. The suit is rotten and discolored, full of holes that expose metal joints and wiring - and a corpse more rotten than he is.

Michael moves closer, shining his light directly in the thing’s face, and for a moment it doesn’t react. Then it jerks spasmodically, the mechanical noises of the thing’s servers almost disappearing under the sounds of crunching bone and ripping flesh. The plastic eyes roll wildly in the thing’s head, coming to stop at Michael’s face.

Father, Michael utters, and somehow he doesn’t feel fear. Perhaps it was just the sheer adrenaline running through his system.

Or perhaps he just doesn’t fear his father like he used to.

The faint light in the back of his empty eye sockets glows impossibly light as he boldly leans in closer to the rabbit animatronic.

I found you.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #sister location #michael afton #william afton #elizabeth afton #tw: body horror #tw: insects #outdesign posts things #outdesign attempts to write #if the first fic was michael being depressed as fuck this is him slowly getting better kind of #fun fact: writing michael is really hard because i keep trying to write sentences like 'he realized he was holding his breath'#only to realize that makes no damn sense

158 notes · View notes

mangled-dreams · 6 years

Text

Sins of the Mother: 7

Chapter 7: Grieving

Previous: Collection, Agreement, Terms, Truths, Accidents, Goodbye

Standing stone face you look into Trinity's room. You'd tidied up her bed room, fixed her bed, and cleaned up the dirty clothing from the floor but it doesn't distract you from reality. Trinity is gone and you're putting off the simple fact you'll have to clear away her things eventually.

Looking around her room you take note of all the things Trinity treasured. You don't remember moving but find yourself in front of the vanity looking at photos taped to the glass. Spotting a photo of Trinity and Helen you quickly tear it down immediately.

Staring at the photo a fit of rage boils to the surface. Your thoughts jumble from questioning why Helen survived and Trinity dying, to Helen should have died too, to you shouldn't have let Trinity out that day. Within seconds your anger turns inward as you begin to blame yourself for not being able to protect her.

You should have tracked her down hours before the accident. You should have demanded Trinity come home after she hadn't checked in the first time. Your minds over and over again about everything you should have done.

Anger fades to sorrow the longer your gaze stays on Trinity. She looks so happy, so carefree, and bright in the photos. She was going to be a wonderful veterinarian and well rounded young woman. She was going to do so much good.

Blinking rapidly you fight against the tears placing back the photo. You want so desperately to put all your blame on Helen, but you can't. You know you have every right to blame her, but you don't--not completely.

Because of Helen, Trinity was so badly injured and put on life support. Helen decided to use God knows what and drive, but Trinity could have stayed away. Your emotional and rational sides begin to war with one another the more your mind goes over the day. The longer you sit thinking the less you understand just what Trinity was thinking.

Sweeping your hand under your dripping eyes you get angry again, You know it's because you haven't come to terms that your emotions are all over the place. There is just one prolem with coming to terms with Trinity's death: How did it come to pass?

Part of you wants so much to ask-no, demand Dark tell you what happened, what events lead up to the accident, but you don't ask. You're afraid he'll want something in return. He is a demon, even if he doesn't look like it or act like any you've ever read of or seen on TV.

"Sis?" Fern's voice pulls you from your thoughts. Twisting just slightly at the waist you look at Fern standing awkwardly in the door way. She's been afraid to enter the room since Trinity was truly swept away by Death. The more you look at Fern the more you see Trinity in her features. Her hair is up in pig tails with ribbons and bows for Spirit Week at school and for a moment you see Trinity at Fern's age with the same ribbons and bows in her hair. "What are you doing?"

Sniffling you clear your throat saying, "I was just remembering, Fer." It's a partial lie. "Is there something you need?" You ask mindful of your tone. Fern has been just as traumatized as you, if not more due to her age.

Fern hesitates, her eyes traveling to Trinity's bed then back to you. You coo her name, urging her to speak her mind. There is something she obviously wants to ask.

"I... I wanted to take Mr. Blue." Fern finally voices looking at the fairly well loved blue dog similar to your own.

Walking over to Trinity's bed you pick up the blue dog smiling down at Mr. Blue you call Fern over to you. She hesitates again, her eyes shifting around the room almost in fear before rushing over to your side. It hurts that a room she once adored to come into she now fears.

Pushing the pain of Fern's reactions you continue forward. "Trin let you sleep with him, huh?" Fern nods quietly at the question. Brushing a hand over Mr. Blue's head you look at Fern. "I'm sure Trinity would want you to keep Blue. Take good care of him, okay?"

Nodding her head eagerly Fern takes Blue clutching him close to her chest. "I promise I will Y/n." She whispers kissing blue.

Dark stand to your left. He's been spending more time watching over you personally since Trinity's passing. He can see how turbulent your thoughts have been recently thorugh your actions and words. It worries him where you are mentally when you are alone.

"Are you just going to stand there?"

Dark doesn’t move or say anything immediately after your question. He simple stands near you, watching you fold the laundry. Your hands carefully fold each and every article of clothing before setting them in piles for each respective house member.

He notes they way you linger on pieces that belong to Trinity. Every times you eventually set down a clean article of clothing you look close to breaking down. He knows you’re slowly removing items of Trinity’s in to boxes as the week’s progress. Some things are marked for storage; others are marked to charities and shelters.

Trinity would want it that way.

Stepping forward Dark rounds the couch, his hand nearly blanketing yours halting your current action, and kneels before you. He can’t allow you to continue this way for much longer. He can see the way you are slowly killing yourself.

“Y/n.”

Blankly you stare at his hand, not quite sure at to his reasoning for touching you. Over the weeks, well, rather months Dark has never initiated contact. You’d always been the on to reach out and request contact from him. So, you ask yourself, what does he want?

“That is enough.” His tone commands your compliance but no through fear or even intimidation. He almost sounds concerned for your health both physical and mental. “You cannot continue on like this.”

Slowly you lift your eyes tears already lining your lower lashes. Even if his intention was to be caring you take it a different way. “You don’t get to say that to me.” You respond sternly. “She was like my child more than my sister. You don’t get to tells me when my grieving is over.”

Dark doesn’t respond, instead he shakes his head expressionless. “You are mistake.” He corrects quietly. “I am not telling you to stop grieving. I am telling you to stop neglecting yourself. Punishing yourself will not bring your sister back, nor will it bring you any amount of closure.” Dark explains squeezing your hand momentarily.

“Nothing I do will bring her back.” You respond hollowly. Dark nods in understanding and agreement.

“You are correct, however you can carry on her memory—her spirit, so to speak. You must understand she was of age to make her own decisions and understand to a point the repercussion of her choices.” He knows it is not what you would like to hear, but he also knows this is not news to you. You both know Trinity was groomed to be a self thinker, to understand that there will never be a simple solution to every problem.

Looking at Dark with a far away gaze your mind is blank as the question that’s been eating you up since Trinity’s death slips from your lips. You don’t have a chance to take them back or even pretend you didn’t ask. “Can you show me her last day?”

Sighing, Dark drops his gaze to your hands, he’d guessed this would come up and as much as he would instantly assist you with the request he understands you have no desire to feel in his debt. Looking into your lifeless eyes he tells you, “You can see for yourself. Within your veins you hold the power of your ancestors. You are a witch and capable of wielding great magic.” He sees a small spark of hope, or promise flash in your irises at his words.

He won’t tell you, but has a feeling you’ll understand his ulterior motives for getting you to use your magic. This is a grand opportunity to see you in action, to see the potential he knows you have flare into life.

Getting to his feet Dark extends his hand out to you. You take his hand hesitantly, accepting his assistance to your feet. Retaining his hold on you Dark escorts you to your room. He instructs you to pause in the doorway before walking into the center of your room looks around and snaps his fingers.

Before your eyes the bed and a desk closet to him is shoved away by an invisible force There’s not even a breath of wind or feeling of vibrations at the action but this doesn’t stop you from jumping back a little in fright. Dark chuckles at your reaction briefly clapping his hands together once.

As he pulls his hands away a large, thick ancient looking book wrapped in cracked leather appears. "This is your ancestor's Book of Shadows. With this you can look into the past, among other things." From his spot in the center of your room he holds the book out to you.

Feeling a large amount of trepidation you push yourself forward, accepting the heavy looking book. When you first feel the weight of the book it doesn't feel as heavy as it appears, however that changes when you take a firm grasp on the covers. As soon as you take possession of the book you nearly topple to the ground.

Shrieking momentarily you manage to catch yourself before you could fall face first into the flooring. "How did you make this look so light?" You grumble heaving the book over to your vanity and slam it down without meaning too.

"It contains all the knowledge of those that came before you and all the knowledge you do not know yet. As you learn and master the spell and knowledge hidden within the covers the book will lighten." Dark promises smirks. It's a very good sign to see you struggle to hold the book, it means you are worthy of all it's knowledge.

15 notes · View notes

winetae · 6 years

Text

⇾ tessellate 02

⇁ hoseok x female reader x jungkook

⇁ smut, slight angst || fuckboi!au

⇁ public sex, exhibitionist themes, angsty sex;

⇁ 10.1k

. . .

“ Triangles are my favorite shape Three points where two lines meet.” (tessellate)

Triangles are supposed to be the strongest and most stable of all geometric shapes. You wonder how true this statement is if applied to real life situations. The way you see it: triangles aren’t a reliable structure for relationships, especially if the parties you’re involved with find commitment to be a foreign concept.

↳ or : a fuckboy’s guide to polyamory

⇀ start | 01 | 02

Your life is a mess — figuratively and literally. Empty coffee cups fill up your wastebasket; messy notes are strewn across your desk. Your sheets are in desperate need of washing — not that you can bring yourself to care when you’ve been falling asleep at your desk for the last three days.

Sleep itself has become a foreign concept. Cup ramen and dry shampoo are now your trusted best friends. Although you do require ten different alarms on your phone to make sure you don’t miss class, your body miraculously manages to function properly enough for you to trudge through the week more or less unscathed.

The past week in question is a blur; one never-ending, miserable routine that starts and ends with schoolwork. When your days aren’t eaten away by your part-time job and classes, you spend the rest of your time cram studying in cafes or finishing off your semester project in one of the available art studios on campus. You’re too caught up with your mountain-high pile of workload to dwell on any relationship troubles, especially when finals are knocking at your door, ready to promptly drag you down to your grave.

"Rough night?"

One of the only classmates you’re acquainted with, Joo, slinks into the chair beside yours, her leather messenger bag dropping to the floor with an audible thud. The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts under your nose, and your sleep-deprived eyes are immediately drawn to the venti-sized cup she nurses in her hands. Your stomach growls — a loud reminder that you’ve been living off nothing but shots of caffeine and instant noodles.

"Is it that obvious?" You cover the undersides of your eyes self-consciously with your sleeve-covered hands.

Has your concealer worn off already? The drugstore brand isn’t renowned for being long-lasting but it should, at the minimum, last longer than an hour… What the hell? You had been relying on the product to make you look somewhat human. You grown inwardly, already imagining how frightening you must look with your panda eyes and greasy hair haphazardly tied into a poorly put together bun. You make a mental note to stay away from the sight of your reflection only because you want to spare your eyes the pain.

Your clothes don’t help your case, either — the wrinkled hoodie that dwarfs your form makes you look like an unidentifiable blob who has been living in the same outfit for the past week...which, admittedly, wouldn’t be too far from the truth. You’re sure anyone who takes one glimpse in your direction would think you’ve given up on looking like a normal human being. Between the fight with Hoseok and finals looming over your head like a dark cloud, you’ve been neglecting to take care of yourself properly. And, in all honesty, you would rather sleep an extra fifteen minutes than get up to apply a layer of makeup.

"Don't worry, you don't look worse than anyone else here..." She gives you a friendly pat on the shoulder after noticing your gloomy expression.

A cursory glance around the room confirms Joo’s statement. Her words, however, fail to cheer you up. To know that you’re not worse off than the rest of your classmates is not the most comforting piece of information. A sea of red-rimmed eyes, sunken expressions and grayish complexions surrounds you; it’s a sight you would expect to see in post-apocalyptic movies, not in a 10 am painting class.

"I stayed up until four finishing the damned thing. Thank God for coffee, right?" ” Joo’s lips curl into a frown as she pulls out her essay from her overstuffed bag. She curses under her breath when she notices the front page is dogeared and runs a hand over it in an attempt to flatten it out.

"Yeah.... I haven't been able to sleep much. I wish Professor Park would give us some slack.”

"Him? Give us a break? Yeah, right. He gets off watching us suffer. Why else would he give us this much work before finals? Fuckin' sadist.” She leans forward to press down harder, face contorted in a frown. “He can't wait to see us breakdown from the stress alone." Finally, she kicks one of the legs of the chair in front of her and slumps in her seat, apparently having given up on fixing the crease that mars the cover of her assignment.

Right on cue, the door slides open, and she peeks though her fingers, probably expecting Park to storm in right then. Her tense shoulders relax when the last students shuffle in instead of Park. She waves one of her friends over to the vacant chair next to her, her expression perking up.

You don’t recognize her friend, but, then again, you’re disgustingly bad at remembering faces. If Joo hadn’t struck up a conversation with you several weeks ago, you probably wouldn’t remember her, either. Your eyes stay peeled on her approaching form, partly out of secret admiration; unlike the rest of the zombie lookalikes in the class, her skin glows and her hair is perfectly sleek and shiny (the shampoo-advertisement glossy perfection you see on TV, not the gross kind of oily).

"You lot look like you've gone to hell and back again." The tall girl says in lieu of greeting, turning up her nose at the sight of the two of you. The look that crosses her face suggests she’s accidentally planted her heeled boot smack dab in a pile of cow dung… It does wonders for your ego.

"That's 'cos we have.” Joo grumbles behind the rim of her cup of coffee. “Did you forget the 12 page essay due today?"

"I'm more surprised you remembered. You're so unorganized, it’s a wonder you get any assignments done on time. It stresses me out every time I see you write your homework down on your hand. You can’t keep living this way… It’s April and you still don’t own a fucking planner!”

"Yeah yeah, whatever, mom. I'm not the only one who looks like death. Why don't you scold ____, too?"

You freeze up as they both turn to look at you, feeling the weight of their stares sweep over you.

The look Tall Girl appraises you with makes you flatten the top of your hair in a half-assed attempt to look more presentable. You don’t need confirmation of your repulsiveness when you're already all too aware that your tangled and knotted tendrils look like an open invitation for birds to come make their nest atop your head.

"I overslept today, s'all, didn’t have time to brush my hair," you mumble intelligibly between your teeth. You tug the sleeves of your sweater further down so that your fists are covered in the soft fabric, silently wishing that the ground would choose this exact moment to swallow you whole.

"It's cool that you're so confident in your appearance. I think if I dated someone so handsome, I would worry a lot more,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows to get a good look at you. You’re running dangerously low on sleep and patience which is why the mention of Hoseok instantly puts you in a crappy mood.

"Not everyone is that superficial, Lin. Exams are next week. Only you would care enough to get a Brazilian blowout four days before exams start." Joo forces out a laugh, trying to dispel the silent tension that had inched its way into the conversation. “Lin is a bit of bitch, don’t take it personally.”

“We all have our faults,” she shrugs, unbothered. “I’m a superficial, materialistic bitch — the kind trophy wives aspire to be. But at least I’m upfront about it. Say what you want, but I’m not the worse of the batch… Some people don’t have any morals.”

“You have morals? I’m surprised that you have a soul,” Joo snickers, earning an eye roll.

“Some things just go against my principles. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing UGG boots, for example. Not even if you paid me to.” You can’t help but look down at her outfit — the sparkly pink ensemble looks straight out of the set of Scream Queens. “I only smoke weed on weekends and I don’t kiss boys who are taken.”

Mr. Park chooses that moment to enter the classroom, and you silently thank him for the save. You’re not sure what you could have replied to that, anyway. This is why you try not to interact with anyone, you think to yourself.

As the voice of your professor drones on, going over the study material for the nth time this week, your mind unwilling drifts back to Hoseok, prompted by Lin’s words.

It’s not like you’re actively thinking of him every second of every day. The God honest truth is that you’re trying your best not to let yourself be consumed by thoughts of him. For the most part, your method works well. You’ve got so much to juggle on your plate at the moment that your romantic woes are on the bottom of your growing list of concerns. Yet there are inevitable times when you’re forced to acknowledge the jumbled feelings you haven’t been able to sort out since the night you walked out on him.

Now being a prime example.

Lin’s words bring you back to last week’s fight, the incriminating messages found on his phone and his refusal to explain himself. You still have no clue what you should make of it. Your experience is limited; none of your past relationships have ever been this complicated or dramatic. The entire situation makes your heart clench with anxiety. Bubbling panic brews in the pit of your stomach when your thoughts linger on this subject too long.

Avoiding Hoseok will only postpone confrontation but you would rather battle one fight at a time. Finals are the most important. That’s what you tell yourself anyway, trying to justify your actions when you refuse to call him back after he leaves yet another voicemail.

Mina [10:21 am] you owe me lunch

Mina [10:21 am] it’s been a week

Oh, right… Mina had ordered you a cheese pizza last week when you refused to come out of your room. You had promised to pay her back, only to eventually forget.

You glance ahead, trying to type your reply back as surreptitiously as possible.

Mina [10:22 am] pls feed me today

Mina [10:22 am] i’m broke af rn. my paycheck doesn’t come until the end of the month

You [10: 24 am] okay, fine. meet up for coffee at 12?

Mina [10:24 am] yes!!! I love you <33

Mina [10:25 am] is now a good time to tell u I finished your apple pie this morning

You [10:25 am] !!!!!!

You [10:26 am] I fucking hate you

Mina [10:28 am] sorry :-( will do your laundry for a week

You type back the last message with more force than necessary, a frown marring your features.

A voice interrupts your internal monologue, “Miss ______.”

The call of your name makes your head snap up, your wide eyes meeting the stern gaze of your professor. Although you feel like a deer in headlights, you try to mask your dread with a look of innocence. Several students have turned around to glance at you, and your cherry cheeks burn under the scrutiny.

“Yes?” Your response comes out as a nervous squeak, the sound betraying you. As you clear your throat with a loud cough, the hand that grips your phone under the table trembles.

Park heaves a sigh, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. “Please come see me after class.” The expression etched on his face informs you that whatever discussion he wishes to have with you will most likely not bode well for your future.

“Yes, sir,” comes your meek reply.

Joo shoots you a sympathetic smile you weakly reciprocate.

It seems like your week from hell can get worse, you despair, holding back a groan. Stress eats away at you and you find it impossible to concentrate on the lesson when your thoughts cycle between Hoseok, your professor, and how your life just monumentally sucks.

When class is finally dismissed, your shoulders sag with the weight of your accumulated troubles. You plod on over to your teacher’s desk, your apprehension visible on your face.

“Your essay on George Seurat and Neo-Impressionism you handed in last week was, quite frankly, a disappointment,” is what he says once the last students have cleared out.

Your stomach drops and you think you’re about to feel sick. Being told you’re failing class is not on the list of words you want to hear, now or ever. Back in high school, your work was always highly praised with a stellar grade to prove it, but you feel like your luck is about to change.

“This isn’t the first month of college anymore. We’re almost at the end of the year, so I expect more from you. If you turn in something like that on the day of the final exam… Don’t expect a passing grade. I’m telling you this because I know that you’re capable of doing better.”

He hands you your paper, red scribbles smirching the entirety of the first page. You take it back gingerly, afraid to read through all of your teacher’s commentary. Clutching your paper to your chest like a shield, you brace yourself for further criticism.

“The factual content on the color theory is not false but your explanations are muddled and clumsy. If you follow the methodology we went over in class, you wouldn’t be having this problem. You seem distracted lately, and today was not an exception.” You respond to the pointed look he aims at you with a sheepish expression.

“You don’t have a lot of time left, so make sure to straighten out your priorities. You have to get yourself back in the game, _____. Don’t lose focus of the objective now! You don’t want to see me next year again, alright?” The small smile he gives you makes you nod automatically. You thank him and promise him that you’ll try harder.

Outside, Joo looks up from her phone when you finally come out of the classroom. Lin stands behind her, inspecting her nails with a bored look plastered on her face. “So, how did it go?”

“Oh...it went fine. He’s not as scary as he looks,” you force out a smile, feeling a little dead inside. There’s a head-splitting ringing in your ears that makes your vision spin — almost as if someone has just hammered you over the head. “He just wanted to go over the essay we turned in last week.”

“Cheer up,” she pats your shoulder awkwardly, your hand falling back to her side. “We’re going to work on our paintings this afternoon in Studio B. You should come too, if you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, okay.” The corners of your lips hurt, but you continue smiling.

Your body moves on autopilot for the rest of the day — your feet two lead weights you drag across the floor to your next class. The only thing you look forward to is your lunch date with Mina. You’re so down that you don’t mind spending an extra ten bucks on sweets because you’re in serious need of a pick-me-up.

The café you usually study in is packed; tables all around you are taken up by the MacBooks of students. You manage to find a seat in the very back, next to a lady in her seventies feeding her Chihuahua the crumbs of her cookie. There is not much elbow room, but Mina somehow manages to fit the tray of Danish pastries and her plate of Black Forest cake on the small table.

She doesn’t waste a second — her fork attacking the desserts like a woman possessed.

“You aren’t getting that?” she mouths around a bite of Spandauer.

Your phone buzzes four more times on the table, a selfie of Hoseok with his older sister's dog you’ve set as your lockscreen staring up at you.

'Two Missed Calls from Hoseok' your phone alerts you, making your roommate raise an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction.

You choose to ignore both the call and the look she aims at you, your face schooled in a mask of nonchalance. “Hm? It can wait. I’d rather spend my time with you.”

“How sweet,” she says, not without her suspicions. “It's fine, you can answer. It might be important, you never know... And please.” She rolls her eyes. "Don't say that when it’s never stopped you before.”

“Ha ha," you say drily, cursing how she's able to see right through you. "Is it so hard to believe it when I say I would rather talk to you? It's been a while since we've spent time together.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you would rather be sucking Hoseok’s meat stick. Not that I blame you… I’d suck that dry if I could. Not that I would since you’re dating him but y’know. I’m getting pretty desperate... I’m this close to letting Dandruff Dan take me on a date. Don’t look at me like that! You don’t know what it’s like, okay? My vagina hasn’t had any action in so long, it’s starting to feel dusty.”

Next to you, an old lady splutters into her coffee cup, shocked no doubt by the vulgarity of today’s youth. One look at the scandalized expression carved on her face and you don’t know whether to laugh or to feel embarrassed. A nervous, strangled giggle leaves your mouth before you can stop it, earning you another glare. You’re thankful at least Mina has the decency to mouth her apology while handing the elderly woman a stack of paper napkins.

“I’d love for her to have a chat with my gran,” Mina says under her breath after making sure the white-haired woman could no longer overhear your discussion. “She used to be a groupie and followed rock stars around from city to city. If you knew the stuff she did… Makes pornos look tame. Ah, I really miss her… She’d be so disappointed in me if she knew I haven’t had dick in over six months...”

She takes another bite of cake, looking thoughtful. "Are you sure Jimin isn't down to mingle?"

"Dunno..." You twirl your stripped straw around your smoothie, refusing to think about Jimin. Jimin makes you think of Hoseok, and Hoseok is a problem you can't bring yourself to solve. "Haven't seen him around much lately."

You've never interacted much before, but now that you're giving Hoseok the silent treatment, you're hell bent on avoiding any of his friends as well.

"What's going on? I can tell something's up. You've been biting your straw non-stop since we sat down and just look at your nails." You look down, finally taking notice of the tragic state of your nails, uneven with chips of fading blue nail polish still coloring your thumbs. "And it's not like you to blow off Hoseok twice in a row like that."

"Just, you know... Stupid stuff."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you. You can tell me what's wrong, if you want. I'm not the best at giving advice, but I don't like seeing you like," she waves a hand around at your face, "this. You look like…”

“Death came knocking at your door this morning," she supplies with a grimace. "Jesus, when was the last time you took a shower? Seriously… What's bothering you so much? Is it Hoseok? Did you guys finally have a fight?"

"Finally? What is that supposed to mean?”

"Well, yeah. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

"Wait, what? You aren’t surprised?”

“Honestly?” Hesitation crosses her features as she mulls over her words. The beat of silence speaks volumes and gives you your answer before she finally speaks again. “Not really. What happened exactly?"

"I found some weird pictures on his phone. This girl he's been talking to sends him semi-nudes."

Mina shoots you an apologetic look. “I’ve always thought relationships built on sex don’t last long. Don’t take offense, okay? But all you two do is fuck. Any of your interactions involve getting each other off some way or another. I’m not saying that he should take you out to a fancy restaurant or anything, but... Do you guys even talk? What do you guys even do?”

“We do talk!” You’re quick to argue, used to defending yourself from accusations. “We text each other and we call each other when we can. Both of us are really busy right now, that’s why we haven’t been able to spend time with each other as much as I would’ve liked...”

“Okay...” She smiles, unconvinced. “And what do you guys talk about exactly?”

“Just, like...normal, mundane stuff. How our day went, what we’re having for dinner. But we’ve never argued before this...”

“So...superficial talk. You could have the same conversations with anyone else, am I right? And what do you even know about him? What’s his favorite color?”

“We don’t have to know everything about each other,” you argue. “We just started dating! You can’t expect us to know every single, little thing about each other. And, besides, I don’t know much about you, either, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t close. Knowing or not knowing his favorite color shouldn’t be a reason enough to be with him or not.”

“It was an example, gosh. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t see what’s changed between now and the time you guys were just casually fucking. Like, cool, he calls you his girlfriend now, but what does it matter if he’s off wetting his dick whenever you’re too busy to let him come by.”

“I don’t know about that. He did say that he didn’t get with her since he started dating me... I shouldn’t care about who he’s been with before that.”

“You actually believe that excuse?” Mina lets out an unattractive snort. Stabbing a fork into her slice of chocolate cake with more force than necessary, she scoops out a huge mouthful that she somehow manages to swallow in one bite. “Honey, he could at least try to sound a little more convincing. He got that straight from a 'How to be a fuckboy' manual.”

"Hoseok isn't like his friends," you insist, stubbornly.

"Sure, sure. Take off your rose covered lenses for a second and hear me out. Birds of a feather flock together. Even if he's not as bad as his fuckboy posse, he can't be squeaky clean either. He and his friends name themselves the Pussy Terminators... Not only is that cringe as fuck, it's also a quite telling."

"I think Hoseok mentioned Jimin was the one who came up with that..." you add as an afterthought.

"That's not the point here! The point is, those types of guys are good for a fuck, and that's it. I'm glad things were working well with Hoseok, but I also don't want you to get hurt. So talk it out, listen to what he has to say, but don't let him play you like the naive freshman he might think you are."

She takes one of your hands between her own, “Don’t let him step all over you, okay? I know you like him a lot, but I can see how stressed out and miserable you look.”

You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over her words in silence. While she does have a point, you want to give Hoseok the benefit of the doubt, even if you aren’t sure if he deserves it.

The dilemma that rages inside your heart but be readable on your face, for Mina squeezes your hand in comfort. “Go home, take a hot shower. You’ll feel a lot better, trust me.”

It turns out that Mina is right about at least one thing. The hot shower does wonders for the crick in your neck, and you feel like a different person now that your hair is clean and the thin layer of grime has been scrubbed off your body. A hot shower is not a miracle solution for all of your problems, but it’s one step in the right direction.

Feeling rejuvenated in clean clothes, you head on over to the art studio to advance on your semester paint project with a spring in your step. Painting always helps your clear your mind — once you get in the zone, no one and nothing can distract you.

The scaled down frame forces you to focus on the tiniest details, invisible to the untrained eye. With meticulous brush strokes, streaks of golden brown start to fill in the stenciled field. Every measured stroke is thought out and calculated; your hand is steady, your breath synced to each subtle movement of the paintbrush that glides across the smooth surface of the canvas.

Any of your previous worries are pushed to the back of your mind, out of sight. You don’t even notice when Joo and Lin eventually leave the studio, too immersed in the task at hand. The sun shifts in the sky, casting shadows that make it impossible to continue your work.

It's when you finally set down the tool in your hand that you begin to register your immediate surroundings. The hands of the clock hung up on the wall indicate how much time has slipped by and, distantly, you tell yourself that you should hurry on home if you want to catch the first few minutes of the TV show you've been into lately.

However, instead of heading back home, you stare blankly at your unfinished painting. Intense dislike twists your insides and you have to fight down a scowl.

The bright, warm hues of your painting are meant to reflect inner peace and happiness, but one glance tells you that the mix of colors look startlingly wrong. The blue of the sky is too icy, the golden field of wheat grim and inhospitable. You feel nothing when you stare at it, and that vacancy in your chest leaves you feeling bitter.

Nothing in your life seems to be working out right now.

You have no idea how to repair what’s been broken or where to even begin. Mina’s right, you think, you are miserable. Being with Hoseok had only been a temporary bliss, but it wasn’t a solution to all of your existing problems. While the rest of your life slowly spiraled out of control, you found refuge in his touch and his whispered words of reassurance.

A quiet knocking at the door breaks your concentration. Speak of the devil and he shall appear... Somehow, you know who it is before the door even opens. Call it intuition.

The thick wooden door slides open, and the face of the person you've been avoiding appears. Your heart stops, and, for a second, you think you’ve mistaken a dream for reality.

Hoseok is dressed in sweats and the university jersey, his hair pushed back beneath his snapback. Being familiar with his schedule, you suspect he’s come straight from practice. The dance studio he trains in is situated on the other side of campus, and judging by how sweat still clings to his brow, his face glowing with a sheen of perspiration, you surmise he must've rushed here right away.

No one makes a move. Time is suspended — seconds seem to stretch into minutes in front of your very eyes. Beneath this silence, there's a tension that lingers in the air, an awkwardness that was never present before.

"Hey." Hoseok has his hands buried deep in his pockets. He tries to sound casual, like nothing is out of the ordinary.

It only confirms everything you've been thinking about for the last few days. The two of you tend to ignore the problem in the hopes that it will fade and disappear by itself. Still — he's here now, isn't he? That has to mean something.

"Hi," you say back, but even to your own ears, the greeting sounds contrived. You wonder how long you’ll keep on dancing around the elephant in the room.

As much as you would rather not have this conversation, you know that you can’t keep running away from confrontation forever. This is why your relationship isn’t working in the first place; because the both of you have been turning a blind eye whenever any kind of problem arises.

Now that you've acknowledge that there's an issue, will you really keep on ignoring it? How can you possibly keep pretending that all is okay when you feel the weight of all that was left unsaid pressing down on your shoulders?

Hoseok must feel it, too.

“Can we talk about this now? Or are you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” you clarify with a sigh, setting down your palette.

To this he raises a brow, evidently not convinced, “Well, how else am I supposed to interpret all the missed calls and unanswered messages? Would you have even talked to me if I hadn’t come here and sought you out?” Although he’s trying to stay levelheaded about this and speak calmly, you can detect traces of frustration slowly seeping into his speech. "If Kook hadn't told me where to find you, I wouldn't even be having this conversation with you right now."

He leans his weight against the doorframe, his head tipping back as he lets out a frustrated exhale. The column of his neck is exposed to your stare, making it easy to spot the fading pink bruise you had left him near his chiseled jaw. "I don't blame you, if you are. But we should be talking this out, yeah? You never gave me the chance to explain the other night. Well— " He pauses, chewing his bottom lip as he measures his next words carefully. "That night, I didn't tell you everything so...I can understand why you would misunderstand. I don't know if I'm too late but I'd like to explain myself now."

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I needed some space, but I needed time to think about...us.” A beat passes as you gather your thoughts. You’re thankful he doesn’t jump to conclusions right away and gives you the time to speak free of interruptions. "

“Did you work it out?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us — especially about this. Yuna? She means nothing to me. Not even — we never… I’ve never hooked up with anyone else since we started being together. I know I don’t have the perfect reputation, so I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me, but I’ve never cheated on you.”

“Hoseok, who is she?” The silent accusation is loud enough for him to flinch.

His tongue swipes over his dry lips. You expect him to give you a roundabout, vague answer that will only add fuel to the sparking fire.

After a moment of silent debate, he inhales deeply, choosing to stick to the truth. “We hooked up a few times over Christmas break before New Year’s. I thought we were on the same page, that those few times didn’t mean anything but good fun, and for a while Yuna didn’t do anything to make me think otherwise. Sometimes, one night stands think that they’re something more and it’ll complicate things, but Yuna was always chill."

Hoseok notices your expression and continues, "But ever since we started dating, I don’t know what’s gotten into her… No matter how many times I tell her I’m not interested, I can’t shake her off. There’s not much I can do but ignore her messages and leave her calls unanswered...”

“So…you’re telling me that she’s the one making passes at you? And that you can’t do anything but reject her over and over again…” Saying it out loud makes his explanation all the less believable.

“I know. I know it sounds like a weak ass argument. God, I’m sorry, you deserve better," he berates himself, the corners of his lips pulling into a frown. "I wish that I could tell her to fuck off for good.”

“Then why can’t you? Isn’t this harassment? You have to tell her to stop! This isn’t okay, and I’m not just saying this because I’m dating you, or because I’m jealous or want you to myself or—” You inhale deeply, catching your breath before you continue, "This isn’t okay, Hoseok. If a guy kept sending me dick pics even when I clearly told him I wasn’t interested—"

“I know," he cuts off your rambling with an exasperated sigh. "I know and I try to avoid her when I can, I do, but she’s in the fucking Mayday Showcase. If she was any other fuck, I would set her straight, but I don’t want to pick a fight right now. Our teamwork already sucks as it is… The showcase means too much; I can’t let myself screw it up.”

“You’re not the one screwing anything up. If this is true, she shouldn’t be acting this unprofessional in the first place.”

“Yeah, but it’s also my fault for not following the rules. We’re not supposed to fool around with anyone on our team for this exact reason. I should've known something like this would happen.”

“So what? You’re going to let her come onto you until the year is over? How in the world does that help your teamwork?” You cross your arms, lips pursed in displeasure.

“What else am I supposed to do? Jun even told me to deal with it on my own. ‘Keep your side fucks in line’ is what he said. Crude, but he has a point. It’s my fault, right? As the saying goes, I've made my bed so now I have to lie in it."

“Jun’s a dumbass…" Shaking your head, you don't know who you're more annoyed with — Jun for giving the world's shittiest advice or Hoseok for accepting his words without protest. "No wonder the teamwork is shit, when you have him as your captain. Maybe you should take it up with your dance instructor instead. Surely they’ll intervene, right?”

“So they can, what, pull Yuna from the showcase? And mess with the dance formations? We’ve been practicing this for months, it’s not something so easily changeable. If that happens, it’ll take more effort to adjust and rearrange the choreo. Dance comes first, it always has. It’s all I have, you know? It's all I’m good at. If I lose this chance, then there won’t be anything left for me to do.” He trails off, his eyes fixing a stain on the wall with feigned interest. He tries to mask his discomfort but you can see right through his act. It's not often Hoseok divulges his inner thoughts and insecurities; he probably feels embarrassed and regrets speaking too much.

A pause laden with tension follows, filling the empty void between the two of you, as you try to make sense of what he said. You're momentarily at a loss for words. Normally, you would provide gentle words of encouragement, but this time they get stuck in your throat. You still don't know whether or not to buy his explanation. It would be so easy to give him the benefit of the doubt and just go back to how things were in the past...

"Don’t get me wrong." The silence is finally broken with an awkward cough. "I don't care about Yuna; I don’t even consider her a friend. But I can deal with it. It’s a major pain in the ass, but I can deal with it."

You nod, not sure who he's trying to convince — you or himself. What is that even supposed to mean? Is he doing you a favor by letting this girl send him pictures of her in various states of undress? Mina’s words of warning ring through your head again, reminding you not to let him take you for a fool.

“I… I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have told me this earlier,” is what you say about a bout of silence. “Why did you have to hide this from me? Don’t you think this is just a little bit important?”

“I guess I… It sounds dumb, but I didn’t want to ruin things between us. Things are stressful as fuck right now, but when I’m with you, I forget about all that for a while. For the short amount of time I get to spend with you, things become easier to swallow. No deadlines, no practice, no drama. But I don’t want to make up some lame excuse. It was wrong, I know I should’ve told you right away and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Alright.” The curt reply is all you can manage. Talking has only made you more frustrated. So you’re just a stress reliever to him? That’s what he’s getting at right… What are you supposed to make of that? Does he expect you to be grateful?

The residual anger hasn’t washed away yet, and you feel the traces linger.

“So, we good?"

"Are we?” You’re tired of brushing things under the rug. “I don't think we've ever been good... I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and talking to Mina helped me straighten my thoughts out.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from the confines of your chest. You can feel the thrum of your pulse in your throat. Hands curling into fists at your side, you try to steel yourself.

“I...I thi— I think it's best if we break up."

“y/n…”

“What we have isn’t a relationship—”

“Is that what Mina said?” He scoffs, slightly mocking.

“It’s what everyone is saying!” You throw your hands up, your pent up anger exploding.

“And since when do they matter? They don’t know anything about us.” The exasperated look he shoots you only irritates you further.

“But are they wrong?”

“Okay, fine." He huffs, his brows pulling into a frown. He continues the next sentence in the same heated breath, "Maybe things aren’t ideal between us. Maybe we aren’t perfect together. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the poster child for any 21st century romance. But since when are relationships supposed to be a smooth sailing? Throw those ideals out the window. The stuff you read about in books doesn’t exist."

The look of frustration he pins you with roots you to the spot. You can't remember the last time he's gotten so worked up over something. Pushing himself off the wall, he stalks over to you, closing the distance in three long strides.

"But you know what’s real?" Hoseok doesn't wait for your answer, "I don’t need other people telling me how I should feel. I know what’s real.”

For the first time since you've met him, the words aimed at you are harsh and scathing. It feels like he’s digging an accusatory finger up against your chest even though he isn’t touching you at all.

“How you feel?" You can't keep the incredulity out of your tone. Scoffing, you cross your arms in the hopes that you won’t waver. You need to be strong, you remind yourself.

"Please don’t try to convince me to stay when you don’t even love me. Do you — Do you even like me?"

"Do I even—? That's not the issue. Of course I like you.” He looks horribly affronted by your underlying suggestion, the crease between his brows deepening. A wounded expression falls over his face then, and he suddenly avoids your gaze. “But I— You’re right... I don’t know if what I feel is love. But at least I can say that I’m trying. Are you really going to run away at the first sign of trouble? I don't know much, but I don't think that's how relationships work."

“You always claim that you’re not the ideal boyfriend, but I’m not perfect either… I’m selfish, and I want a lot more than I lead on.” Your cheeks burn scarlet as you toy with the hem of your sweater, trying to distract yourself from the embarrassment that comes with your admission. It’s the first time you’ve been so honest, and, honestly, it makes your stomach turn. “I’ve never liked someone like you, I’ve never… I’ve never liked someone as much as you, either. But I feel like I’m investing a lot of myself in a relationship that isn’t going to work out. And as much as I want to be with you, I’m scared that I’m going to end up with the short end of the stick.”

Hoseok repeats your name, one of his hands tentatively reaching up to cup your jaw. His eyes don’t leave yours, like he’s trying to silently communicate the feelings he’s unable to voice out. You fix the tall bridge of his nose instead, then his pink lips — anything but the chocolate brown of his eyes. You’re afraid you’ll end up projecting your own feelings...and the last thing you want is to interpret his look for something else. You don’t need the false hope.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispers, thumb stroking your chin, your lips. “You’ve always deserved better. If you’re selfish then what am I?”

When his lips meet yours, your eyes have already fluttered closed in anticipation. If you gasp into his mouth, he’s quick to swallow down the sound before it can reach his ears.

Your hands fist the collar of his shirt, pulling him down closer to match your height. Greedily, you drink him in. His mouth tastes like the familiar, sweet flavor of Wrigley’s juicy fruit gum and the bittersweet taste of finality. You realize then how much you have missed him — his touch, the scent of his cologne that clings to his clothes like fabric softener, the way his lips work against yours with the intent of pulling you apart from the very seams.

"Ah, fuck," he curses under his breath when you nip the underside of his jaw, your tongue soothing over the mark with kittenish licks. You reach to pull off your pink hoodie, discarding it somewhere on the floor. The thin tank top you have on underneath draws attention to your cleavage which Hoseok can’t resist venerating with his gaze.

The art studio isn't a private space. On the contrary, anyone is free to walk in unannounced just like Hoseok had moments ago. But like every single one of your risky encounters in the past, this knowledge only fuels your arousal. The desire that sparks within you whenever he's around always wins out.

One day, your kinks will surely get you arrested, you think self-deprecatingly. Arrested or kicked out of school. The thought barely forms in your mind before Hoseok tilts your head to deepen the kiss, wiping out your train of thought. His lips dull your senses — or rather they make him your sole focus. Whenever you’re with him, you don’t realize how severe your tunnel vision is. Lost in the moment, all you can do is concentrate on the way he gently cradles your jaw between his palms. Heat blooms inside of your chest with every swipe of his tongue against yours until you can’t remember anything but his name.

Hoseok seems to sense your urgency; he reciprocates your advances, his grip tightening around your waist as he backs you up against the window. Your back hits the cold surface with a thud. A throbbing heat spreads at once, your body reacting to his like it’s been conditioned to do so, but the pain doesn't have time to register, not when he presses himself against you and you find yourself sandwiched between the glass panel and his toned body.

He pulls back and levels you with a heated look, "You want it here?"

Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours while waiting for your verbal assent. With the way his arms cage you in his hold, you find it impossible to look away from the expression of lust that paints his face in bold streaks. It's like ripping off a Band-Aid, you think to yourself, convinced that it'll hurt less if you just fuck him out of your system for good. Hoseok interprets your silence for uncertainty so he adds quietly, "You can always say no. It's okay."

"I want this." Your answer spills from your swollen lips, too quickly for your liking, revealing your desire for the man in front of you. Having nothing left to hide, you decide to drop all prior pretences. "I always want you."

It's a truth you don't like to admit but can't bring yourself to deny. How can you pretend any differently? You've always been too honest about your intentions and your feelings, ignoring the warnings from your sister to never wear your heart on your sleeve. Although you understand the need to protect yourself from heartbreak and disappointment, you would rather experience that then live through a cycle of regrets and 'What If's'.

Hoseok's features soften at your admission, his thumbs hooking themselves in the loops of your jeans. Silently, he draws you closer still, your bodies perfectly intertwined, like two puzzle pieces slotting to make a match. Only a few layers of clothing separate you from him — you're so close you swear you can feel the drumming of his heart against your right breast.

From this close, you can't help but notice how the fire in his eyes is now smoldering rather than scorching. Sometimes the heat of his passion is so intense you feel like you'll combust into a mess of flames and smoke. If Hoseok is the sun, you are the fool who can't resist singeing her wings. But this way, it's bearable, you think to yourself, his darkened gaze making you slowly melt into a puddle instead.

"You're so good to me." His breath grazes your skin, his eyelashes fluttering as he stares you down. A thumb traces the curvature of your bottom lip like a sculptor admiring a finished masterpiece. "My good girl."

The words sear through you, no longer providing the comfort they used to. But the ache they leave in their wake is momentary, your mind refusing to dwell on the painful feeling.

Hoseok’s ministrations help distract you. Deft fingers inch under your shirt, caressing your supple flesh as gently as a bamboo brush sets ink to paper. The drag of his digits across the canvas of your skin is feather-light, almost hesitant, and you suspect this is Hoseok's way of making sure you truly want this as much as he does before going any further.

When you don't immediately back out or push him away, he pulls your top down far enough to expose your bra-clad chest, and cups your breasts over the last strip of fabric until you’re moaning against his mouth. The skimpy lace material leaves you vulnerable to his every ministratio — the soft squeezes of his hands on your mounds and the heel of his palm rubbing into you to provide delicious friction — and you can confidently affirm that no other man knows how to get you as riled up as he does. Hoseok is so familiar with your body that he could probably find each of your weak spots blindfolded. He uses this knowledge to his advantage, immediately honing his attention on your sensitive nipples, his thumb dragging over the lace covered buds until they're stiff and aching.

"A-ah, Hobi please..." Your tongue molds the words with familiarity, so used to begging for him.

"I know you enjoy that. Are you getting wet for me? Hmm, not yet?" He pinches you through the lace, the fabric chaffing your sore nipples. Your body jolts, breasts bouncing in his hands as he continues to play with your swollen buds. You have to swallow down your moan, unable to articulate the traitorous thoughts running through your mind. The longer this pleasurable torture continues, the more your body yearns for more. Still, you refuse to give in completely, wanting to test how long Hoseok could hold back.

Whenever you played this particular waiting game, victory had never been on your side. Not because Hoseok was unaffected — but because your desperation eventually became too much to tolerate.

But expressing your desire through lidded eyes is a challenge; Hoseok chooses that moment to trace the slope of your neck with his lips, his head now buried in the crook of your neck, hidden from you. You tug the hairs at the nape of his neck, trying to make eye contact again but he doesn’t let you steer him away from his goal.

Hoseok presses each kiss onto your skin slowly, with purpose, as if you had all the time in the world to indulge in each other.

Why is he acting like this right now? Your teeth catch your lip in their hold out of sheer frustration. Each delicate print of his lips on your body reminds you of what you can't have, and your heart aches, heavy in your chest. The soft material of his jersey crinkles under your grip as you try to keep yourself upright and composed. You hate it, the way he his tender touch sparks something inside of you, chipping away at your resolve.

Over his shoulder, the clock on the wall catches your attention, and your spine straightens as reality sinks in.

"Hoseok," you tug insistently at the collar of his shirt in your attempt to remind him you were both short on time.

"Mmm, be patient." His teeth nip your ear lobe to accentuate his command.

"But we don't have—"

"If you want me inside your cunt, I want you nice and wet for me. Wait a little longer, okay? Be good." His sickly sweet smile is a hoax; it tells you right away that he's taking the utmost delight in making you squirm in his hold. Upon noticing the glare you sport, the corner of his lips quirk into a smug smirk, confirming your suspicions.

Patience is not your strong suit. On normal days, Hoseok is usually kind enough to cut to the chase, but for some unexplainable reason, he seems to want to draw this out.

Slow sex is welcome on lazy Sunday mornings, under the cover of thin sheets, in the privacy of your room. It's not convenient nor desired when you are running late for afternoon lectures, and even less so when the place you're trying to get it on is an empty classroom anyone is free to walk into. Of all the locations for a quick romp, it had to be the fucking art studio…

You know that if you want him to fast-forward the maddening pace he's set you need to lead the game. Hoseok knows your body inside out — but the same could be said for you; you know what makes him tick, what gets him unbearably hot under the collar, which cards to use to get his heart pounding.

Jutting your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, you lower your voice into a sultry purr "B-but I'm dripping already." You almost tack on the word 'Daddy' for good measure, but you aren’t in the mood to play that game today. You don’t want him to be sweet or caring; you don’t want to trust him blindly anymore. All you want is to wash him out of your system as painlessly as possible.

If Hoseok doesn't react verbally to your confession, you don't let that deter you. The rigid muscles under your clutch tell you that you've hit your mark.

“It’s not the same without you,” you continue, lust making you shameless. “I need you.”

You’re scared to acknowledge how much truth there is to these words. Deep down, you know they’re spot on, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You don’t want to be dependent on him, not for your pleasure nor anything else.

Thankfully, Hoseok doesn’t let you linger on those thoughts for too long. He unbuttons your jeans and slides them down your legs, pulling your underwear along with the denim. Material barriers now gone, a breeze of cool air caresses your exposed skin.

“You’re right,” he smirks, thumbing over the incriminating wet patch on your panties. You can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed about it, too impatient to get it on. One of his hands reaches past the waistband of his sweatpants and pulls out his hardened member, the thickness making your mouth go dry with desire.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he orders as he picks you up by the meat of your thighs, the prints of his fingertips digging into your skin. You loop your arms around his neck like a lifeline; breath caught in your throat as he positions your hips over his erection.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, feeling the head stretch out your walls as he pushes himself in inch by inch. You’re lubricated enough so that it isn’t painful, but there’s no dismissing the way his girth slowly works you open. However, the uncomfortable sensation quickly melts away and leaves room for pleasure.

The week you haven’t been with him feels like a month, and your body is eager to make up for lost time.

“God,” he moans, brow creased, evidently as affected as you. His nostrils flare, muscles in his neck tensing, and he shudders when you clench around him without warning. Sweat drips down the side of his face, the tiny beads of perspiration making his skin glisten under the late afternoon sun. Your eyes drink this sight in, subconsciously trying to commit every minute detail of his face to memory.

His hands keep you pinned against the wall as he works his hips against yours in careful strokes. You can feel the delicious drag of his cock inside of you as he pushes in and out, your body adjusting to the gentle rocking. He buries his head in the hollow of your neck, mouthing at the spots he knows make your knees buckle.

"Always feels good with you." You almost miss the way he murmurs the praise against your shoulder blades. It's delivered so quietly, you can barely hear it over the hammering in your chest and the roaring in your ears, and you wonder if he means for it to reach you. The words aren’t said for an added kick or for show, you realize.

"I want it d-deeper."

He's already giving it to you so good; the fluidity of his movements, the way he angles his hips into yours and keeps your legs hoisted up around his middle — all of it a lethal combination intended to make you scream out his name. But desperation claws at you — you need more, need the pleasure to numb all other distracting thoughts. You want to overindulge until you’re so full from pleasure that you’ll never need to come back for seconds.

"Yeah? No one can give it to you like me. You love it when I fuck you out," he rasps, the sound rough around the edges. A whine leaves your parted lips when he lifts you back down onto unsteady feet. His hands slip down to your waist, keeping you stable as he turns you around so that your back faces him. “Turn around for me. That’s good, yeah—right against the window.”

Wobbling only slightly, you brace yourself against the windowpane, the position all too familiar. Except now, when you look down, you can see a swarm of students below, some walking to their next class, others sprawled across the freshly mowed lawn as they try to bathe in the last rays of afternoon sunshine. From the fourth floor window, you’re capable of distinguishing their faces if you squint, so you’re sure that if they happen to look up, they’ll be able to spot you, too. Even though the glass panel only exposes your face and the peak of your cleavage, you know any student who catches a glimpse at you whilst in the throes of passion won’t be duped into thinking otherwise.

Eyes blown to comically wide proportions, your pulse kick-starts at the thought of someone observing you from below. Your breaths come out in short pants, and you can physically feel shivers run down your spine. Hoseok’s hand is steady on your waist, grounding you.

“If you want to stop at any time, just tell me, okay?”

“Just go,” you gasp, breath fogging up the window.

Hoseok heeds your words of advice, not wasting any additional time as he lines up his slick shaft along your weeping entrance. When he pushes into you, your mouth parts to let out a high-pitched moan of pleasure. It’s only now that he’s stretching you out that you realize how much you’ve missed this, craved this.

With one hand groping your left breast and the other tight on your hip, he fucks up into you, his hips slamming into yours from behind. He quickly abandons the slow, languid pace from before, his thrusts now rough, fueled by the need to reach his end.

The lewd sounds that echo in the studio could alert anybody standing outside the door of what you’re doing. You wonder who is most likely to find out what you’re up to — a person walking by in the hallway or a student down below. With the way he’s fucking you, there’s no way of knowing.

It’s a miracle no one’s caught on yet. Not that you would have noticed them. Every piston of his hips makes your skin flush, perspiration making your shirt stick to your torso. His cock feels so good inside you — like it was meant for you — and you have a hard time controlling your facial expressions, your arousal evident with each mewl of pleasure to spill from your lips.

“Is it wrong that I want them to see?” Hoseok breathes into the shell of your eat, the hot air making you shiver. Your mind ruses to supply the image his words conjure up and you can’t stop yourself from clenching down on his hard cock. “I want them to know that I own this pussy. They’ll take one look at us and know they’d never compare.”

His words make you tip your head back and you’re weak to resist the way his tongue finds your own, fucking your mouth to match the steady rhythm of his hips. It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart on his twitching cock, not when he knows how to please you so well. Hoseok’s pace falters as he feels your walls try to milk his cock. He ruts into you, swiveling his hips as far as he can go, his fingers bruising against your skin. He chokes your name between grunts before emptying his seed inside of you in thick spurts.

When your beating hard slows down enough for it to be bearable, your fingers twitch against their position on the wall, yearning to reach down and keep Hoseok inside of you. He pulls out almost too soon for your liking, leaving you truly empty with only traces of semen running down your inner thighs.

It’s ironic...or maybe it’s fate, you think to yourself as you pull up your jeans, skin sticky with sweat and bodily fluids.

You and Hoseok have finally come full circle, it seems. You started your relationship with Hoseok with sex and you ended it the same way. A relationship built on sex isn’t meant to last long.

“I’ll see you around?” Hoseok says awkwardly. It’s strange seeing him at a loss. With you, he’s always taken the lead, so self-assured and experienced. The timid, unsure image of him in front of you makes you soften and grant him a small smile.

“Of course,” you humor, knowing the words are said for formality’s sake. Now that you aren’t dating or having sex, there’s no reason to bump into each other. Your classes aren’t on the same side of campus and you run with different circle of friends.

Hoseok opens his mouth to say more but ends up swallowing his thoughts and keeping them to himself. You know the feeling. No matter what you try to tell yourself, you know that it won’t be that easy to move on — for you or for him. It’s only a matter of time before both of you somehow find a way back to each other.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the figure leaning against the oak tree readjusts his cap, dark eyes never leaving the window where your figure was pressed up just moments ago.

#i accidentally queued this for jan 1st 11 pm OTL #sorry for the slight delay !!! happy new year's !!!!!!#hoseok scenario #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok smut #junghope #hoseok #jungkook #series #kpop smut #kpop scenarios

1K notes · View notes

inkpotlanterned · 6 years

Text

Waiting

The parking lot is quiet except for the sound of crickets filling up the air. In the distance, the overpass rising above the palm trees is crowded with cars’ tires grinding against the gravel street. I want to say I can hear the ocean but it might just be my imagination.

You’re asleep inside the motel. I should be in there, curled up with your spine pressed against me and your hair tickling my nose. It’s three in the morning and I’m standing out in the cold itching to write you love letters, itching to write you so much love, you might get better. I take a shaky breath and remind myself you can’t love someone out of anything. I want to say I believe myself, but we both know I’m still trying to love the sadness out of you.

There’s too much energy pounding inside me, pressing against the cracks of my ribs and begging to tumble out. I’ve never been very loud or very violent but still I find myself fighting the impulse to scream or break something. The more I fight the urge, the more it feels like I’m just breaking myself. My fingers are trembling as I send a message to her. It’s all jumbled letters and misspelled words autocorrect doesn’t feel like changing. I can’t be bothered to capitalize or punctuate. Maybe that’s why she calls me within moments; I’m always precise when I type.

The phone rings in my hand. Over and over and over. All I can do is stare down at my fingers and trace how the flickering light above looks on my knuckles. Distantly, I realize that these are my hands holding my phone. I have to remind myself that I’m here, that I’m breathing.

The line falls dead. She leaves a voicemail but it’s only two seconds of silence before she starts calling again. I pick up on the third ring, wiping the tears off my phone screen before holding it up to my ear.

“Hey.”

My voice is hoarse. Quiet. Falling apart, really.

“You asked me to call.”

And yeah. I think I remember texting that.

White noise fills up my head, blending in nicely with the sound of her breathing and the crackling noise of her silent room. My name interrupts my daze.

“Olivia?” I don’t respond. I can’t. It comes to me in a surge that I am sobbing too much to answer. I can’t breathe. Ican’tbreathe.

“Olivia, breathe with me. Come on. Listen.”

She breathes in slowly and I try my best to copy, hiccuping over my own sobs. We breathe in and out together and I am reminded of how very much I love my best friend. A pained smile cracks on my face as I shut my eyes tight and scrub at the tears leaking out of them.

“Fuck,” I whisper beneath my breath, trusting her to hear me, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, hun.”

I just focus on breathing for a while, focus on fitting myself back into my body because, for a moment, I don’t feel like myself. She waits for me to finish organizing my mind and sifting through the pile of drivel building up within me. When I speak, I choke out the words I had meant to say when I first asked her to call me.

“I found her.”

Silence. And then, “How was she?”

“Alive,” I bite out. And part of me is angry that I have to worry about this. Part of me crumbles a little at the reminder that I was so worried I’d stumble onto your dead fucking body.

After a moment, I think to say more.

“She wasn’t great.”

“I can imagine. She never is.”

“I found her at the ocean. She was just… waiting, I guess. For a sign? For her to feel ready? F-for me to find her?” My voice gets louder as I remember stumbling onto you at the ocean’s edge after hours of driving to all of your favorite and my least favorite places (a lot of tall buildings and empty rooms.)

It hurt to find you at my favorite place; I wonder if you knew it’d ruin it for me. If you knew the ocean was one of the last, few places I had that reminded me of peace. Then, I shake that thought from my head because you could never be that selfish. With a long and slow sigh, I run a hand through my cropped hair. I cut it after you told me I looked prettier with short hair. I wish pretty was enough for you to stay.

“I feel like she’s always waiting for me to find her.”

I’m so tired.

I’m so so tired.

And you’re in there and I’m out here being selfish and calling my best friend because, for once (for the fifth time this month), I need someone else to take in all of the sharp, crumpled up emotions I have balled up at the pit of my stomach. It tastes like ash and dust when I feel anger surge up my throat and curl on my tongue because this world must be worthless if it makes you feel this way. I want to burn it all down. I want to let myself fall apart. I want to cry. I want to- God, I just want to rest.

“I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a very quiet, very soft admission.

“You’re not responsible for her.”

I think of you curled up alone in a crappy motel room with the A.C. on blast even though I hate the cold.

“Yeah,” I murmur and it’s hard to admit it out loud, how responsible I feel for your breakdowns and your pain. “I am.”

“You’re not alone, Olivia.”

I scoff, take in the parking lot full of empty cars that belong to people who are all sleeping snugly within the hotel, and let myself feel angry for once. It’s not fair that I’m out here at three am pushing all of this weight onto her. It’s not fair but I’m still doing it because I can never seem to hold myself together long enough to do anything right.

When I answer her, my voice is sharp and brittle, cruel and cutting in all the ways I try to curb when I talk to you even though I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you and ask you Why?

“Aren’t I?”

“Isn’t she there? Aren’t you there for her? That means you’re also with her, Olivia.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back until it’s resting on the cool metal of the bench beneath me. I wish I could see her right now. I wish my best friend were here for me to lean on physically. But you don’t trust her and you don’t want to talk to her. It feels like I’m a traitor for calling her, but who else can I call at three in the morning?

“You know it’s not the same.”

She’s silent, doesn’t have an answer for a painful truth. I’ve grown distant from everyone, pulled myself away as I worried sick about you and wondered where you’d gone and what you were doing and if you were even alive. I can’t help it. I feel like doing anything else but look for you is wasting time. After all, your life is on the line. I could never live with myself if I just let you slip between my fingers.

She speaks again and my sobs become louder.

“I’m here.”

And she’s right. She is. She reminds me to eat when you disappear, comes by to help clean my room, chide me for refusing to shower or sleep. I hate it. I hate that I’m you to her. I don’t know what that says about our relationship, but it has me staying up late researching therapists and psychiatrists. Not for you to go to, for once, but for me. I know what it is to worry about someone else and I wish she never had to worry about me.

I guess part of me wishes you’d do the same, wonders if it’s stupid to think you don’t love me very much if you’re willing to keep dragging me through this every month. It’s not true and I know it but I can’t help being cruel after years of struggling with the idea of empathy. It was never you that taught me compassion. That was all her. Some loves are greater than others even if they aren’t all romantic. I briefly wonder which of my loves have a bigger hold of me.

Of course, I’m here with you. Even when I’m with others, my mind is with you.

“I love you,” I say.

“I know,” she responds. And then, “We should watch Star Wars again.”

A snort tumbles from me before I can stop it. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Not denying that.”

“Gracie…” I sigh. “What am I doing here…”

“She needs you.” It hurts to hear it. It makes me want to leave this city, leave this state, leave this entire goddamn country. I’ve never been needed like this before. I’ve always walked out before I could be wanted, let alone needed.

Tears prick at my eyes again. “I’m not strong enough.”

We both know it’s true. I focus on her breaths over the phone, calm myself down and deal with the panic washing over me. I wish I could go to the ocean but I know that I can’t. I want to go to the ocean I knew before I saw you there. I want to go to the ocean that helped me breathe instead of making guilt rise up within me like bile.

After a long moment, she responds and her voice is enough to make me feel a little better. “You don’t have to be. We’re all here for you. All of your friends and all of your loved ones are still here for you.”

I’m nodding even though she can’t see me, swallowing uneasily on the knot in my throat.

“I’m here for you, Olivia. Take all the strength you need from me. Lord knows you’ve given me it when I need it.”

“Nobody ever talks about this part, Grace,” I whisper, “None of the articles online talk about how hard it is. They tell you what not to say and what not to do. They say get help and that it should get better but it hasn’t. They never talk about what to do when it’s killing you too.”

“I know,” she says, a lifeline floating in the emptiness. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

I pull in a steady breath and open my eyes to pull out the keys to my truck. I hold tightly to their edge, finding myself anchored by the hard teeth of the car key pressed into my palm, a reminder that I’m here and I’m alive.

“What if she had died tonight? What would I even do?”

It’s terrible and it’s selfish but this conversation was never about you. It was always about me, falling apart. Me, unable to pull you out of whatever was eating you from the inside out. I hate myself. Grace, my best friend, my platonic soulmate, the person who hasn’t budged from my side for years, somehow finds an answer to the impossible questions I’ve asked.

“You’d live, Olivia. And you’d mourn and you’d cry and maybe you’d want to die. But you’d live. And sometime, definitely not right away but definitely someday, you’d be happy again and it’d be… okay.”

“Okay.” I take a breath and then I take another. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna be- I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’ll be.”

You find me there in the freezing dawn three hours later, bleary-eyed and dazed as I watch the Sun creep over the horizon. We get into my car, no real destination in mind, and I turn on the radio to listen to the morning news. You change the station but I don’t really care enough to switch it back. Without realizing it, I drive us to the ocean.

When we swing out of the car, I look over at you and remember how beautiful you are. The ocean breeze pushes your tangled hair out of your eyes and the color is returning to your cheeks after a long night of sleep. You reach out and intertwine your fingers with mine and I feel like I can breathe more easily, like maybe I can be okay again.

The beach is void of life for miles around. We walk to the water’s edge, let the waves lap at our feet and the seafoam curl around our ankles. I feel panic rise up in me as I remember seeing you stand here in exactly the same position. For a moment, it’s like I can’t feel your hand in mine. It’s like I can’t see your chest rise and fall in time with the waves or your eyes sparkling a little with tears as you look out at the water and let the sound of the ocean and the seagulls wash over us.

I’m alone again and I’m far, far away from Earth.

The memory of Gracie’s voice pulls me back though and I am reminded of how she taught me to breathe when I found I’d forgotten. I am reminded of my friends arriving late at night to cook me dinner and replace the dying flowers in my kitchen. I am reminded of the many voicemails you left unheard on your phone of people asking how you are and where you’ve been.

As your hold on my hand tightens slightly as if I anchor you hear on this beach, I wonder if you realize more than one person is saving us.

#depression #suicide #friendship #short story #depersonalization #writing #my writing #spilled ink #writeblr #writers on tumblr #prose #best friends #coping

2 notes · View notes

brittysaucefanfic · 6 years

Text

Operation: Voltron

Part 5

Keith

(First)(Previous)(Next)(AO3)

Keith had been knee deep in his files on Blue Lion when his brother knocked on the door. Usually, when interrupted in the middle of his thought process on this infuriating case, Keith would not be happy. He would have snapped at the person, no matter if they were a King from another country, or if they were his overprotective big brother. Keith wouldn’t have held back.

But his thoughts were already so jumbled up and ready to send Keith to the loony bin, that he actually appreciated the distraction. He swirled around in his chair, which might as well have been an extra body part from how long he was sitting there. In the doorway stood his obnoxiously muscular older brother.

Don’t get him wrong, Keith adored hs brother Shiro.

When he was eleven, and was first brought home to the Shirogane household, he had met Shiro for the first time. And it was like Shiro just became God in his eyes. To this day Keith couldn’t tell you the moment he stopped hating this family he loves so dearly now, to when he was suddenly practically worshipping the ground that Shiro walked upon.

It could have been when they first locked eyes. Or it could have been when Shiro bailed him out of school to get some ice cream a week later. Maybe when Shiro left for another tour overseas. Perhaps it was long before the first meeting though.

When the Shirogane couple he calls Mom and Dad now first came to the orphanage, Keith was their first choice. They had talked to him maybe twice, told him about Shiro, when Keith had demanded to know why he wasn’t with them.

They gave him a letter, one he still has hidden in his house somewhere.

It was a letter from Shiro, and it said, in summary, that Shiro wanted the choice of adoption to be up to his parents and not to Shiro. There were so many kind words crammed into a single sheet of notebook paper, that Keith had immediately ran to his room in the orphanage to hide it.

So, yeah. Keith loves Shiro dearly. But the amount of hours in his day just spent working out or cleaning, especially after getting the new arm, was ridiculous. Sure, it looks good on him, and he wasn’t exactly the size of a mountain, but still. Chill dude.

“Shiro, what’s up?” Keith asked, eyeing his brother who simply stood leaning in his doorframe. They were in his office at the FBI headquarters, which was a fancy little area, small but cozy. Nice view, not too much furniture- just Keith’s style. Shiro smiled fondly down at him, and Keith knew it was a fond smile, because only one corner of his lips lifted.

“Just came to talk. Got a minute, or am I interrupting?” Shiro asked as he stepped off the frame and stepped inside, letting the door swing gently closed. It was glass, because there was a lot of glass walls and doors in this building.

"Please." Keith said, rubbing his sore eyes. He needed a coffee, or five. "I'm begging you to kill me right now." Shiro only gave short scoff before dragging out a chair and taking a seat.

Keith watched with lidded eyes as his brother scanned the table piled up with Keith's most infamous case. It was separated into two halves. The first half of the pile, to Keith's right, was directly involving his criminal, named Blue Lion.

It wasn't very much, maybe three folders worth of actual information and two boxes full of origami lions made out of Blue paper. Hence the name. Each lion was about the size of a softball, and they were intricately designed.

Should you line each lion up from oldest to newest, you could physically see the skill get more and more perfected. But Shiro's already seen all of that. Even the folders of information, no matter that Keith could lose his job for it.

It was the second pile that was more interesting. Keith has pulled every case file he's done since becoming an FBI agent, and he's been steadily combing through them for any similarities. Like connections to each other and connections to Blue Lion. It was just a hunch he had.

Recently, someone Keith put in prison had recognized keith right off the bat. When questioned, the man had simply said ‘Blue was right about you.’ Refused to speak at all after that, no matter how long the interrogations went, or if Keith was or wasn’t in the room. The man had said nothing, not even to taunt the interrogators, which was a very common reaction from guys like him. So after that, it got Keith wondering just how many people he’s gone after who had connections to his number one case.

"What's all this?" Shiro asked. His eyebrow was raised and a curious glint in his eye sparked. Keith's always hated that glint in his brother's eyes, because most of the time it gets Keith into unwanted situations. Like a double date with twin girls.

Keith is gay.

"These are all the cases that I've done since I joined the FBI. I'm looking for any correlations between my old cases and the Blue Lion case." Keith said. Goodness, even he could hear how exhausted he sounded.

Shiro looked back at Keith briefly, before he did that thing he does when he's hiding something or being nonchalant to get his way. It's hard to put a name to what it is, but Keith knows it by heart.

Because he taught Shiro how to hide things and lie to their parents.

Before Keith came along, Shiro was horrible at lying and keeping secrets from his family. And at first, Shiro was perfectly fine with that. Up until the moment when Keith got away with something Shiro never would have. The look of astonishment was priceless. After that Shiro shyly asked Keith to show him how to do it.

"What if I told you," Shiro started. He had gone as far as poking at the left pile to keep up a charade in front of Keith. It was useless. One, Shiro was too obvious when you knew what to look for. Two, Keith had been both a detective and an FBI agent for a while now. Kind of part of the job description to read people. "That I made some friends who could help you out in the Blue Lion case?" Shiro said, still thumbing the edges of a stack of files. It got Keith's interest at least, and Keith leaned forward.

He was definitely awake now.

Shiro never tried to help anymore, Keith had been too irritable to let people help him on this case. Any other case? He loved to have someone else’s opinion. Not the Blue Lion case though. Keith felt it in his bones that he had to be the one to catch this guy, no one else. Maybe it was a pride thing, or maybe it was just him desperately wanting to prove himself to his old mentor.

Or maybe it was both.

He never wanted help with catching the Blue Lion, but at this point Keith would take anything. It's almost been three years since he was handed down the case from his mentor and boss. Three years working on this case all alone.

Three years of chasing smoke while his suspect avoided him like a pro.

"Listening..." Keith said, trailing off. If it meant finally being able to sleep at night without obsessing over this case, he would bend his pride and accept an offering of assistance.

It had been after his fourth closed case, which was a counterfeiting ring bust that ended with a boat load of bad guys in prison, when his mentor had approached Keith about the Blue Lion. It wasn't a secret that his friend, practically a God among mortals when it comes to closing cases, had been having no progress on this one single case.

Said he was tired of the case haunting him, and that it was his greatest regret on not being able to close it himself.

He had told Keith that he was stepping out of field work, and handing Blue Lion over to Keith. Keith had dutifully taken the mantle and spent the next week combing over the three pages worth of information. Which wasn't a lot, but by the end of the week Keith knew the details of the case back to front.

After about three months of chasing geese, his mentor had given Keith a new case, putting Blue Lion on the back burner. Anyone sane in his profession would have deemed it a lost cause. But Keith was too invested.

Why?

Because his mentor, friend, and boss deserved to see the case closed by someone he trusted to take over it. Over the three years working this case, Keith has nailed down every potential lead. There were maybe three people he put in lock up who had suspected ties to the Blue Lion, but interrogation offered nothing more than sarcasm and snark.

Either these men were extremely loyal to Blue Lion, or they were terrified of him.

Keith was almost afraid to find out which one it was.

“You remember how I told you about the new job offer, the one I agreed to take on?” Shiro asked. He had finally stopped messing with the files to try and look casual, now leaning his side against the table from where he sat, his chin propped up on his hand.

Keith nodded but didn’t reply.

“So far we, Allura and I, have recruited two more people to be on the team.” Shiro said after he realized Keith wasn’t going to reply with his words, as per typical of Keith.

Allura. Keith remembers her.

A white haired bombshell with more power in her pinky finger than the past four presidents combined. Shiro introduced the two of them at lunch one day maybe a week ago. And with how those two interacted, one would think they were already married for a decade.

The sexual tension was disgusting.

“One them specifically, is a computer genius who used to work for NASA, and also well versed in hacking and breaching high level security databases.” Shiro said. Keith pretended he didn’t hear that, but didn’t interrupt Shiro. “She’s a bit younger, but she’s good. Remember Matt? From the space launch?” Shiro asked.

Matt? Keith vaguely remembers him. They never met face to face, but they did say hello one time when Shiro was doing a video call. Matt was one of the scientists who accompanied Shiro to space, and were also taken prisoner by the same terrorist group Shiro escaped from. He nodded to Shiro’s question anyways.

“Katie, or Pidge as she prefers, Matt’s little sister, is the NASA scientist I’m talking about.” Shiro continued. “She can be a really big asset when going after Blue Lion, look at things you might have never even thought about thinking about.”

Keith pushed his tongue into his left cheek as he thought, considering this new turn of events. Then a thought hit him that had his eyes narrowing suspiciously at his brother. “And what? You’re just gonna give her to me like some sort human pet to use as I desire regarding the case?”

Shiro cringed, his nose scrunching and bunching the scar on his nose up as he did so. “When you say it like that it sounds like I’m pimping her out or something.” Keith quirked his lips a little at that, because that was what he was going for in the first place.

“So what do you want in return for her helping me?” Keith asked, not beating around the bush and going straight into it.

Shiro sighed as if he held the world on his shoulder, which wasn’t too far from how Shiro carried himself. He was always the first to volunteer when someone needed to unload their own burdens. He was an extremely empathetic person, feeling someone else’s pain as if it were his own. And though it wasn’t the best of things to be when in the war zone, Shiro never let it hold him back.

It was one of the many things that Keith admired about Shiro.

“I can’t just help my baby brother?” Shiro said, his voice raising a notch in a classic tell for lying. Keith raised an eyebrow at Shiro, who caved in far too soon for someone who could survive a year in Zarkon’s captivity and escape.

“Okay fine. I want you to consider joining Allura’s task force with me. You know? We could bond and watch each other’s backs and all that. I think it would be fun.” Shiro finished weakly with a shrug. Keith rolled his eyes, but caved as well at Shiro’s puppy eyes.

“I’ll think about it. When do I meet this Pidge?” He asked. A new, and very unfamiliar voice sounded behind him, making Keith spin around, his hand already placed on his gun just in case.

“How about right now?” Said a short female with choppy cropped strawberry blonde hair and thick rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a pair of shorts, which barely peaked out from her lime green hoodie, zipped halfway up her body. Her brown eyes were sharp, even sharper than Allura’s were when they met. Speaking of the white haired bombshell, she appeared in his doorway behind the short female, as well as a very large man with a headband.

“I’m Pidge, and this is my friend Hunk. We’re on the task force with your brother Shiro.” Pidge said, pushing up her glasses with a jacket covered hand. She looked kind of childish right then. “Shall we start then?”

******

(First)(Previous)(Next)(AO3)

1 note · View note

dreamworksworddump · 6 years

Text

Captive in the starlight: Ch. 5

Katie wakes up alone. Her room smells faintly of mildew and wet paper, and her head hurts.

She nurses her hangover in her room, alone, never opening the door, even when her maids come knocking. Not even when Shiro comes. She stays there for two days, and for those two days, she does nothing but sleep, hoping that her unconsciousness will provide some answer for her, while sparing her the brunt of the painful process.

Instead, she dreams.

Katie dreams of another girl, just like her in almost every way, who grew up on the northern edge of the kingdom, where her mother’s family still governs. She is no royal. She is no one important, but she feels important nonetheless. The grass is green there, and she has a garden where she grows Juniberries, and Honervia flowers between her rows of peas and cucumbers. Keith lives with her, even when their house is naught a house, and together they build a home together. He calls her Pidge, and she calls him her Prince, and they live together happily, until they grow old, and weak, and that is when she wakes up.

The warmth of the dream, coupled with the fear of dream-her’s impending death keeps her from falling asleep again, and so, regretfully, she sits up, and stretches, before heading into her bathroom.

She doesn’t bother with all of the special oils and salts and soaps that her maids usually uses, and instead just draws the water. It feels nice against her skin, and reminds her of her dream. It would be so much more simple if she and Keith were just them; no fancy roles, or titles or jobs to worry about. She wouldn’t have lost her father to his, and what happened last night wouldn’t have happened- couldn’t have happened at all..

Katie wonders briefly what it means for him to consume her mind so readily, but then she hears a knock on her bathroom door, and her handmaidens come piling in to prepare her for the day. As they scrub her hair, and dry her, and lather her with lotions and oils, Katie thinks of her mother.

Truth be told, she had always been closer to her father and brother, but now that she was the only family she had left, that was tangible and there for her to see, she feels like she can’t ever let her go. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? She’s spent the last two days with her head all jumbled up, and the mess she’d made last night was something that she had no idea how to handle. Her mother and father had actually loved each other before they’d gotten married; it was the reason why her father was one of the few reigning kings without a royal harem. Katie had always imagined marriage like that- loving and loyal and honest. How was she supposed to get that with Keith in just a few weeks? Less than that really, if she listened to her advisors, and pushed the wedding up.

She feels guilty about thinking about him so much. She feels horrible that she’s considered- no, at this point, it’s decided- to give the elixir to her mother just for an hour of advice, for an hour of pretending that she was just a lovesick little girl again. Katie ignores the ‘lovesick’ part, and focuses on the reflection in the mirror.

Her handmaiden’s have pulled her hair into a simple ponytail, and the dress that they’ve chosen is a dark, full green. She looks like she’s older, more serious. She doesn’t try to smile as her handmaid comments on the beauty of the vial she holds.

Katie decides to visit her mother first thing after leaving her suites, ignoring the advisors that buzz around her like flies, asking for her presence in court, for her approval of some project, for information on her mother’s status. When she reaches the doors to her mother’s chambers, the crowd stops, and reluctantly leaves her alone. Shiro glares at them until even the stragglers bleed away, and it’s just the two of them standing there in a ray of sun, like motes of dust caught in the air.

He studies her face, and she struggles to keep her upper lip steady. They’re in a stalemate. Neither of them wants to say it.

He breaks first.

Shiro sighs. “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re probably still hungover, and upset, and this is a big decision to make.”

Katie knows. She knows that it’s a bad time, and a bad place, but when is there ever a good time for a barely eighteen year old girl to decide things like this? “I’m sure.” She lies, and Shiro steps aside, opening the doors to allow her into her mother’s room.

The room is filled with that same heavy scent of death, though it is somewhat lighter now that someone has opened a window. Katie sits on the edge of her mother’s bed, afraid to disturb her, and studies her face.

Her mother looks like a corpse.

Katie gently pries open her mother’s mouth, and pours the glimmering liquid inside. Her mother swallows on reflex, and all there is to do is wait.

Katie stares at the large, empty bed, and remembers how she has sought refuge there after those days when the pretty dresses, and rules and crowns were too much for her, and how her mother had been there for her then, how it’s felt like she’d always be there for her, no matter what.

The dress, a flurry, purple one, just like all of her dresses, felt like a cage. The thing was pretty; all of the servant’s children thought so, but she’d prefer to be in pants. Some days were like this. Some days, she would hate the pretty hair, and clothes and ‘princess’ more than anything, and thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d like it better if she were a prince. Matt got to wear what he wanted. Matt got to walk in the town square. Matt had so much more,

Her mother was already in bed when Katie tip-toed into the room. The covers were pooled in her lap, and a book was already in hand.

“Yes, Katie?” Her mother asks, setting her book down on the sheets beside her. Her attention is entirely on Katie, and it feels nice to know that she’ll be heard.

“I don’t want to be a princess anymore.” Katie jumps onto the bed, the sturdy frame not even giving a squeak in protest. “I want to be a prince.”

Her mother tsked in sympathy, and pats her back. “Well, how about you sit down properly, and tell me why, alright?’

Katie, still fuming, finds that to be an acceptable response, and carefully made her way beside her mother to settle down and tell her.

And then later, when the war had started, and she and Keith had parted for what was supposed to be the last time, her mother had been there for her then too.

“Am I supposed to hate him?” Katie’s voice was hardly a whisper. She could hardly imagine it; Zarkon, and his wife reigning war on the whole world, and Keith, her best friend, caught up in the middle of it.

“No, Pidgeon. You don’t have to. It’s his father’s war, not his.” Her mother says sternly, halting the steady stroking of the brush. “It’s not your war either.”

Katie sniffs, and wipes her nose with her sleeve. Her mother doesn’t even admonish her for it this time. Instead, she wraps her arms around her in a tight hug. “You can still love him, Katie. It’ll be hard, but if he really loves you back, and I think he does, then he’ll come back to you.”

Katie felt her cheeks redden. He was her best friend, not her lover, future of otherwise, but she doesn’t correct her either. Instead, feeling better, she smiles, and turns around once more, allowing her mother to continue her brushing.

“Eighty-eight, eighty-nine-”

“Katie?” Her mother calls, her voice cracked and dry. “Oh, Katie, it’s been so long.”

Katie snaps out of the memory so fast, it almost hurts. She glances at the clock- their final hour has begun, and then turns to her mother, smiling so hard, her cheeks hurt. “Hi mom.”

Her mother struggles to pull herself upright, and although she reaches forward to help, her mother refuses. She pauses, out of breath, and studies her daughter’s face. Katie wonders what she finds there for her gaze to be so sad, so withering.

“This isn’t going to last, is it?” Her mother asks as Katie leans into her embrace. “I feel like I’m made of wood. I can’t remember much either.”

Katie nods. Her eyes hurt, and she closes them, trying not to cry. “No, it won’t.” She can feel her mother take a deep breath, and then steady herself, squeezing Katie all the while as if she can draw strength from her. “We’ve got one hour before-” She swallows, and her voice drops. “Before you pass away.”

Her mother sighs, but doesn’t look too surprised. She looks away from Katie, and then, seeming to pull herself together, looks back, smililng softly.

“Well, what have I missed?” Her hazel eyes flit up to the crown. Katie had almost forgotten that it was there. “Besides you becoming Queen.”

Katie flushes. It’s strange, hearing her mom, the woman she’s always thought of as ‘The Queen’ call her that title instead. “I-uh, I- remember Keith?” Her mother pauses, as if trying to remember, and then nods.

“That Galran boy. The youngest, right? He looked human, didn’t he?.”

“We’re engaged. We’re to be married soon.” Katie can’t help but to say it formally, as if she were talking to an advisor instead of family. It was strange even before the fight, but now, it’s even worse. “And I need your advice.”

Her mother dies cradling her, one arm wrapped around her stomach like a stuffed doll.She doesn’t cry at the end, just falls asleep, and stops breathing.

Katie hardly even feels anything then. They’d cried together halfway through the hour, and honestly, she doesn’t think that she can even care anymore. She lays her mother onto her pillow, and covers her face with a sheet. When she leaves, not a single person disturbs her.

She can hardly think over the ruckus in her head: She’s dead. Mom’s dead. They’re all dead. But she recognizes what she has to do before she focuses on anything else.

Katie’s got to cut her hair, and find a mourning dress, and announce to the world that she is the last of her line, and then, and only then, will she have to find Keith, because oh boy, does her have some secrets to tell.

a/n: It’s 2 am, and I just wrote this. It’s unbeta’d and I’ve only read over it twice. Please tell me if you see any spelling mistakes.

#voltron #vld #kidge #keith #pidge #captive in the starlight

20 notes · View notes

paintedrecs · 7 years

Text

Jump me, bro?

Prompted myself with: “I just want a neighborhood AU where Stiles is the bro-iest bro to ever bro and Derek pines after him anyway.”

I’m trying to get better about moving my twitterfics over to a more readable format without overthinking them, so we’ll see how that goes. (Also on AO3)

Derek’s house is a couple doors down from what he’s pretty sure is a frat house-wannabe. He’d drop the qualifier—as an undergrad, he’d unfortunately lived close enough to frat row to recognize the distinctive loud parties, music thumping late into the night, a stream of girls constantly flowing in and out the doors, bros drunkenly crooning along to badly-tuned guitars—but as far as he can tell, all of the guys are at least a few years out of college.

Resisting the urge to call the cops with a noise complaint takes some effort. Derek doesn’t particularly want to be that guy, though; he still has to live in this neighborhood. And a part of him, much as he doesn’t want to admit it, simply wishes he’d been invited. It’s not that it sounds like fun, exactly. Derek didn’t enjoy those types of parties when he was in college, and he’s not nearly old enough yet for the nostalgia to kick in. It’s just that...well, it would be nice to be included.

He carefully doesn’t think about the fact that the shift from outright irritation to a sort of wistful longing happened around the time that he saw one particular guy hanging around in front of the house, surrounded by his friends.

Derek does not find frat bros attractive. He never has. He never will. A certain long-limbed guy with an infectious laugh and warm brown eyes won’t change that.

He finds other ways to channel his frustration, some more productive than others. On nights when he takes his trash to the curb, he makes his way down to the overstuffed bins haphazardly jumbled in front of the pseudo-frat house. Under cover of darkness, shielded by the noise pouring through the brightly-lit windows, he sorts through the upper layers of his neighbors’ trash, separating stacks of greasy pizza boxes from sticky piles of beer cans.

It’s primarily to be a good citizen. Every house in the neighborhood has separate recycling bins—they’re even color coded, making it incredibly easy to put the correct materials in the appropriate spot. Derek’s just doing his part for the environment, since his obnoxious neighbors refuse to take a few extra seconds out of their day. At least, that’s what he tells himself when he’s sticking his fingers in strangers’ trash. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as trespassing if he’s not actually going into the yard, and he’s not stealing anything. Just...moving things around a little.

The other reason’s one he doesn’t like to dwell on. The rational side of his brain recognizes that the guys in this house don’t even know him, so why would they invite him over? This isn't like high school, when he was the nerd people intentionally ignored. They’re living their lives, he’s living his, and it’s perfectly natural for them to not intersect.

But one night, as Derek slaps the lid of the recycling bin shut, wishing he’d brought a roll of paper towels or maybe even some wet wipes, he looks up and finds one of the bros standing on the front porch, watching him.

Derek freezes in place. He can’t immediately identify the person; from the street, all he can see is a tall, athletic figure backlit by the open front door. He’s expecting to be chased off the property, probably cussed out in the process, but the guy comes down the steps and lifts the lid of the recycling bin, dropping his empty beer can inside.

“Thanks for doing that, bro,” he says. “The guys don’t spend a lotta time thinking about the environment.”

It’s not just a bro. It’s the bro. The one Derek hasn't been able to stop thinking about. His first time speaking to Derek, and it’s because he caught Derek rummaging around in his garbage late at night.

“You’re uh, you’re welcome,” Derek says.

Fortunately, the guy doesn’t seem to care about getting an explanation. He introduces himself instead: Stiles. Of course his name would be equally intriguing, Derek thinks, annoyed with himself for even caring about this interaction.

Derek gives his name in turn, wondering if he should point out his house to make his presence here seem less weird, but Stiles doesn’t seem inclined to linger in the cold. He heads back inside, giving Derek a brief, friendly wave before shutting the door again.

It still wasn’t an invitation. Not that Derek would’ve said yes. Probably. But after that, Stiles always takes a minute to say hi when he sees Derek around, even when he's got pretty girls clustered around him.

Derek will nod back, then tear his gaze away, not wanting to see them disappear from view, not wanting to begin cataloguing Stiles’s type.

One morning, when Derek's heading to work, he sees Stiles standing in the street, the hood of an old Jeep open. He’s alternating between sipping from a travel mug and frowning down at the engine. Derek stops with his car door open, not sure if he should offer help.

Stiles sees him then, and he cups a hand to the side of his mouth to call down the street. “Bro! You mind giving me a jump?”

Derek winces. It’s early still, and Stiles’s voice was unnecessarily loud, his hearing probably still shot from the previous night’s party.

He forgoes yelling a response back; instead, he raises his hand with a silent thumbs up and starts his engine, pulling his car up to the Jeep.

Stiles is jittery with energy, his earnest “Thank you” coffee-scented and still a little loud. He steps back from Derek then—not that Derek was planning to complain about their close proximity—and sets his mug on top of the Jeep so he can pull out a tangle of jumper cables. As he hooks them up, he explains, “Got a new job. It’s my first day with these hours, and I guess Roscoe's not happy with the cold morning air."

"Not a morning Jeep," Derek says. He’s thinking not a morning person about Stiles, but that’s a little too obvious and probably a bit too personal for their level of acquaintance.

To Derek’s surprise, Stiles chuckles. “Never has been,” he says. “Usually it works out pretty well for the two of us, but I had to suck it up and take a 9-to-5 this time. I’m not sure which of us is less happy about it, but at least I managed to wake up.”

“You needed coffee, not a jolt of electricity,” Derek says, and Stiles laughs again.

“Touché, dude.” He nods at Derek to start his engine and retrieves his coffee, his long fingers wrapping around the sleek metal surface, his throat bobbing as he drinks. He sighs, closing his eyes, letting the liquid warm him up and help to rinse away whatever shreds of sleep are still clogging up his tired brain.

From inside his car, Derek takes the opportunity to examine him for a minute. It’s the first time he’s seen Stiles without a backwards baseball cap. He hadn’t even been entirely sure of his hair color before. It’s a nice shade of brown—on the darker side, with some natural highlights that give it a glossy shine.

Stiles has always been handsome. Derek isn’t the only person who thinks so; he's got a magnetic presence that makes it hard to look away from him. He’s generally a center of attention at his house parties, something that’s hard to ignore when the crowd spills out onto the porch and clusters into talkative clumps around the yard.

But seeing Stiles in nicer clothes makes Derek recklessly drop the off-limits label he'd placed on him. He’d been keeping his interest at a theoretical level. Stiles is a good-looking guy Derek speaks to now and again. That’s all. There’s been no reason to actually get attached.

Rationally, he knows it makes more sense to find a guy approachable when he’s wearing jeans and t-shirts. The atmosphere of that house, though, brings back too many memories of people Derek doesn't want to be a part of his life now. So a dress shirt (clearly not ironed), khakis, hair that's had some attempt at styling put into it...something about it makes Derek relax.

He gets out of the car, and Stiles opens his eyes, his lashes parting slowly, as though he’d been falling asleep on his feet.

“Go ahead and try it,” Derek says.

The Jeep’s engine rumbles to life. Success, Derek thinks, frustrated with himself for wishing it’d taken longer to get Stiles on the road.

But Stiles doesn’t seem to want to head to work immediately. He leaves his engine running and finishes off his coffee while chatting with Derek—a friendly, easy conversation that Derek finds himself enjoying more than he probably should.

When they part ways, Stiles is grinning at him, and Derek's heart is fluttering. Just a little.

He makes a point of being out of his house at the same time the next morning, and sure enough, Stiles is at his Jeep, shoulders slumped.

"Bro!" he says, face beaming, when Derek pulls his car up next to him. "You're a lifesaver, I swear."

The same thing happens every weekday for...too long.

"You should really take this to a mechanic," Derek says eventually.

He's pretty sure this isn't a sustainable way to keep a car running. Is Stiles getting the car jumped on the way home from work, too, or is it really just the cold mornings that leave it sluggish?

Stiles shrugs off the advice and slams his hood shut with a bang. "Thanks for the input, bro," he says before hopping inside and pulling away. The Jeep’s engine rumbles loudly down the street, somehow sounding as annoyed as Stiles had.

Derek struggles with whether to feel guilty about that exchange. He was only trying to help. Maybe Stiles doesn't have a lot of money to spare?

He thinks about it over the weekend. That house is packed, probably well past its intended capacity. Derek still isn’t completely sure who lives there and who’s visiting, but there are enough guys hanging around on a regular basis that they must all share rooms. Plus, Stiles only seems to own three nice shirts; he cycles through them, sometimes wearing the same one two days in a row. Derek only notices because he’s an observant kind of guy. Obviously not because he’s paying way too much attention to everything about Stiles.

The guys do drink an awful lot of beer, which at first glance is an expense that doesn’t necessarily go with money-pinched wallets. Not that Derek’s judging; he drinks, too, although it's mostly a glass of wine with dinner, maybe some whiskey on the rocks after a long day. From his time sorting garbage, though, Derek’s aware that his neighbors are generally drinking the cheapest brand you can find. He’s also been starting to suspect that half their parties are a ploy to get people to bring them food.

So on Sunday night, when all the windows in the house have finally gone dark and Derek's fairly certain everyone inside is fast asleep, he sneaks out with a box of tools and a work light and slides under Stiles’s Jeep.

It’s actually not as bad as he’d been expecting. If the battery’s not holding its charge, it most likely needs to be replaced. Before ordering a new one, though, he’d wanted to make sure he wasn’t missing anything else. With a vehicle that old, there are any number of other issues that could be causing problems. Fortunately, it looks to be in decent shape for its age. He'll need to order some parts to fix it up for the longer term, but he's able to do some initial work with what he has on hand.

When he’s done, Derek pats the underside of the Jeep and quietly promises, “We’ll get you feeling like yourself again.” That was a stupid move, because one of the issues he does need to fix is a leak, and now his hand’s smeared with oil.

He sighs, snaps off his work light, and pushes himself out from under the Jeep, grimacing at the grease he’s gotten on his clothes. He’s in the middle of considering whether he should bother putting these in his washing machine—he’d gone with threadbare jeans and a ratty old shirt, so throwing them away is another option—when he sees bare feet and plaid pajama pants.

His gaze trails up to a dark line of hair leading into the pants—where it catches briefly, his breath stuttering—then to a bare chest, with well-muscled arms folded across it. He swallows.

"Bro," Stiles says disapprovingly.

Derek gets to his feet and tries to wipe his oily hands off on his jeans. They're definitely a lost cause now.

"I was—" he starts, trying to figure out how to explain being underneath Stiles's Jeep in the middle of the night. He fell? Saw a loose cat?

Before he can get anywhere with those ideas, Stiles pointedly looks down at the incriminating evidence of Derek’s toolbox.

Well. He definitely didn't drag those along while chasing a stray cat across the street.

"I had some time on my hands," Derek says. "I thought I'd take a quick look. See if there's something that's easy to fix."

"Time on your hands," Stiles says. "At 2 AM. You're in bed by 10:30 most nights, bro."

"That's—” Derek starts to protest, even though it’s true; he’d actually fallen asleep at 9 the night before, only waking up and dragging himself off the couch and into bed when he dropped his book on his face. He stops, Stiles’s words catching up to him, and suspiciously asks, “Wait, how do you know that?"

Stiles suddenly looks a little embarrassed and doesn’t reply.

With Derek’s work light shut off, they're lit only by the soft orange glow of the street lamps. It's enough to see Stiles’s expressions, as well as the sleep-mussed state of his hair and the pebbling of his nipples in the cold.

Stiles pushes his crossed arms higher up his chest, as though he sees Derek looking. It's Derek's turn to flush.

"It's not a permanent fix," Derek says. He bends to pick up his toolbox. Stiles's eyes snap away when he straightens.

"Harping on me about the damn mechanic again," Stiles says, sounding tired and grumpy. "Roscoe's doing fine. So what if he's not like your car."

The comment shouldn't hurt, but it kinda does. Derek knows his beige four-door sedan isn't the flashiest or most personality-filled thing. It's reliable. He shoves the sharp pang down; he's taking things too personally again. Stiles doesn't mean anything by it. He doesn't know that Derek made a point of buying the most practical car he could or that he’d learned everything he knows about cars from his dad, who was a mechanic.

That's how Derek's parents had met, actually; his mom had taken her car in for regular service, which had swiftly turned into a far more expensive and stressful experience than she’d anticipated. She’d demanded to talk to the owner, outraged over the extra charges the mechanics were trying to trick her into paying for.

Derek's dad had come forward to listen to her concerns. She was the most beautiful woman who’d ever yelled at me, he liked to say while retelling the story. He’d taken her back onto the workfloor after handing her a long coat to cover her blouse and pencil skirt and making sure she exchanged her stilettos for an extra pair of his overlarge boots, stuffed with ripped out magazine pages so they’d stay on. He’d then fixed her car while she’d watched, patiently answering every single question she asked and knocking a significant amount off the final total anyway.

Derek's car is reliable because he bought it with that in mind, but also because he takes good care of it, like he was taught from a young age. Some of his earliest memories are of hanging out in their driveway, handing tools to his dad and standing on his tiptoes to see inside the engine as his dad explained what he was doing.

Stiles's Jeep has clearly been well-loved; Derek isn’t an expert like his dad was, but he knows what to look for and how to tell when an owner’s been neglecting maintenance. That doesn’t seem to be the case here.

"Your Jeep needs more work," Derek says. Stiles isn’t wrong about where he was heading with that statement. "But I got enough of a look at it to know what parts to order. As long as things are in stock, I should be able to do the rest next weekend, if you want. It'll run a lot smoother."

Stiles stares at him, then slowly unfolds his arms, letting them drop to his sides. "Why?" he asks.

That's hard for Derek to answer. He clears his throat and shakes the toolbox a bit, letting the metallic jangle settle him. "I'd rather not worry about you," he eventually says. “It’s important for your car to be running well. For your safety.”

Stiles shifts his stance, relaxing his posture, and the streetlamps catch his eyes, almost making them seem to glow. Derek forces himself to not duck his head or be the first to break the slightly intense eye contact.

"The last time I took Roscoe in," Stiles says, "they basically refused to work on him. They kept telling me it'd be less expensive and a lot less of a hassle to junk him and start over."

"People don't always value things the same way," Derek says.

Stiles reaches out and touches the hood of his Jeep with the tips of his fingers. It’s an unexpectedly tender gesture that makes a lump spring to Derek’s throat for some reason. "They don't," he agrees. He looks at Derek, thoughtfully examining him for a long moment, then asks, "You really think you can fix him up?"

"I can," Derek says.

Stiles nods. “Okay,” he says. He pats the Jeep—an affectionate goodnight—and turns to head back to his house. He stops after only a few steps and turns back. "Thanks, Derek," he says.

"No problem, Stiles," Derek says, his heart warm, despite the evening chill. There’s a breeze beginning to pick up, gusting down the street.

Stiles, who must be much colder than Derek, bites his lip and looks at his house. Its windows are still dark and silent, the rest of his roommates slumbering peacefully while he stands outside in the dark. He looks back at Derek. "Maybe you'd let me buy you coffee sometime? Or dinner?"

"Sure," Derek says, too quickly for it to be a casual response. Unthinkingly, he taps his toolbox against the side of his leg.

Stiles's gaze darts down to it. "Not as payment," he clarifies. "I'll pay you for the stuff with Roscoe. I'm not a cheapskate. I'd just...like to have dinner with you, if that's okay." He looks nervous.

"You don't have to pay me," Derek says.

He forges on when Stiles's expression tightens, clearly ready to argue the point. They'll hash that out later. Derek can always quote him a figure with a significant amount knocked off the total.

"Dinner with you would be nice," Derek says. "I'd really like that."

Stiles smiles at him, almost shyly. "Okay," he says. "G’night, Derek."

"Goodnight, bro," Derek says, grinning now, unable to stop the happiness from beaming out of him.

Stiles's laugh echoes down the street. "Oh shut up," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment, but still grinning. It makes his hair stick up even more. Derek’s not sure he’s ever looked more attractive. "You were really hot, okay? I was trying to...distance myself. Make sure you knew I wasn't trying to hit on you or anything."

"It worked," Derek says. Tonight definitely caught him by surprise. A part of him’s still wondering if he'll wake up tomorrow and find out it was all a dream.

But Stiles comes closer. He gets a hand on Derek's jaw and tilts his face until their mouths meet.

It feels real, Derek thinks, then stops thinking.

When Stiles steps back, he looks cocky again, like that guy Derek first saw on the porch. Derek couldn’t be more into it.

"Well, this is me hitting on you," Stiles says. "Just so there's no confusion."

"Got it," Derek says.

***

Derek gets invited to the next party after that. The guys all turn out to be nice; they're friendly and welcoming, and their off-key singing doesn’t sound quite as bad from inside the house. Plus, there’s a lot less frenzied making out and near-orgies than he’d been picturing—usually dejectedly, with Stiles at the heart of them. It actually looks like one of the groups is trying to take over a corner of the living room for some type of board game he doesn’t recognize.

He still kinda hates it.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles grabs him by the hand and tugs him out of the corner he'd tucked himself into. "Wanna grab a pizza box and get outta here?" he asks.

"I've got wine," Derek says, trying not to sound too relieved.

Stiles laughs and takes the time to kiss him before snagging a box on the way out, handing it to Derek to carry. "Then I don't need this," he says, draining the last swallow from his beer can and dropping it carefully into the recycling bin, smirking at Derek the entire time.

"Shut up," Derek says, even though Stiles hadn't actually said anything about their first interaction. He didn't need to.

"You had a weird way of flirting," Stiles says.

"I wasn't flirting," Derek protests. Then, because their first few dates went too well to think otherwise, "It worked, didn't it?"

"Take me home and I'll show you how well it worked," Stiles says.

He's wearing a backwards baseball cap. He's grinning. He's beautiful.

#eternalsterek #sterek #my fics #my tumblr fics #my twitter fics #derek hale #stiles stilinski #haleinski #nerd!derek

844 notes · View notes

injunjenn · 6 years

Text

another moment will break my

You know what sucks about agoraphobia? The complete and utter loneliness. It’s weird to count the number of words you have spoken in one day. It hurts. It really really hurts. I know eric tries his hardest but he works all day and has a long commute and wants time to unwind and just relax in front of his computer and whatever. I sit quietly behind him and try and make small talk but most days it is just me sitting on the couch droning into the tv because it atleast talks to me.

I never wanted to enclose myself into my head and house and self. I wanted to work and make a living and help with my family but i just shut down. It has been years and it has gotten worse and worse and it is driving me crazy. Like literally.

Not to mention the complete and uncontrollable guilt that runs every part of my being every day, hour, second it is in the air i breathe and the fluids i ingest. Guilt oozes from my skin like a cancer spreading through my body. Guilt for breathing, talking ,sleeping. i literally just guilt shit on the toilet tonight. Crying and wanting to slam my left arm down onto the side of the tub as hard as i could but i stopped. I didn’t want to sit across from my husband tomorrow night and lie to him about falling or something dumb. It’s our anniversary and that made me cry harder.

The guilt eats at me and makes me small and then i can’t breathe and feel like a garbage person. I feel stupid and small when i ask for things basic things like i need shoes. I literally have three pairs of shoes and they are all from wal mart. I feel like my worth as a human being is so small that i am worthless. I feel like i look worthless in my husbands eyes. Do you know what that is like? The person who cherishes you most and yes i know he does not think i am worthless but i really really wouldn’t blame him for thinking i am worthless.

I depend on him for so much because i have shut myself out of the world. People have given up on me because i have whittled my person into a shell and no one wants to be around that…. I hate myself because i am so weak and stupid and i feel dumb and evil at the same time because i can't figure out how to get out. My mind is jumbled and i keep the noise going 24/7 so i don’t have to think anymore i just exist alone and lonely and wonder why i am like this but in the end ……. it is my own damn fault.

I drag this with me through each day and don’t know where to stop or even how…. I want to walk out and make friends or just talk to another human being during the day but the complete and utter fear shuts my body down. I can’t explain it. I stop breathing my hands start to numb and that crawls up my arm into my voice and i know i have said this too many times before but it has to stop one of these days. I mean i used to be scared to go to things by myself but i knew if i didn’t i would never do anything and just be at home alone. And now i am here and i want out and to not be alone and not be another shitty day in my uniform of choice.

I don’t know how to be strong anymore. How do you become strong again? Were we given just a finite amount of strong because i had to be so strong when i was young that it’s all gone now and i am here alone in my mind…. Again. Where does strong come from and can someone lend me some. Please. Where do i go to find strong again? Is there a address? And don’t say god because that door shut hard on me a million years ago. So don’t you dare say fucking god. And it is obviously not inside of me or we wouldn't’ be here today. Slowly realizing that my sanity it a little shaky this afternoon.

I want to believe strong is still in me just squashed out by this back breaking fear of stuff….. Yeah it is just a mass of stuff that has piled on top of each other until it snuffed the strong out of me. I try and work on the stuff it the stuff seems to keep growing and i am in a garbage dump of mental paranoia that i shove back down and sit back down on the couch and close my eyes and let the tv back into my mind and then i am numb again. I am in a losing battle that is slowly driving me mad and sad and just gutted….. Again.

To stand. To rise. To find strong. This is what i need to find. To stop the stuff voices shaming me into submission again. Today i may have found a small strong…. Not sure yet but will keep listening to from the edge of the deep green sea over and over until i can breathe.

How much more can we use it up?

Drink it dry?

Take this drug?

Looking for something forever gone

But something

We will always want?

#depression

2 notes · View notes

dylanowhy · 7 years

Text

If You’re Going Through Hell - Stiles Stilinski Imagine

Author: dylanowhy

Summary: You wake up in a train station not knowing exactly how you got there. Everyone seems to be acting like zombies, all but one boy. Someone who seems to keep smiling through it all.

Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings: Language. Kissing.

Word Count: 4,750

Damp. It was such an uncomfortable word for you, but even a more uncomfortable feeling. Soon you realized it was your own sweat, and you wondered how much of a restless night you had actually had. You blinked your eyes open, but what you saw before you was not the cool toned bedroom you were so use to. You saw rust and ugly greens, dark places mixed with blinking lights, but there was no one. Not a single person in sight. You shot up from the bench that you were starting to feel the pain from sleeping on. Eyes frantic but head not moving, there was a pang in your neck and as much as you wanted to speak or call out, you couldn’t find your voice. Like it had been taken from you. Licking your dry lips, you picked up on a faint noise behind you, it was soft breathing, but for some reason you found it quite calming. Turning slowly you took notice of a brown headed boy who had his back to you, it sounded like he was sleeping, making part of you not wanting to wake him up. “Excuse me.” You whispered, realizing how weak your voice was. You were starting to wonder how long you had been down here, to wonder if anyone had been looking for you. “Excuse me.” Your voice was louder, causing a halt in the soft breathing, head lifting to turn and look at you. You shouldn’t have been so awestruck by the way his soft eyes connected with yours, or how the corner of his lips twitched up in a slight smile, but you found yourself melting in your seat, cursing that there was no mirror around you.

“You’re new.” His voice was not what you expected. It was soft and yet there was a rasp behind it, it kept you clinging to him every word. “New?” You asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. At the beginning you were wondering how long you had been here, but now, you were curious about how long he had been there, curious as to how many more people had been in here and more importantly what had happened to them. He hummed, nodding in silence as he re-positioned his body, his left leg on the bench so he could face you a little better. “Every week or so, there is a new person. They come in sane, talkative and sometimes even fun. Last week, Becca came in. She was a riot for a while, probably the longest there has been, five days maybe? But sooner or later, everyone falls into routine.” There was this hint of sadness in his voice that you just couldn’t shake. There were so many pieces to this puzzle and yet you couldn’t put them all together. “What routine?” You questioned, his eyes raising as if you should know the answer already. “You’ll see, come over here.” He sat back upright, patting the empty spot next to him. You were quick with your movements, eager to be next to him. What happened next was probably one of the scariest things you have ever witness before in your life, so much so that you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching and taking the strangers, holding it tightly as you watched them pile in.

A perfect line of people of all ages walked their way into the room. Everyone was staring straight forward, no one was talking, no one held expressions. You didn’t know what to think, you didn’t know what to feel. “What is happening?” You whispered, but apparently, it was loud enough for the boy next to you to hear. “Not sure yet, I am trying to figure it out, trying to understand how they get to this point.” You looked at him and compared the differences between how lively he looked next to them. You were startled by someone sitting beside you, hands on their knees as the stared forward. “Don’t worry. They don’t speak, they won’t touch you or hurt you. They just sit there, maybe for around twenty minutes and then they leave. Happens almost every two hours. You get used to it, you learn to sleep around it.” It should have rattled you how calmly he spoke about things, but it soothed you, made you feel like even in the situation given, everything was going to be okay. “Do we have to just sit here?” You asked, moving closer to the boy, as if that was even possible. “No, we don’t have to. Just, not much to do.” There was that small smile again, one that gave you hope. “I don’t know your name.” You breathed out, as he blinked. “I don’t usually give it out, it’s usually forgotten.” And that part rang sad, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth you sank into the seat a little bit. “I’m (Y/N).” You whispered. “I can always call you Bob.” You looked up at him in just enough time to see the way he looks when he laughs. “Do I look like a Bob? Because I’m honestly honored.” He placed his other hand over his chest, which was just another reminder that he was still holding yours. “Hmm, maybe a Carl.”

It went on like that for maybe five minutes, you would make up some random name to call the boy, and he would laugh, coming back with something a little bit more than ridiculous. You two had decided on Alfonzo, mainly because when you suggested his eyes lit up at the idea of it. Probably a light that hadn’t been there in a while. Which brought you to ask the question, “How long have you been here?” Those words caused the laughter to dry up, quicker than you had hoped, his feature becoming a little more serious as he nodded, as if he was coming back to reality. “Not sure.” He leaned back a little, “I ask everyone who comes in here what day it is. Some remember, some don’t. Last I heard it was March, but that was a few people ago. Thing is, I don’t recall when I got here. It could be months but time in here is not like the real world its jumbled. It doesn’t make sense. There are no days, no windows to show you what the outside looks like, so sound proof you can’t even tell if it’s raining.” At this point, you are not holding his hand anymore, no, now you found yourself wrapped around his arm, almost cuddling him. “And there is no way? No way out?” You asked a question, and this time you actually knew the answer to it. “No.”

If felt like hours but only ten minutes of silence passed by as you two sat there. It wasn’t nerve wrecking or piercing but nice and subtle. “Five more minutes.” He whispered, you had ended up with your head on his shoulder, his own head lying atop of yours in a way that was almost too caring. “I’ll get up and show you around if you want.” You knew there wasn’t much to see, there were so many exits in the room you were currently in but something told you there was nothing on the other side. “I would love a grand tour.” You decided to keep things light between you two, but it was mostly for yourself. You couldn’t seem to shake the never-ending thoughts in your mind. This boy, Alfonzo as he goes by, had been going on and on about how the people start to change, it made you do a little bit more than wonder, what if the same thing started to happen to you. What if one day it was him again, by himself, all alone. You looked around the room, trying to figure out who Becca was, the last girl he talked to. You wondered what it would be like to see one of these people go from lively to dull, what it would be like from them to stop talking to you and act like you weren’t even there. It was then you realized just how much this boy had been through, you could feel a slight piece of your heart break.

Like clockwork, the people around you stood up, all filing a line and walking off into the abyss. For a brief moment, you wondered where they went, did they go into another room, or maybe a hallway of some sort. You didn’t have time to elaborate on it though, the boy next to you lifted you off the bench causing you to trip, it felt like you hadn’t used your feet in years. “Sorry, I forget about that.” He smiled, dragging you along with him to the doors. “As you can see, only a few of these open. They just lead to other rooms, which is where the people go off too, they are all pretty much the same though. Same dull paint, same routine.” Well, that answered your question about where they went. “Now, I stay in this room because it’s the most interesting, because we have the tracks.” He leads you to the other end of the room where a tunnel was, it was funny because you never realized it before. “This is how they come back, fairly simple, it’s like a magic wall or something. Don’t try to go through it though, someone once did – Didn’t end too well.” He looked down at those words, remembering someone who you figure was important to him in some way. “We also have the call box, with all the pretty lights and radios inside. Most useless, I tried to fiddle with it. I got someone once but it wasn’t as successful as I hoped. When the Riders come back, you’ll see what I mean.” Your eyebrows raised, you were now standing in a small room as he described and all this information was swarming in your head. “Riders?” You asked, that word standing out to you like a sore thumb.

“The people who took you.” He said as a matter of fact, and for the first time he was distant, walking over to sit without you, leaving you instantly feeling cold and lost. You made your way over, standing in front of him waiting for him to explain. “They are called Ghost Riders. Their job is to take people, when you see one, that’s basically all she wrote. They come after you until they take you, that’s when the forgetting starts.” Your eyes spoke for you as he continues, “Once you’re here, once you’re taken – The whole world doesn’t stop, no one looks because everyone forgets. Like you never existed. Not a trace. We’re talking no pictures, no memories, nothing. Sometimes it makes me wonder if I want to be like the robot zombies or not, at least then I wouldn’t have to worry about all of the people that won’t remember me.” He has had a lot of time to think about everything he was saying, and you could tell that. You kneeled, taking his hands in yours, smiling at the way your eyes connected. “I don’t know what is going on, but I know I am here and I will not be turning into the Thriller music video anytime soon. We are going to make it out of here, Alfonzo. You and me. Me and you.” He looked at you with soft eyes, but something told you he had heard these words before.

“You’re different.” His voice was as soft as his eyes, and you wondered exactly what he meant by that. There was obviously something between the lines, but you weren’t sure if it would be smart of you to point it out. Your face showed emotion though, going from confusion to sweet. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” You joked, feeling like it was the right thing to do, that maybe it would put some light back into the conversation. It made him smile, and that was all that mattered in the moment. “Most of them don’t have that fire in their eyes like you do though, like you really think we have a chance to get out of here.” You could tell he once had faith too, and that maybe deep down he still did but he had been constantly let down that it had fizzled into almost nothing. “It’s because we do, and you know it.” You said as a matter of fact, you actually believed that there was a way out of here and you figured with this boy along your side that you could do it. “I feel like you’re going to be a pain in my ass.” There was a slight play of a smirk resting on his lips and you found yourself giggling. “I’m okay with that though.” And there it was, the loneliness ringing in his voice, he didn’t even know you and yet he was scared of you leaving. Part of you wanted to reach up, crash your lips into his without warning but the sane part of you knew this was not the time or place, even if you knew it was what you both needed.

“I feel like a little more in depth searching is in need.” You stood, tugging him up along with you. You did your best to keep a smile on your face, leading him to a door that lead to another one of the dreaded waiting rooms. “This was the second one you showed me, right? With like the least people?” You asked, a nod coming from the boy, smile pressed but present. You opened the door, no one turned to look at you and somehow you would feel less awkward if they did. “What’s different about this room?” You were asking a lot of questions, but really what was there to do in this certain situation. “No call box, no tracks, the walls are chipped a lot more which is more concerning then anything. Less people is obviously a huge deal here, they look the palest. Maybe they are the ones who have been in here the longest?” His observations were true, his attention to detail was impressive. “But do you ever see them in your rounds? Like each twenty minute, do you see any familiar faces in here?” You watched as he looked around, eyebrows drawn together as a look on confusion appeared, it was normally your look but it suits him very well. You made a note on how his nose scrunched slightly. “No. Actually, no.” It was like he realized part of the puzzle. “That’s a clue, I don’t know how it fits in, but it’s something.” You turned to him, the way that he looked at you with pure admiration, like you were the Shaggy to his Scooby, it caused a heat to rise to your cheeks.

“Okay.” He snapped out of it. “So, we have established that these are people who don’t move, right? That maybe they are the people who have been here the longest due to the – umm.” He walked over to one of the little old ladies, brushing dust off the shoulder pad of her coat. “Condition they are in, but why are they stuck? Is there a logical reason? Nothing is logical anymore.” His mind was moving a mile a minute, something about it made you smile as you tried your best to keep up with everything he was saying. “Maybe their train doesn’t run anymore.” You spoke up, and he looked at you like you were gold. “I could kiss you.” He said but didn’t act, although you wouldn’t have minded at all, you even tried to hide the blush that was starting to become common. He took your hand, leading you to the small board that had the names of towns in bold white, small number beside half of them. “The numbers represent the number of people from each town. As you can see Beacon Hills has the highest number, nearly every zombie is someone I know or have at least seen.” He turned to looked at the people behind you two, counting off heads as he did. “Nine, there are nine of them. Canaan. That’s the only place that has that number. And look, it says delayed. So, their train has been delayed, and I’m guessing by the clothing, it’s been like that for quite some time, but what makes them so special?”

“What if they are the first? The first to ever been taken, the first town the Ghost Riders have ever been too.” You suggested, trying to put it all together in your head just as much as he was. You could actually see him smile out of the corner of your eye, and before you could make a comment on it, you found yourself in his arms. He was hugging you, slightly tight and you were fine with that. The way his arms flexed around you, you would not have pictured him to be this strong. However, you hugged back, smiling into his shoulder as you did. Although the hug lasted for a while, when it was over he pulled back quick, scratching the back of his head. His face became splotchy with red as you realized he was blushing. “Sorry.” He mumbled, voice low as he tried his hardest to look everywhere but at you. “No, it’s okay. Trust me.” You put extra reassurance in there, trying to play it off as if it was for him but honestly, you were leaving hint for your own sake. You watched as his posture changed after that, his body becoming slack as he relaxed around you. “Stiles.” His voice was slightly confident, but you were confused as to what he was saying, so much so you were sure it showed on your face. “What?” Somehow you asking that made him laugh, which only caused one of your eyebrows to raise. “My name. It’s Stiles.”

There was some level of trust that came along with those words, you wanted to comment and say something but the sound of thunder and lightning caused you to jump, moving closing to Stiles as you looked around. It was so loud it sounded like it was inside, but how was that even possible? There was a look of worry on Stiles’ face, his hand quick to grab onto yours. “Come.” He ran off, pulling you behind as you made your way back to the room where this all started. you found yourself sitting next to him in the bench, his eyes fixated on the tunnel that lead to nowhere. “Watch.” He whispered. out of nowhere, you started to hear the sound of hoofs hitting metal. “Horses?” You questioned, but he just held a finger to his lips. With a loud neigh, they appeared. They only way you could describe them is scarecrow like. They wore torn clothing and weird hats, all dark and murky looking, like their faces, which were black with empty sockets as eyes. You could feel your breath hitch as you squeezed Stiles hand a little tighter. “You see them, right?” He asked faintly, the only response from you being a nod, but he seemed to be relieved by that. It was then when you heard the sound of faint screaming, your eyes widening as you saw them pulling someone in, a thin rope of a whip wrapped around their leg as the Ghost Riders slung what turned out to be a boy into the room. It was like a horror movie was playing out right in front of you and you weren’t sure what to do about it.

“Where am I? What happened?” The guy began to automatically panic, and you started to wonder if you were the same way when they brought you here. Did you freak out like he did? Why couldn’t you remember anything from when you first arrived here? All of this caused more questions to brew in your mind as Stiles stood up, letting you go and focusing on the boy in front of him. “Calm down, you’re fine.” Stiles tried to reason, while also trying to keep caution to the Ghost Riders that still roamed the room. “What the hell is this place?” The guy asked angrily, “Hey! You! Where the hell am I?” The guy approached one of the Ghost Riders and it was like you were frozen, sitting still not knowing what to do or how to even start. “I wouldn’t do that. They are no the reasonable types.” Stiles sounded like he knew from experience and you wondered what all he had actually been through while in here. Thankfully for the guy who didn’t seem to want to listen, the Ghost Riders ignored him, turning to leave, that however didn’t stop the out bursts. “Where do you think, you’re going? You can’t just leave!” The guy began to run after the horses and immediate panic set into Stiles eyes. “No don’t. You can’t leave it doesn’t work like that.” He said, running after the guy who had already made it to the tracks, running quickly and not listening. This made you stand, your feet moving on their own as the found their way to Stiles, partly fearing he was going to go after him. “Aren’t you listening?! There is no way out, you won’t survive!” Not heading the warning, the guy kept going and what you saw next would probably keep you up at night.

There was a wall, not seen by the human eye but definitely there. The Ghost Riders went through it with ease, disappearing to somewhere unknown, somewhere you expected to be the real world. The guy however, who went full speed ahead didn’t have the same outcome. With one touch, he started to crumble into blue ash, his body not being able to handle the force of whatever power the wall held. You looked at Stiles, his eyes dull as tears gather at the corners. He had seen this before, you could read it on his face and you tried to figure out how many times he had tried to stop this. “Stiles.” You whispered, snapping him out of the trance, “The fourth, he is the fourth.” He sighed, “We have to do something.” His voice was slightly weak and it made your heart hurt. “We will.” You stepped closer to him. He looked down at you, eyes trailing to places you imagined him kissing. He licked his lips, but he didn’t make a move, just coughed, acting like it never happened. You understood why he didn’t want to get so close to you, it made sense but if this was it, if you two were going to really be stuck here forever, why not take a chance, see exactly where this would go.

“The call box is the closest that you’ve gotten, right? That is only place you’ve managed to get contact with anyone?” You asked, changing the subject was something you were becoming accustom to within the last few hours. Stiles was a lot more fragile than he lead himself on to be, and you were starting to realize that, starting to realize how to handle the situations that were being thrown at you. “Yes, but whenever I fiddled with it all, there were sparks and I don’t think there is anyway it will work again.” He almost sounded defeated and you shook your head, denying what he was saying. “Oh no, we have no room for that. I happen to be very good with my hands, bet I can have it fixed up in no time.” You said with excitement, smile broad on your face. “Care to test that theory?” At first his eyebrows are hitched, suggesting someone a bit more than he planned, trying to take it all back you watched as he scrambled with his words. “I mean, in the call box. Test the theory in the call box is what I meant. Like not in that way, I am going to shut up right now.” He looked terrified for himself as he walked off towards the small room, it only made you smile wider if possible. You followed behind, entering the small room just filled you with a feeling that was so uncomfortable. It was like a territory that was not supposed to be entered.

“Here is the main system I am guessing, it’s what sent off fireworks the last time I tired anything.” You looked around at all of the small flickering lights. There was a small desk with a few walkies sitting around it. You ran your hand over the desk, looking closely at what you were dealing with. You pressed a button, watching as a spark flew from the other side causing a weird fizzling noise to fill the room. “Okay, you’ve brutally murdered it, but made I can cross a few wires and hope? No harm in trying, right?” You gave a small smile as you found yourself on the floor, looking under the desk to find the source of what was going on. “Oh! There is a wire that looks pretty singed down here, I might could do a little illegal wiring, get this thing handled.” You gave him a look of approval as your smile stayed on your face, “I got lucky when I got you.” His words were soft, his eyes hazy as he looked at you. “I mean with the thing, like –“ You shushed him, placing a finger against his lips, confusion filled his eyes as you touched him. “I know what you mean.” You said as you stood. “Got anything sort of sharp so I can get the annoying rubber from around one of the wires?” You acted like nothing happened and could tell he was appreciated of it.

“Pocket knife.” Stiles held up the tiniest of pocket knives you think you had ever seen, you tried your hardest to hold back a laugh. “Sorry.” You mumbled but Stiles laughed for you. “No, it’s okay, my dad gave it to me when I was around eight. Boy scouts, I didn’t do too well. I think that’s why he gave it to me so that I would feel better about myself.” The look in his eye showed some pain and you tried your best to change the subject. “Well, it’s perfect. Now, get your cute little self down here and help me.” You found yourself getting back on the floor, a smiling Stiles following as you took the little pocket knife from him. You used it to start cutting the rubber around the blue wire, the one to the yellow one already burned and ready to go, it didn’t take you long to cut the in half. “Okay, here goes nothing.” You took the end of the blue wire, connecting it to the yellow and within a few seconds you could hear the room come to life. There was a voice, calling out, saying Stiles name trying to reach him and the joy in both and your eyes was indescribable. “You did it!” He exclaimed excitedly, before he could stop himself he lurched forward, cupping your check lightly in his hand as he pressed his lips to yours. It was amazing, how it made you feel. As cliché as it was to say, you felt like this was meant to be. Like you two belonged together, and they way that he looked at you when he pulled away, you knew he was thinking the same thing.

He opened his mouth to say something but before any words could come out, the door swung open, the sounds of horses ringing clear. You looked up, and there up close was one of the Riders, empty sockets seemed to be glaring at you, as if they knew who was behind it all. You were staring at the barrel of a gun, breathing heavy as you were unsure on what was going to happen next. You heard rustling, the sounds of fighting as Stiles was being pulled off the ground and into the others of another Rider. It was like you were frozen, set in stone, you couldn’t move. “Not her.” You heard faintly, the plea in Stiles voice causing your heart to break. “Wait.” Was the last thing you said, the sound of a gunshot filling the room as everything around you went black.

#stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #dylanowhy #If You're Going Through Hell

153 notes · View notes