#how long has it been. how many weeks since ive seen natural light. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

611 notes · View notes

17wishbones · 3 years

Photo

Chapter 2 for this Demon Slayer Quickie. Seriously, Rengoku is the best! And so are the other characters. And surprisingly, I haven’t read the manga yet but will be after this post! Finished the anime and watched the movie so I am completely down for investing myself into it, especially since finding out Berserk is going back on hiatus. SIGH. - - - - - - -

Chapter II: Sounds in the Night

Your quaint room only resounded with your footsteps after your return from your mission in Osaka. Since Kamado Tanjiro’s visit, it had been your objective to gather whatever information you could.

Kibutsuji Muzan had been here. His aura left a nasty trail, as light as it had been. In an alleyway, there had been a small massacre and it reeked of his blood. You followed the trail as far as you could before you were tested by demons in search of being recognized so long as they killed a demon slayer.

Even after you finished the kills, there were no more trails to follow, as if it was done on purpose. You cursed mentally as you set down your Nichirin Blade. It was hard to accept this small bit of information gathered as nothing more than failure. It wasn’t enough to flush him out, and to find even one of the 12 Kizuki was asking for too much.

The shōji to your room slid open with slight force. Who could be seeing you this time of night- “Good evening, my Sunflower!”

“Ah, good evening to you, Kyōjurō!” You answered, surprised. “W-what brings you here this late night? I didn’t think I’d see you until the morning.”

“Right!” He stepped halfway into your room with arms open. “I’ve missed you, my Sunflower! Did you miss me?”

He didn’t have to ask you twice as you rushed into his waiting arms and embraced him with all of your might. Since his announcement before the last meeting, you hadn’t seen him in about two and a half weeks. Your schedules were sure to differ, but it wouldn’t deter Rengoku seeing you before heading home.

“Yes, of course, I’ve missed you! It’s been a long 2 and a half weeks since I heard your voice.”

He peppered your face with warm kisses all over, evident of how much he adored you. It just ignited in him a need to love you more. “Come home with me tonight! Senjuro wanted to see you after we both returned!”

“Oh, I bet he’s gotten bigger now. But I can’t stay long…” - ‘Because since our most recent visit, he introduced me to his father as well as announcing that we both became Hashira, but he seemed to care less. His aura felt spiteful and sad.’

“Nonsense! You are always welcome to stay with me! After all, you shall soon bear my last name!”

“Rengoku _____. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I wholeheartedly agree! I can’t wait! We should be wed this year!”

“This year!? Shouldn’t we date a little before then?”

Rengoku blinked, dumbfounded. “Hmm? Have we not already been dating?”

“Eh? What do you mean?”

“We have already committed ourselves to another three years ago!” You were caught off guard by this. “You gave me steamed sweet potatoes every Friday, slept in a futon with me many times, and entrusted your body to me.”

A blush darkened your cheeks. “Oh-oh? How so? Um… care to refresh my memory?”

“Nn!” He exchanged your waist for your hands, holding them firmly. There was a soft, somber look in his brilliant eyes when his gaze went over your hands. “Your gifts, company, and affection were but quiet signs of your love for me.” He spoke softly, unusual for his energetic and high volume self. He was serious. “Your exuberance burst strongly from your dedication and your resolve to protect others.” His eyes sought yours. “That night, when you looked at me so longingly, I had to consummate our mutual feelings.”

You could almost cry. “Kyōjurō…”

“No one sees what I see. A generous, beautiful, hardworking woman whose heart for justice burns like mine. I’ve only had eyes for you, my Sunflower. And if I must say it a thousand times for you, then I shall!”

His voice began rising, just as it was in his nature. Rengoku’s passion shined bright and ignited everyone’s will to live and fight for another day, for a better future.

You graced him with a kiss. A real one. Not one on the cheek as you’ve done before to keep face, but one on the lips. “That’s what I love about you. So much that I’m willing to put my life in your hands. There’s no one like you, Kyōjurō. No one can replace you.”

Rengoku’s eyes sparked with hot intensity only seen in battle. “Then come with me tonight! I see no point in us spending time apart except on missions!”

“You make a good point there. Do I need to bring anything?”

“Your blade, your uniform, and yourself!”

And just like that, you were zooming hand in hand to the Rengoku Estate. - - - - - - - - Chapter: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#rengoku x you #rengoku kyojuro x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #rengoku kyōjurō #rengoku kyoujurou #fanfiction

119 notes · View notes

dclsbaby · 3 years

Text

mykonos-crossed lovers (part i) 🦋

🎶 playlist for part i

prologue

part ii

part iii

part iv

Summary: When you drunkenly book a girls trip to a tropical Greek island to help mend your broken heart, you would never for a second think it will take you exactly to where he is. Him. A tale of the right person at the wrong time, an overused cliché made into plots of movies you never thought would live through in your reality. Two people, still madly in love with each other, hearts still broken, suppressed by the alcohol and distractions consumed on this trip. Will they let their egos get in the way, protect what’s left of their already broken hearts, or will let their hearts speak?

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: angst?

Author’s Note: hi everyone, thank you so so much for the responses to the prologue! I am so overwhelmed and did not expect to receive so much kindness it makes me wanna cry hahaha 🥺 thank you a thousand times over! and if this is your first time getting to know the fic, I highly suggest you read the prologue before diving into part 1! This chapter is sort of a filler chapter (I know it has 2.6k words lol), it shows how (y/n) have been doing since the break up & how the trip came about, I hope it’ll make sense once you read it 🤍 thanks for reading x

Gif:

It’s been months since you last spoke to him. Him. The thought of him still hurts. The idea of him existing without you, hurts. As much as you try to fight it, you still remember him like the back of your hand. You could draw on paper the contours of his face by memory, by instinct, like remembering your way home. He was a love you have never experienced before. Something about his magnetism seemed impossible to resist.

You and Dominic broke up nearly half a year ago. Your hopes of an amicable breakup were destroyed by him. His confusion, his anger, his frustration made it impossible for you two to stay friends. He couldn’t even begin to imagine being just a friend to you when his entire heart belongs to you. He called you selfish for leaving, he called you stubborn for having your mind made up without letting him put up a fight when he was ready to battle anyone, even you, to save your relationship.

The first few months were difficult, but the first few weeks were excruciating. You barely ate, as the numbing in the pit of your stomach constantly made you nauseous that your body couldn’t digest anything you ate. You couldn’t bring yourself to shower and get dressed, and spent days laying in bed, wallowing in sadness. Overtime, you just learn to live with the pain.

Since then, you’ve had good days, and slowly but surely stopped faking smiles and replaced them with genuine ones. But your bad days felt like hell, with your mind often teasing you with memories of him that you’ve suppressed enough to compartmentalise, then it comes back to you all at once, and consumes your entire soul. The pain is suffocating, like being crush by tidal waves, leaving you no time to run for shore, the waters dragging you, pulling you in many directions. All you could do was be still, stay paralysed, and pray that it goes away. That’s what remembering him felt like.

Then on other days, you often wonder how you were able to manage all this, with the pain still fresh whenever you think about it, but I guess we’re all guilty of pushing our feelings to the side and pretending that everything’s alright, when it’s the opposite. You’re still alive, despite it all. But you want to live, not just survive.

The truth is, you did not leave because you fell out of love. In fact, you were too in love—it’s a crime. He was your entire life. Days were spent waiting for him to come home from training and matches. Missing him during away games. Your entire happiness depended on him, and that terrified you. You weren’t happy with yourself either, and expected more out of your life. The burden of having a prosperous career, a stable income, a life for yourself that you loved, becoming too heavy to bear. You had all these dreams and goals set for yourself that you never got to actualise so you could be by his side. Your love for him was insurmountable, that you couldn’t accommodate anything for yourself. No matter how hard you tried, you will always put him first. It was natural. Even though he never asked for all your attention, you couldn't simply choose between yourself or him, because you would always choose him. Over and over.

So you did what you had to do, break your own heart, and his, to love yourself.

Since your breakup, you finally moved out of your friend’s place and got yourself a nice two-bedroom flat at the city centre with a stunning view of the city. You landed yourself a job as a junior editor for British Vogue that demands commuting to London several days a week. As you thrive in difficult situations, the breakup forced you to submerge yourself in work, mainly to avoid the pain, but it propelled you to get to where you are.

Trying to get over someone who is in the public eye was a different battle. It seemed as though everywhere you went, he’s there. You see him on billboards, TV screens, his face painted on murals, quickly becoming a tourist site. Occasionally, you would watch his games out of habit, and listen to the prideful Evertonian crowd chant his name. You witnessed his first England senior team debut, and tuned in to England v. Wales on the TV for old time’s sake. You watched him score his first senior England goal behind a screen. Your eyes welled at sight of him living his dream, poaching the ball into the net, scoring the first goal of the game, making his country and family proud. You feel the rush of adrenaline he felt as he ran to his teammates and celebrated. You can’t help but share this sense of pride, as you’ve watched firsthand how hard he has worked to get to where he is.

But on days where he isn’t on your mind, you do not want to be reminded of him. It’s difficult to cope when you encounter pieces of him that takes you back to the worst day of your life, and his.

Like last night, for instance. You had been scrolling on your social media when it was brought to your attention that a magazine had published an issue with your ex on the front cover, spotted on a night out with a blonde you don’t personally know but you could’ve sworn you’ve seen before. Perhaps another one of those so-called “influencers”, you thought to yourself. You know that you have no right to feel jealous or upset, as you broke up with him and this was bound to happen, but selfishly, a part of you had hoped that he wouldn’t find anyone else, or at least not before you did. You’re frustrated at yourself for letting him have this effect on you even months after your break up.

Succumbing to your bad habits, you give in to your impulses and pop open a bottle of red wine to calm your growing anxiety. Two glasses of wine, a takeout, and a season of Gossip Girl later, you find yourself slightly drunk, nerves calmed, and a little drowsy so you quickly change into your satin pyjamas and tuck yourself in bed.

You decide to turn on the TV for some background noise and quickly close your eyes. By some twist of fate, you hear a painfully familiar voice giving his thoughts at the end of a game he’s won. The sheer volume of his voice on the TV causes a sharp pain in your chest as you scramble to reach for your remote in the dark, with your eyes half opened. and change it to anything but a sports channel. That’s it, you thought to yourself. I need to get the fuck away.

Still drunk and not entirely aware of what you’re doing, you reach for your laptop on the nightstand. The brightness made your eyes squint a little bit, but you managed to type out a link and open a travel booking site, and scroll through different pictures of tropical islands you’re longing to get to. Anywhere but here, you thought. You selected options that you thought looked the blue-est, the most expensive, a party town, and had the most five star restaurants.

By the end of it you have booked a return flight to Mykonos for 5 people where you will be staying at a grand, luxurious 5-bedroom villa located at the party central of the island. You couldn’t be bothered to check how much it cost you. All sense of ration gets thrown out the window when you mix heartbreak with alcohol. When you told your friends of what you had just done, it was safe to say that they were surprised but absolutely ecstatic that you have booked a much needed getaway with the girls. With a three-day notice, you all quickly scramble through your closet and go on an online shopping spree to pick out your outfits for the holiday.

***

Days later, you find yourself landing on Mykonos island on a sunny afternoon.

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to pull all this off within days,” your friend says as you all walk through the pebbled entry way of your villa, and open the door. “Holy fucking shit,” another friend says in awe of the sight. The villa was filled with white interior, bright lights, wooden tables that give off beach vibes, and an infinity pool where you could swim as you watch the sunset, with a view of the blue sea. With 5 bedrooms to choose from, your friends collectively decided that you should take the master that had direct access to the pool, which you happily accepted but it wouldn’t matter anyway, as you’ll all probably stay in one room.

Once you’ve unpacked, you pull out your white cardigan and make your way out the terrace to catch a view of the sunset and have a moment by yourself. You take a deep breath of the fresh air with a hint of sea breeze as you try to take in the stunning view of the island. You are filled with gratitude as you bear witness to something so beautiful as you watch the sun sink into the blue Aegean Sea. Despite the peacefulness exuded by the view, your heart can’t help but feel Dom. You remember when he had brought up wanting to spend this exact summer in Mykonos with you, but life had other plans.

***flashback***

Dom was laying in bed with his laptop screen on his chest, an arm to support his head as he scrolled through the travel booking site. He had been looking through different options, but he has his mind set on a lovely town in Greece, Dubai’s overrated after all, he thought.

“Me, you, blue skies, tanned skin, bike rides around town, what do you think love?” asked Dom. “Where’s this?” you ask, moving closer to him as he shows you his laptop screen. “Mykonos. It’s not too far away, I’ll have enough time to rest before pre-season starts,” he replies. “That sounds like a plan,” you smile at him. “But we’ll book it closer to the summer, yeah? In case anything comes up,” you said as you plant a kiss on his cheek. He nods as he bookmarks the site and drifts off to sleep with you shortly after.

Unbeknownst to you, later that night he quietly opened his laptop and quickly booked the trip for you two as a surprise. Anything that will come in the way will just have to be compromised. He was adamant to make sure he gives you the best summer of your life, it is what you deserve after all, he thought.

***

You had forgotten about your conversation with Dom until you stood on the island. Your thoughts were interrupted by your friend’s footsteps. “Hey, you okay babe? You’ve been out here for a while,” she asks with concerned eyes. “I’m alright,” you said. “Or I will be,” you add, giving your friend a forced smile. Your friend wraps her arm around your shoulders as you two make it back inside to have an early and quiet night with the girls, exhausted from all the travel.

***

The next day you woke up a little late, with only several hours to tan before having to get ready for your dinner reservation at one of Mykonos’s famous restaurants that looks over the sea. A little frustrated at yourself for sleeping in, you went to the bathroom to wash your face, put on some light makeup, and change into your swimwear.

You join your friends who are sprawled on the sunbeds. “So, where is this place again?” you asked your friend who booked the dinner. “A restaurant by the sea located at party central babe. Everybody, I mean everybody goes here. They’ve got the best food and music,” she replies. “Think of Mamma Mia 1,” another friend chimes in. Your eyes widen at the imagery. “Better have some great alcohol too, I’m desperate for some,” you laugh. “That’s my girl,” your friend says.

***

By the late afternoon you and the girls are getting ready for dinner. Makeup bags and its contents sprawled on the floor, you had to tiptoe around makeup products and brushes, careful not to step on them. After long deliberation, you decided to dress up in co-ord that hugs your figure and fits you like a glove, paired with your favourite heels, settling for an elegant yet fun look. You decide to keep your hair down and put on some natural makeup to balance out the bold colour. After about 30 minutes of taking pictures of each other and some group photos, you finally made it out the door.

The location was spectacular. The ambience was complemented with bright lights to lighten the dim Mykonos sky that has turned a shade of dark blue, almost purple. The food was divine, a little overpriced for your liking, but it was worth it. The restaurant turns into a nightclub close to midnight, and you and your girls were eager to start your first round of drinks. Fruity drinks were passed around, made with fruits freshly picked from the gardens. Watermelon margarita was your drink of choice, partly sweet, partly sour, and just enough tequila as your first drink of the trip.

The restaurant was packed, you could’ve sworn you had seen a star of a Spanish series you’ve just finished watching on Netflix. The guests were well dressed, many had bravely eccentric taste, mixing patterns and sparkly jewellery, paired with funky footwear to add some flair. In Mykonos, you will not encounter the same judgment as you would walking down the streets back home.

Your friends stood up to dance the second the alcohol kicked in. You took your time, savouring your drink, wanting the night to last. You smile at the sight of your happy friends, so full of life, not giving a single care in the world. As you’re sitting there, observing people, you suddenly feel your chest get heavy. It’s hard to put into words what this feeling is like, but it pushes you to shut down in social settings, overwhelmed by strangers and loud music that makes your ears ring. It is a feeling of unexplained anxiety, where you need a second to correct your breathing, and calm yourself down. Not now, you thought, not here. You often feel these random bouts of emptiness since you left Dom. You try to push the discomfort away, and think of anything else but him. You stood up and walked to the edge of the restaurant by the white border wall to get some fresh air, and take in the view of calm waves under the night sky to collect some peace of mind.

You place your elbows on top of the border, and rest your head on the palms of your hands. A bystander would think that you’re a scene from a movie, a damsel in distress, longing for her love interest. But this was no movie, no fairytale, no knight in shining armour to protect you, no lover to sweep you off your feet.

Or so you thought.

Your focus on the sounds of splashing waves was interrupted by familiar footsteps, getting louder and louder as it creeps its way closer to you. The scent of the sea began to mix with an all too familiar scent of tobacco vanilla. Only one person came to mind. It can’t be, you thought.

“(Y/N)?,” his voice breaks.

It’s him.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #mclfic

99 notes · View notes

picassho-18 · 4 years

Text

Art of Fire (IV)

Zuko x Fem!Reader; Part 4; 2k words

Series summary: The recently crowned Fire Lord Zuko meets a new friend of his Uncle’s, a special fire bender that quickly grabs his interest over a cup of tea and the discussion of the arts.

ALL CURRENTLY POSTED PARTS: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

An air of silent comfort surrounded the two of you as Zuko led you outside the gates of the Fire Nation capitol. Past the wall, a giant forest approached you, as Zuko confidently stepped into the thick groove of trees.

Following just a step behind in, you had to focus on where you were stepping, avoiding all the tripping hazards of tree roots, bushes, and vines. Zuko, however, was walking as if the path he was taking was memorized. Which it was, Zuko has walked this exact path multiple times by himself, but you didn’t know that.

Breaking the silence as you carefully stepped over a fallen branch, you asked him, “What can even be this deep in the forest?”

He turned around, his eyes glinting mischievously, “A few more steps and you’ll see.”

He stopped walking, and as you finally caught up to him, he turned to his right, parting a dense thicket of branches.

What it revealed was amazing.

Beyond the thick wall of vegetation, a sparkling pool of water shined brightly in the middle of a large grassy clearing. The large lake reflected the morning sun’s rays, casting fragments of light around the concealed area.

A huge smile of pure amazement broke out on your face, quickly turning to Zuko in your shock.

He looked back at you with a softer smile, as he explained how he found the place. “I just stumbled upon the lake when I was taking a walk clearing my head, a few weeks after my coronation.”

“It’s amazing” you breathed, looking back at the complete beauty of pure nature right before your eyes.

Zuko pulled the branches farther apart, opening them wide enough for you to fit through. “After you.”

After you stepped through, you held the branches apart for him but your gaze was still on the shimmering lake. It was the first time you’ve seen a body of water that expansive.

He led you to a patch of sand at the edge of water, in a fluid motion kicking his shoes off before sitting down, rubbing his hands through the soft sand.

Still slightly stunned, your eyes never pulled away from the water while you sat down next to him. In the back of your head, it reminded you of the pond from the courtyard, the pair of you sitting at the edges of the pond there.

Finally, you teared your eyes of the water, and looked at Zuko, to see he was already looking at you. Warmth spread on your cheeks, before you asked quietly, as if you didn’t want to disturb to peacefulness of the land around you. “How many people know about this place?” Your mind couldn’t wrap the idea that no one knew else about this beautiful place yet there wasn’t a single person in sight except for Zuko in front of you.

“Just me.” And Zuko added with a sheepish smile, “and now you.”

Your eyes widened, “You haven’t told anyone else about his place?” He shook his head before looking down at his lap as you asked your next question, slightly softer. “But why me?”

He cleared his throat, not really meeting your as he began to ramble , “I don’t really know… I know we don’t really know each other and have only met a week ago, and have only had a few conversations since, but…” he paused as if trying to find the words to express what he was feeling, “when I’m around you, a feel at peace.”

Your breath caught in your chest at his words, and when he finally looked back at you, eyes locking together, your heart seemed to stop beating.

At your frozen features, Zuko quickly looked away, a fierce blush blooming across his cheeks, and tried to explain himself.

“I, uh sorry… It’s just so easy to talk to you. And you are really comfortable to be around. And I’m usually not very trusting of others but around you, I couldn't keep my guard up if I even tried…” he trailed off, looking at you again, his eyes searching for any sign of your emotions as a response to his ramble.

Wordlessly, your response was to slowly grab his hands from his lap, cradling them in your own.

Not breaking eye contact with his own, you replied softly yet firmly. “Zuko… thank you so much for sharing this with me. And truly, it is an honor to bring peace and comfort to others. Especially you.”

He stared at your hands holding his own, the pad of your thumb ever so softly rubbing circles on back of his hand. The warmth admitting from his hands was soaking into yours. The corners of his lips cracked up into a soft grin, one of pure contentment and comfort.

Your heart soured at the sight. Here in this place he appeared weightless, like all his troubles vanished within the clearing. His eyes shined a bit brighter, not dragged down by his past or the daily conflicts and battles he fought within himself or for his Nation. Here it was just him. Just you and him.

Your tone turned jokingly as you spoke, “Are you also saying you haven’t even taken your poor Uncle here to see this beauty yet?”

Zuko let out a laugh as the air turned lighter around you. “While Uncle is amazing, he isn’t the best with keeping secrets. Once he knew about this place, half the capital would be swimming in that water.”

You turned wistfully towards the lake, before asking Zuko slightly cheekily, “Do you think the water is warm enough to swim in?”

But before he could respond, you stood up quickly, kicking off your boots. After flashing a quick smile at Zuko, you bounded into the lake, fully clothed, yet splashing around joyfully.

Zuko began to laugh standing up as well. He cocked an eyebrow at you when you began to slow down, and wrapped your arms around yourself, while standing in waist deep water. “It’s cold, isn’t it?” he asked.

Refusing to admit it, you stop hugging yourself, “No… not at all!” You laughed again, before slyly cupping some water in your hands and began to splash water at him.

In a quick flash of pure power, he created a wall of flames between him and the incoming water, the water quickly vaporizing against the bright orange flames. The fire casted a warm glow over the whole clearing, as the hiss of the water echoed out, along with his playful laughing.

You stood frozen in awe, staring at him as the flames immediately flickered out from his hands, the sudden burst of heat you felt on your face now gone.

“Woah” you said simply, still staring.

The smile fell from his face at your reaction, his eyebrows furrowed, now confused. “What’s wrong?” His voice was slightly worried.

Realizing how you looked, you began to go deeper into the lake, now freely swimming in the water before explaining. “I’ve never seen any fire bending like that.”

Zuko cocked his head to the side, still confused, “Why haven't you? You were born in the Fire Nation right? And you’re a fire bender yourself.”

“Yeah…” you replied slowly while Zuko stepped into the water, the cold temperature obviously not affecting him as he walked in without a shiver. He seemed to run hot even for a fire bender.

While you refused to show signs of being cold, your body betrayed you and was shivering deeply. Yet, you continued to tread water, trying to ignore the cold, “I’ve never learned anything more than small detailed movements of flame. And both my parents are non-benders so I’ve had no one to learn from.”

“Ah” he said, now understanding. At this point, he had now reached you and was swimming right across from you.

“What I want to know” you asked, “is how you aren’t cold in this water?!”

This earned you another laugh. You quickly realized you enjoyed hearing it.

“That I can attribute to my Uncle. With fire bending I use my breath to generate heat for myself, and this allows me to withstand cold temperatures.”

“That’s amazing” you exclaimed. “That really solidifies your Uncle being the wisest man I know!”

“You know…” Zuko said slowly, slightly inching towards you in the water, “I can teach you.”

“Really?!” You asked, your voice getting louder, excitement coursing through you at the prospect of learning fire bending techniques. And also possibly from the idea of spending more time with him.

“Of course” he smiled, happy at how excited you were, but began to frown at your shivering frame. “But umm, how about we get you out of the water before you freeze to death?”

“Yeah…” you said, finally giving in, and swimming to shore, Zuko right next to you.

As soon as you stepped out of the water, however, the breeze seemed to become ten times colder, you’re wet hair sticking to your skin, as goosebumps raised all over your body.

You let out a string of curses, causing Zuko to look at you in alarm, as you let out “Oh my god it’s freezing!” You were long past pretending it wasn’t.

You glanced at him, he was still unaffected by the temperature, but he looked extremely… worried.

“I'm so sorry” he began, stepping closer to you, both of your clothes completely soaked and dripping on the damp sand. “I should have thought about how cold it was for others.”

While you weren’t really thinking about anything then how cold it was, you still saw the complete guilt written all over his face. He was blaming himself for the situation, and you couldn’t let that happen.

“Oh no it’s not your fault” you chuckled, teeth chattering, but still bringing a grin to your face, trying to alleviate his guilt, “I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless and ran in. Whoops.”

Zuko appeared conflicted, as if he was having an internal debate, before he began to speak slowly, hesitantly, “I could, umm, warm you up?”

“What?”

“I have a really high body temperature and, I could uh, hug you…?”

He said it so unconfidently, so meekly, you couldn’t help but giggle before opening your arms up widely, “Then what are you waiting for!?”

He smiled slightly then met you before wrapping his arms around you tightly.

The relief was immediate.

The warmth of his body soaked through your wet clothes, his arms and hands radiating across your lower back. The heat was so strong it seemed to reach into the depths of your body.

Your arms wrapped around his torso as well, the side of your face resting against his chest. He seemed to relax and even rested his chin on the top of your head.

You hummed in contentment, already the cold long forgotten and mumbled “Yeah this is nice” against his chest.

He chuckled lightly, the laugh vibrating through his chest into your ear.

For several moments, you two stayed like that. His warmth chasing all the shivers and goosebumps away, as your bodies stayed flush against each other, as you clung to him tightly, enjoying the heat immensely.

As you slowly pulled apart, you looked up at him, a grateful smile shining towards him in thanks.

His breath caught as he looked at you, both of you froze as your arms stayed around each other, chest to chest, bodies flush against each other, while your eyes locked on each other.

Slowly, ever so slowly, you slid a hand up to his face. Wordlessly, you cupped his cheek, your fingers close to the scarred flesh.

At your soft caress, Zuko leaned down, his lips inching towards yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut when your lips met, the gentle nature of the kiss melting your soul. His arms tightened around your lower back, arching your body closer to his, the desperation to be closer to you evident in his movements.

The kiss deepened as your fingers began to slide into his loose hair, nails slightly scraping his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Your knuckles weaving this the loose knots scattered around within black hair.

The air warmed even more around you as you clung to him, running your hands over his body, the shirt still damp yet warm. So warm.

His own hand caressed your neck, his fingertips dancing across the flesh, goosebumps now raising at the soft contact, not the cold.

The scent of him flooded your nose, the smell of campfire and peppermint wafting around you.

It ended too soon. Zuko pulled away, his lips slightly swollen and breathlessly looking at you in awe, as if you were his whole galaxy.

Your eyes were wide, heart beating rapidly, as you realized what just took place.

“You are amazing” Zuko said simply, as if that summed up everything. Explained everything.

Your lips curved into a grin, as your eyes trailed down to his lips, your thumb rubbing against his bottom lips gently. “So are you.”

He leaned down again, capturing your lips with his again for a quicker kiss, more of a peck but still enough to send your heart into overdrive.

Once more pulling away, Zuko grabbed hold of your hand, fingers weaving together. He began to lead you out of the clearing back onto the invisible path of the forest, your clothes still wet but only barely slowing you down.

Zuko looked back at you, his breath catching just a bit at how brightly you were shining, the afterglow of the kiss still in affect. He asked, “I know a really good tea shop where we can get a change of clothes and a good cup of tea. That sound good?”

You smirked back at him, admiring the messy mop of hair from your own doing, “And I’m assuming the owner is a really sweet Uncle we both may know?”

“Why of course!” Zuko responded playfully, tightening his grip on your hand, before continuing to lead the way back.

***

Send an ask if you would like to request a part 5!

Art of Fire Tag List:

@haylaansmi @wasntpriscilla @justholdthesun @furblrwurblr @writers-thoughts09 @alrightberries @fitzsimmons-is-forever @katieisntcranky @ari-shipping-stuff @ayo-cowbelly @ctrl-alt-jeon @tardis-is-mine @catraismygf @celamoon @boom-bunny @silentwhispofhope @aphrodites-perfume @tranquillitea @eury-dice3 @silverdagger69 @fan-g0rl @1234567890nono @julixeric @randomness501 @todaynotseen @superblyspeedydragon @iwishiwasaginger @ivy-ros @mdgrdians @multifandomphenomena @todaynotseen @rustypotatospork @angxlicwanda @debajo-del-puente @multifandom-slytherin @ninipoo1 @ornate-ribcage @5sosxwinchester @kriswu46 @softpeteparker @richkookie @fairy-inthegarden @moonraysunlight @inlove-maze @thesilversnake666 @mochminnie @mixedfeeelings @lucyrocks86 @imcravingyou @11mb0 @niphredil-14 @chewymoustachio @silverclawz @cheapglitter @jada-cleo @akariblue @swagdaddycam @ilovespideyyy @bubblebars @queenofmankind @the-girl-in-the-box @yiyibetch @little-miss-sleep-deprived

#prince zuko #zuko x reader #fire lord zuko #ATLA #avatar #the last airbender #reader insert #zuko fic #fem!reader #zuko x fem!reader

227 notes · View notes

brelione · 4 years

Text

Detention (JJ Maybank x reader)

As you walked down the hallway you thought back to how you had gotten detention in the first place.You had always been seen as average.Average grades,an average sized house between The Cut and Figure Eight and as far as you knew you were pretty average looking as well.You werent Sarah Cameron but you werent ugly either.Just average.You were an average person with your ups and downs,having a bad attitude and a tendency to curse a lot.You had never been in detention before though.You had been walking to second period,heavy books and binder in your backpack.You had only been half awake and not even thinking straight yet.

You heard some gremlin looking boy call your best friend a whore.It was all a blur as your fist collided with his jaw,causing him to bite through his lip and send a river of blood down his chin and neck.Your half asleep self didnt think that was enough,your leg moving upwards and your foot kicking him right in the dick.A teacher broke up the fight,shouting at you and giving you two weeks in detention.The principal tried calling your mother but her being the shitty person she was...well she was long gone somewhere in Florida.She had left you a mayonaise jar full of five dollar bills and quarters with a messy note saying that she’d be gone for a couple of months.It didnt really matter anyways,not like she had been around before then.You could just stop going to school if you wanted too,no one could force you to go without her or your father around.

But something motivated you everyday.You got to see him.Of course he skipped most classes in the bathroom anyways but you’d see him in the halls sometimes and that was enough to get you out of bed everyday.As you dragged your feet,sneakers squeaking you decided that detention wasnt worth it.You couldnt really call your best friend your best friend anymore.You hadnt talked to her in weeks since she had become obsessed with her new boyfriend.She had never been the best person.She was smart,pretty,funny and everyone loved her.She was everything you wanted to be,the one person that could make you feel disgusting by just looking at her.You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your loose denim jacket when you felt someone flick the back of your head.

You turned around to see a tall,handsome blonde with blue eyes and a red baseball cap on his head.It was him.JJ Maybank.Amazing surfer,funny,attractive,pothead and your ex bestfriend.He had a brown paper bag in his hand,the paper covered in dark splotches of oil. “The buses left like 10 minutes ago,dude.”He grinned.You rolled your eyes. “I got detention.”You told him,continuing your walk down the long hallway.He smirked. “What has the pogue princess done that shes got detention?”He asked,smile widening at how annoyed he was making you.You huffed. “Fuckin’ punched a kid in the face and now ive got detention for the next two weeks.”You explained.He bit his lip. “Damn,who knew you got a dark side?”He laughed,ruffling your hair and messing it up as you approached the empty classroom.It was empty besides Mrs Dave,who,in your words,the top bitch of the school.

“Afternoon,Linda.”JJ grinned to himself,sitting indian style on top of one of the four desks in the room.The smelly rat rolled her eyes before walking out of the classroom and locking the door behind her. “DID YOU WANT A FRY?”JJ shouted.You just sat there in shock. “She’s not gonna watch us or take our phones away or something?”You asked in disbelief.He grinned,remembering you were a detention virgin.He pulled out three cheeseburgers,a Mc Chicken and a large fry,placing the food on the desk in front of his ankles before crumpling up the paper bag and throwing it across the room. “You watch way too many disney channel movies,sweetheart.”He bit into a burger.You had fond memories of disney channel movies.You’d sit on your couch with an ipad in front of you,playing either Radio Rebel or a really bad musical.

You two would make fun of it and how bad the acting was.You sat at a desk that was a good five feet away from him,leaning back in your chair and playing around with your fingers and rings. “So youre just not gonna talk to me?”He asked.You sighed. “I really dont have anything to talk about.”You lied.All you wanted to do was to complain about everything to him.About your shitty mom,your shitty friends,your shitty life.But you couldnt.You had let yourself drift apart from him.You didnt try to keep the friendship or even get him back once you lost him.JJ smirked. “We dont have to talk.We’ll be in here for hours....alone.”He winked,blushing a bit.As much as he hated to admit it,he had a crush on you since 8th grade.

He’d sat through shitty musicals and baked cookies with you and brought you a cup of hot coffee during a rain storm because you said once that “Coffee hits different when it rains.”.He just wanted you to be happy.Thats all he ever wanted.When you guys started to drift apart he didnt try to keep the friendship alive.He thought you were distancing yourself on purpose.He didnt try to get you back either.He thought that you being away from him made you happy,so he had let it happen.You bit your lip after he said that,face turning bright red. “Shut the fuck up.”You mumbled as you buried your face in your hands.He smiled,dimples popping. “You’re so cute when you blush.”He informed you. “Stop it.”You mumbled,biting the inside of your cheek.He hopped off his desk,kneeling in front of your desk and resting his chin on his forearm.He smelled of weed and the salty ocean.You didnt even look up from your hands.

You could feel him staring at you with a cocky smirk on his face. “Am I embarrassing you right now?”He asked.You hummed,feeling even more awkward with every second.You werent used to people flirting with you.No,that was a lie.A lot of people flirted with you.Rafe,Topper,John B. for a while.But JJ Maybank had never flirted with you.Not since 8th grade.His hands grabbed your wrists gently,pulling your hands away from your face.You looked away from him,still embarrassed. “Hi.”He grinned. “Hey.”You replied.He hadnt let go of your hands,looking up at you.You just stared at eachother for a while before he slowly leaned closer to you until his forehead was against yours. “What are we doing,J?”You asked him.So much had changed about the boy in a matter of two years.He’d grown a good four inches and somehow became even more reckless.It was almost like you were talking to a stranger.

“Why arent we close anymore,princess?I never wronged you.”He mumbled as he traced his thumb over your bottom lip.You let out a small,shaky breath. “I know you didnt...things just-just changed.”You mumbled,trying to focus on what you were saying and not the beautiful boy in front of you.He smiled. “So lets change things again.”He suggested,getting even closer to the point that your lips were brushing against his.You gulped. “How did you get detention?”You asked.You felt him grin. “Got caught skipping in the bathroom.”He mumbled.You hummed in response. “Have you missed me,princess?”He asked.Your heart was thumping so hard that you could feel it within your skull. “Of course I have.”You replied.He grinned before closing the almost non existent gap between you two.Your hand was touching his jaw lightly,his fingers laced in your hair.

It felt so natural,almost like it was meant to be as cheesy as it sounded.You pulled away giggling.JJ frowned. “What?”He asked. “Nothing-its just funny to me.”You answered.You just had your first kiss with your ex bestfriend in detention.Did any of it make sense?No.Did that stop you from kissing him again?No.You leaned forward,kissing the blonde gently and removing his hat in the process so you could run your fingers through his fluffy hair.The rest of detention was full of kisses,eating fries and doodling on the white board.He made you explain all your bracelets,kissing your knuckles and teasing you about how you had never been kissed until today. “You wanna get out of here?”He asked.You raised your eyebrows. “We’re stuck in here for another hour.”You reminded him.He walked open to the door,swinging it open. “This lock hasnt worked in years.”He laughed,wrapping an arm around you.

He practically dragged you down the hall.You were really tired.Probably because you had pulled an all nighter.But you got an adrenaline rush soon enough when you heard the sounds of high heels on tile,sprinting for dear life and squealing as you sprinted out of the school.When you stepped out of the building the sunlight beamed down on you.JJ stared at you for a moment.With the way the light was hitting you,making your hair shine and your eyes squint he swore you had never looked more beautiful.You had somehow gotten your best boy back from punching another boy in the face.Kind of crazy how the universe works.

#jj maybank #jj maybankxreader #rudy pankow #jj maybank imagine #fluff #jj x you #john b #pope heyward #kiara carrera #detention #jj maybank oneshot #jj outer banks #outer banks #rudy pankow imagine #jj maybank headcanon #jj #jj obx

179 notes · View notes

secretsniper2 · 3 years

Text

A Walk in the Park

Morning, another dreary day ahead, usual routine, put my robe on, brush hair and put in ponytail, bit of makeup. Downstairs for something to eat and some coffee when i see it by the front door, a letter. Bit strange, i don't usually get letters but its addressed to me so why not check it out?

“Dear Emma, Our scouts saw you a few weeks ago and we believe you would be a perfect fit for our next event, you'll receive fair compensation for your time and equipment will be provided on arrival. we hope you accept.”

Looking over the letter again its as simple as its written, it even has a address, time and date, 5pm this Friday? well its not like im busy or anything, i was going to go to the movies with some friends but they bailed on me, and my account is getting rather empty.. sounds interesting.

“At least i now have something to DO in 3 days!” i chuckle to myself.

Sitting around the house with nothing to do, i think ill check out this address today while its broad daylight, its on the other side of town so i can walk through the park on the way and have some fresh air.

Sliding out of my robe i opt for a white shirt with black pants, always a good combo and some typical shoes for the park and walk. Busy today as usual as people rush in every direction on their way to wherever they are going, after a few brushes with clearly eager hands with 1 cupping my ass i manage to get to the park and take a breath, “pretty handsy today” i think to myself as i run my hand over my freshly groped ass. Another breath in and i continue away from the hands on crowd and move on.

Its quite impressive, iv walked past this building a few times before but this will be the first time i actually see the inside, its usually for high end events the kind of which id never enjoy, the high arches over the front door, the marble columns and statues lining the outside. what kind of job will it be anyway? im not good with food.

i shrug as i walk back through the park, longer route than i need but its a nice day to wander.

As i sit on a bench i can hear something i dont think iv ever expected to hear in a park, someone is moaning, quiet enough to not draw much attention but loud enough to hear if you get too close.. like me. Curiosity has me by the tits now as i turn to the bushes behind my chair and look around a large tree. Red hair swaying back and forth as right on the other side of the tree some girl is getting fucked, hard by her restricted moans, a red ballgag wedged tight in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes, the man wont see me if i stay behind the tree but with his eyes closed he couldn't see the girl his cock is ramming.

The girl has some small clamps on her nipples with her blue minidress pulled down under her breasts and pulled up over her hips, its nothing more than a loose corset right now, 6 inch heels padlocked to her feet and a collar locked around her neck. Rose red cheeks almost glowing with heat as her moans escape the gag, on closer look the man has his cock buried not in her pussy, its her ass he is stuffing, her pussy is vacant but there's something covering it that has a few wires running up her back leading to a purple remote.

My adrenaline skyrockets as the man starts looking around for observers but luckily looked away first so i leaned back around the tree and was not gone as far as they knew, my own cheeks red now after watching what's going on, my own pussy pulsing as arousal sets in, i slowly look around the tree and the man is gone, the redhead is still there, on all 4s and shaking in a euphoric bliss.

A hand, grasping my shoulder and neck, squeezing tight my surprise wasted on a sharp inhale rather than a scream for help, im spun around and his eyes are staring daggers into mine, normally i would be thrashing by now but the sheer surprise, this man who was just fucking the other girl places a wet hand over my mouth. fear over the cause for the wetness keeps my lips sealed as my eyes lock to his own. The remaining hand which had spun me around was already working on my pants, pushing under and into my long since wet panties, his large fingers pushing in without a moments hesitation as his knuckle grinds into my clit.

I orgasm, faster than iv ever cum before, what takes minutes for me with my vibrator took this man seconds with 2 large fingers, 2 large fingers which are now moving like pistons as im spun around yet again, my back to him as his hand that was over my mouth leaves his mark on my lips as my neck is grasped. led from behind to the other girl who is now sitting up, blindfold off and eyes gazing at me, my body under the command of another's forceful insistence.

The hand that had been massaging me close to another orgasm withdraws as he trails my own juices up under my shirt and pinches my nipple through my bra. The man commands and the girl responds by crawling up and begins to pull my pants down, white panties soaked and stuck to my pussy in full view to this woman as my pants are pulled down to my knees. A little giggle from the woman reveals shes removed her gag, handing it to the man who then lowers to the ground, my body falling after him, the woman crawling under my pants and looks up, face now between my legs as my panties are dragged aside by her thin fingers.

As i open my mouth to beg her not to continue i see a flash of red and my mouth widens in surprise, the gag the redhead was wearing, biting and drooling on was now buckled into my own mouth, biting instinctively against the situation the man begins pulling my shirt and bra up over my head. Im helpless and exposed, 1 arm from this man is holding both of mine behind my back and i cant beat his strength. His remaining hand cupping my breasts 1 at a time as his friend peals my panties off my pussy.

“She looks so tasty! how much can i have?” the redhead gleefully says like a child talking about chocolate.

“Till i say so” the man responds in a deep throaty voice.

Its all she needed to hear as her face sinks into my sex, her lips locking with my won and her nose presses against my clit, her tongue working my walls over and then sinking in for a better taste.

To say im the loudest moaner would be natural, of course iv never been gagged and eaten out by another woman before, her nose running back and forth as i cum right on her tongue which she slurped up with a desperation iv never seen on anyone before. the sounds of her moaning into my pussy sending shivers up my spine, why couldn't i just ignore the sounds?

Eyes shooting open at the thought, what if someone else is now watching me cum at the tongue of this woman with a gag in my mouth? ill be seen as the pervert here more than these 2! The hand that had been working my breasts moves again, this time to my gagged mouth, covering it easily he pinches my nose as well, i cant breathe! and this woman has doubled her effort, at this rate ill cum for a 3rd time in as many minutes!

Mind begging for air, brain screaming for it as my eyes fall on the mans face, his cold expression telling me that it wont end soon, muscles tensing as my pussy shakes with a tongue and fingers working hard, another orgasm slurped up by the hungry redhead and still the man holds tight, the woman now focussing on my throbbing clit which, till now has only been rubbed by her nose on occasion, hot lips tight at the base as her tongue caresses as she sucks hard.

a 4th orgasm tears through my body, iv never had 4 in a row, most iv had till now was 2 in a row. These 2 are pushing me and they don't care if i break! Air rushes in as the man releases my nose, waiting for the exhale he pinches again, the woman pressing fingers deep inside, my G-spot being massaged as my clit is sucked.

“Enough Cunt” the man says, loud enough to be heard by just us as the woman breaks away from my throbbing pussy, her handiwork was leading me to a 5th, release the man has taken away as the source of pleasure slides out from between my legs with her face glistening in my pleasure, a smile on her face and eyes on mine. the lights dim as im forced to pass out.. not here, with them.

“nooo..” i weakly say into the gag.

____

Cold, wet, exhausted.. My eyes open and im alone, in a small, secluded alcove of bushes, no one would find her here but why am i here? im in another part of the park entirely! did they really move me while i was unconscious? at least my clothes are all back on, a bit forced, but with a noticeable difference.. my panties are gone, bra too.. my soaked pussy in my pants and rigid nipples rubbing against my shirt, its already chafing and i have barely moved!

“Home is.. that way” i think to myself as i shamble out of the bushes, my pants occasionally making contact with my hypersensitive pussy, my muscles jerk or twitch in response as it takes me 15 minutes to walk 3 minutes with me constantly looking over my shoulders, occasionally looking at others and becoming very aware of my nipples making their presence known to any who would look my way.

Safe, i think. Doors locked as i check the clock on the wall, iv been gone all day! how long was i out? did they do anything to me while i was unconscious? ill have to give my body a look in my room, walking up my stairs i look completely different compared to this morning, my neat hair in a ponytail? now a utter mess, my white shirt not missing a button and my nipples pressing through the thin fabric, my black pants now dirty and panties missing with a soaked pussy just underneath.

Stripping in my room i turn to my mirror, my breasts have bruises, my pussy burning red, clit still throbbing. looking at my soaked pussy my mind drifts back, i could have ran! i could have screamed! but i just watched and wanted and then joined them. was i really that needy? that pent up?

My hand already beating my mind to the punch as my fingers circle my clit, sitting on my bed i fall back as i work hard, my need burning again, harder than usual. My fingers clearly not up to the task i roll over to my bedside table, my toys will scratch this itch as usual, at least to release.

Why? WHY?! why did i enjoy what they did?! the man pinning me with 1 arm and the woman, that redhead, her mouth.. her lips, the skill and determination.. why did i love every second of her attention, rolling over, closing my legs, locking my vibrator against my clit it isnt enough! its always worked before,

“my favourite position and toy have never failed me before” i plead in my head as i curl into a ball as the vibrations stir me into a frenzy, memories of what happened still fresh in my mind, nipples pinched, clit sucked, pussy devoured.

“nnnngh! Cmmmm NNNNNNN” i grunt into my pillow!

why wont it work! i need to, i want to cum! why why whyyy! my mind racing with desire when a thought rose up. Moving my arms behind my back i grab my elbows with my hands and squeeze hard, i bite my pillow and moan as a colossal orgasm tears my pussy to pieces on its way out! the single largest orgasm iv ever had and my arms race to the vibrator and turn it off with tears in my eyes, i know what they did to me.. but what did they do to me?

#Stories #Custom

8 notes · View notes

silverhandy · 3 years

Text

House call - chapter 2

Chapter 1 I ao3

Through his career, he’s been to a lot of places of varying degrees of decay, from the long-abandoned hotels subjected to evergoing gang disputes to the city’s garbage dump stretching miles upon miles outside of the city, a sea of trash and metal, often twisted into unrecognizable shapes, piling up into mountains, where every step meant a very real risk of slipping and impaling himself on a rust-bitten shard. Hidden in between were those unfortunate enough to end their journey in a place like this, abandoned by their rivals or hitmen too lazy to attempt hiding a body within the guts of the city. If they had a working car, and almost all of them did, it was way easier to just drive whatever was left of their target and dump it to be devoured by rats and whatever else evolved enough to survive in a place like this. Sometimes they wouldn’t even bother to check if the person they were leaving there was actually dead, hence the reason why he’d sometimes get calls begging him to fish a guy (or lady) down on their luck out. He found himself digging through trash more often than not, futile in his attempts to pinpoint his awaiting patient’s location. When he was starting out, the thought of giving up his search wouldn’t even cross his mind, he’d spend hours looking, even dragging along metal cutters with him, figuring they’d come in handy. They probably would’ve if not for the fact that he often wasn’t even able to find the person who called him, localization data too patchy to give him a solid lead on where he should even start.

After a while, when he established himself and lost some of his rookie idealism, he put in a disclaimer that he wouldn’t go trash diving anymore, no matter the pay. A small step, but even at the beginning he tried to have standards.

V’s apartment was far from Night City’s biggest trash dump, but something about the chaos within it reminded him of that when he switched on the lights. As if the hurricane had swept through the place, some of the furniture was tilted over, a pile of clothes, dangerously balanced on an overfilled laundry basket, threatened to collapse and spill over at any moment. A half-finished box of noodles laid abandoned on the counter, accompanied by a mosaic of pills from a knocked over bottle.

Viktor found V curled up on the floor next to her bed, wearing a washed-out Samurai t-shirt and sweatpants, covers dragged along with her halfway between the linoleum and the mattress. He could barely see her face from the way she was bundled up. V didn’t move upon hearing his footsteps, didn’t even flinch when he kneeled next to her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

The ripper dropped the heavy bag at his side and gently cupped V’s face in his hands, wincing at how burned up the woman’s skin was, and turned it so he could take a quick glance. V’s eyes were rolled far back into her skull. Viktor started to have an idea of what he was dealing with here, has seen the wreckage that offensive hacking can cause many times before. They usually started out slow, identical to a bad case of flu but then, if dismissed, proceeded to stir fry one’s brain until not much was left.

Viktor opened his bag and pulled out a small, remote biomonitor. It took a few seconds to fully calibrate, but eventually, the screen lit up.

‘V, can you hear me?’ he asked, not counting on her to answer. 'I’m going to connect your personal link now and see what’s going on in there, okay?' he reached for her wrist, already feeling her racing pulse, and connected it to the device. While it was loading, Viktor propped it up on the wall and grabbed V to lay her on her back to make the job easier for himself, and pulled out a few small gel-filled Ice-Pax. He knew she probably needed more, but those will have to do for now.

Just as Viktor placed two under her arms and another on her groin, the monitor beeped. He reached over her to grab it and swiftly ran a basic diagnostics program, but save for the things he already knew, it didn’t spew out anything interesting. She was vastly overheated and her blood pressure shot up to a point where an angrily red window kept popping up to inform him of a 72% percent chance of an incoming cardiac event, but he dismissed it for now. Instead, Viktor chose a different angle and ran a more advanced version of the program, letting it comb through V’s frontal cortex and RAM.

‘There’s the rub’ he hummed to himself as the program kindly highlighted the results. He let out a long sigh. If V had come to see him a day earlier, he’d fix it in five minutes and she wouldn’t even notice, but now she’ll be out of commission for at least a week before she can even get out of bed. He’ll have to tell her a thing or two about responsibility, not that she’d listen to him anyway. Patients never did, but it still might be worth a shot.

Viktor typed a few commands to enclose the scrambled code from her RAM and before pulling out V’s personal link, copied her real-time vitals chart onto his interface. After it appeared within his field of vision, he pulled out a worn-out connecting cord that he’s been promising himself he’d replace for ages now and inserted it into the neural port at V’s nape to get a better working field, now that he knew what the problem was. RAM damages were problematic in their very nature but pretty easy to fix once caught, not much of his medical knowledge needed. Viktor simply fired up what ripperdocs tended to call a “palate cleanser” and let it do the work, putting back together what the bug has managed to break.

While the program was fixing up V’s tech, Viktor got to work on her body. Flipping the ice packs, he took a quick glance at her temperature and was glad to see that it had started to slowly go down, followed by her pulse and blood pressure, all three leaving the life-threatening territory. None of them were quite to his liking just yet, but at least now Viktor was sure V would pull through. Reaching into his bag, he eventually found an IV set, but decided it’d be better to move her onto the bed first, sparing himself all the gymnastics with the tubing and cables. Minding the biomonitor still plugged into her, Viktor leaned down to lift V and put her on the bed. She was quite heavy, the dead weight of her limp body adding to the feeling, but he didn’t even break a sweat carrying her. Taking the covers from the floor, he put them on her, straightening the wrinkled material intuitively.

Having done that, Viktor grabbed her arm and carefully inserted the needle. To his relief, it went in on the first try. Glad he didn’t need to poke her any more than necessary, Viktor looked around and realized that V didn’t have anything even remotely resembling an IV stand, but when he looked up, he noticed a small hook, probably remains of a poster frame, conveniently placed over the bed. Stepping up on the edge of the bed frame, he placed the bag there, and after making sure that everything was in place, let it drip. That should do the job, maybe paired up with a shot of dopabenzamine if she won’t improve in the next few hours.

Viktor let out a deep sigh of relief, feeling as if he’s been holding his breath ever since V called. Biomonitor’s estimated time kept shifting but eventually settled on six hours and twenty-three minutes. Viktor nodded to himself and turned around to take another look at the mess that V’s apartment has turned into. He leaned down and reached under the covers to grab the unpleasantly warm ice packs, and throw them in the freezer, wondering if he should clean up, just a little bit. Would V get mad at him for snooping around? Then again, she’ll need a few days to recover and this ever-growing mess around her surely won’t help. Or should he ask Misty? They were closer, he was pretty sure that she’s been over at V’s place at some point.

Maybe he shouldn’t be overthinking this. Just a little bit, he told himself as he gathered the pills spilled on the counter, inspecting the label while he was at it. Strong shit, impossible to get by simply waltzing into a pharmacy. Viktor made a mental note to ask about it later, just to make sure that V doesn’t swallow these like candy. Of course she doesn’t, he reprimanded himself. She’s an adult, a stupid, reckless one, but an adult nevertheless. It still won’t hurt to bring it up, though.

He put it back into the medicine cabinet and returned to the kitchen to deal with the noodles, and since they were on the verge of no longer being edible, he just tossed them into the trash can, along with other unfinished takeout he found in various places around the apartment. He didn’t want to snoop through V’s things, so he just folded the clothes that were sprawled all over the floor and couch and put them in a neat pile. When he was done, the place looked somehow presentable, so he settled on the couch opposite V’s bed.

She appeared to be sleeping, although far from soundly. No longer completely unconscious, she kept tossing and turning, her face grimacing as her recovering brain no doubt served her a concoction of fever dreams.

Just as Viktor leaned down to relax a little, he heard a ping of an incoming text message. He pulled it up

Misty

>that lady from Biotechnica is here to see you again, but you don’t seem to be in, what should I tell her?

>Tell her to fuck off

>I’m at V’s and have to stay for a few more hours, she screwed herself up real bad this time

>oh no what happened>

>I’ll tell you all about it later, I got it covered for now

He fully expected Misty to call him, alarmed, but apparently, he managed to reassure her just enough. He leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a second, but must’ve dozed off at some point, exhausted after over twenty hours without a chance for a shuteye. When he woke, a groan escaped his lips as the stiffness of his neck hit him with full force.

That’s what you get for sleeping sitting up, old man, he told himself as he reached to grab his glasses off the floor. They must’ve slipped off at some point during his nap. Viktor stood up and stretched until he heard his joints crack. Still tired, he rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to wake himself up and walked up to V’s bed to check on her. When he reached for the biomonitor to check the progress bar and see how long he’s been sleeping, V moved slightly. She opened her eyes and scanned the room, looking right over him, and furrowed her eyebrows. Finally, she looked up and saw Vik standing next to the bed and her expression went from blank to confused.

‘Vik? What…’ V cleared her throat. ‘What are you doin’ here?’

‘You don’t remember calling me?

‘Not quite’ she bit her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s a bit of a blur. I was feeling like absolute shit after that last job, thought I could just sleep it off.’ she said quietly, propping her head upon her elbow. ‘I didn’t expect it to grow into...whatever that was.’

“A neurogenic cybervirus is what that is. Invisible until it starts to fry your brain. You gave me quite a fright.’

“Fuck. I knew something was off about that netrunner, after she...eh, nevermind. Vik..how long have you been here anyway?

‘Uh,’ Viktor took a quick glance at the biomonitor ‘seven hours, give or take?

‘Fucking hell. I’m..’ she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’m gonna pay you back. What’s your house call fee again? I don't remember it being listed…’

‘Nah, it’s okay. I usually don’t do house calls, so consider that a favor. Just promise me that when you feel something’s off after a job, you’ll come to see me right away. There’s a lot of real vile stuff out there and you won’t even know until it gets you. That’s what you have me for.’

‘Sure, dad. You can spare me the lecture' she chuckled. ‘But for real, Vik. Thank you.’

‘No problem, really.’ he grabbed the biomonitor. Four minutes left. ‘You’re gonna feel like you were hit by a truck for the next few days, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. I’ll check up on you in a few days and send in Misty or Jackie in the meantime to help you out since I’d rather you didn’t get out of bed more often than necessary. Next time you see me, consider getting that new set of optics and a gun grip. Might save your ass next time someone attempts to do you dirty like his.’

Something akin to a smile appeared on her face. ‘Doctor’s orders?’

‘Doctor’s orders.’

#viktor vector #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fic #victor vector #my writing

15 notes · View notes

secretsniper3 · 3 years

Text

A Walk in the Park

“At least i now have something to DO in 3 days!” i chuckle to myself.

i shrug as i walk back through the park, longer route than i need but its a nice day to wander.

“She looks so tasty! how much can i have?” the redhead gleefully says like a child talking about chocolate.

“Till i say so” the man responds in a deep throaty voice.

Its all she needed to hear as her face sinks into my sex, her lips locking with my won and her nose presses against my clit, her tongue working my walls over and then sinking in for a better taste.

“nooo..” i weakly say into the gag.

____

“nnnngh! Cmmmm NNNNNNN” i grunt into my pillow!

3 notes · View notes

veiledpeaches · 4 years

Text

chance encounters | part ii: i just want to be untangled

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 3.5k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei

Johnny’s laugh rings loud and infectious in her ears, and Haewon squeezes her eyes shut as the glare of the morning sun shines into the passenger seat. She had forgotten her damn sunglasses. They had left their apartment at barely eight in the morning, but the sun was relentless nonetheless. It’s still too early to think, and Johnny hasn’t even had his morning coffee but he remains energetic as ever, his pink aviators jovially perched on the bridge of his nose.

“He really said that?” He turns to pull down the passenger seat visor for her, “that the kid won because of how he looks?”

“There’s no way something like that could win!” Haewon mimics, “the emotions are too raw and the writing is too unrefined. He doesn’t even know his tenses!”

Johnny erupts into raucous laughter once again, “he’s such a literary snob! I swear, for someone who preaches about discovering young authors’ works and all that future generations stuff, he’s a hell of a hypocrite.” Johnny’s shoulders are still shaking from laughter as he shakes his head.

Haewon smiles, “well, he’s thorough.”

“That’s what makes him so attractive to you, isn’t it?” He turns to wink at her playfully, but his face falls into concern when he hears a long sigh escape from her lips as she sinks deeper into her seat.

“So how’re you doing there kiddo?” He’s deliberately being generic, but Haewon can tell what he’s referring to.

She inhales deeply, and then lets it go.

“I don’t know,” she replies truthfully.

“It’s a month and a half to the big day,” Johnny softens his voice, slowing down to switch lanes. “Doyoung told me you haven’t RSVP’d yet.”

They don’t say the word ‘wedding’ in their conversations anymore, not since they got their invitations in the mail and Johnny watched her sink into their couch, her shoulders bunched and jaw tightened. Because Haewon doesn’t cry – not sober, anyway – and Johnny doesn’t have the heart to ask her to let it out, knowing how obstinate and prideful she can get about her feelings.

Three years ago, in a conversation with Mama Suh, Johnny unintentionally found out that his childhood friend was planning a move to Seoul. Upon further probing, it seemed that she had left a difficult relationship two years ago and really needed a change of scenery. While she’s only three years younger than him, Johnny has always felt protective over the shy girl who likes to read and who used to live two houses down from his, and had reached out to her without qualms. A month later, a place and a position was ready for Haewon.

What Johnny wasn’t ready for, was seeing the look on her face when Doyoung dropped off some food from Mama Kim at their house – that expression that revealed that she had fallen too deep and too fast, before Johnny had told her anything personal about Doyoung.

“What would you do if you were me?”

“I wouldn’t go. You don’t have to do this to yourself, Haewon.” Johnny clucks his tongue, signaling a left turn to the driver behind. “He’s just your boss, you don’t owe it to him. Just make something up.”

That’s true, she thinks. After all, he’s just my boss.

And in a couple of months, maybe even something less.

Finding Doyoung in a sea of dark-haired, frustrated travelers isn’t easy, so Haewon is thankful when she hears his voice saying her name. She swivels around, and Doyoung is standing in front of her, hair down in a natural center parting with the biggest, silliest grin on his face. Haewon thinks he’s most breathtaking like this; his striking brown eyes and the slope of his cheek catching the light in the airport as he smiles handsomely, and Haewon can’t help but smile back. She doesn’t usually get to see him like this, in a green shirt tucked under blue ripped jeans and a white denim jacket pulled onto him, complementing his wide shoulders.

“I knew you’ll be lost,” he teases smugly, “you hate crowds as much as I do.”

She laughs, unzipping her bag to hand the file over to him. He looks through the documents quickly, humming as he counts the papers in his hand before stashing it in his Valentino crossbody.

“Will there be someone waiting for you at JFK?”

He nods, “yeah, the company is sending a representative. Don’t worry about me! I’ll see you next week…”

A familiar face catches her eye and Haewon thinks she sees Doyoung’s fiancée standing a few feet away from them, smiling radiantly at the person next to her. She’s surprised, finding something strange about seeing Inhee here but being unable to put her finger to it. It doesn’t register in her brain that Inhee was only supposed to be back the following Sunday until another figure steps into her line of vision and wraps his arm tightly around her shoulders.

Haewon’s feels her blood run cold. She vaguely hears Doyoung saying her name, but is unable to respond as she all but drags him towards the departure hall without a second thought.

He’s frantically asking her what is wrong, but Haewon can’t seem to hear him against the thumping of her own heart. She doesn’t want to believe what she had just seen, but the scene flashes in her mind repeatedly, each time clearer than the last.

“You can’t be late for your flight, boss!” She fakes a laugh, “I’ll see you when you’re back!”

Doyoung still looks befuddled and unconvinced, but he gives her a smile and wave as he enters the departure hall obediently, checking the time on his watch.

She watches his silhouette become smaller and smaller before he completely disappears into the crowd, her mind whirling with images. She doesn’t forget the way crippling fear had flashed in Inhee’s eyes as she watched Haewon pull Doyoung towards the departure hall, her lover’s lips still in her ear.

Doyoung hadn’t been interested in dating in high school, until he met Inhee in his last year. According to Johnny, Doyoung’s mindset towards high school had been different from many others. He saw high school as a transitional phase, a time to try out as many things as possible and fill up his portfolio with accolades before university. He was student body vice president, chief editor of the school magazine and a short distance runner on the track and field team. He was far too busy dealing with entrance exams and early college applications, until Inhee came into his life.

Inhee was the president of the dance club and obnoxiously popular, acknowledged for her good looks and good heart. And unlike his schoolmates, perhaps Doyoung would never have even given her a second glance at that point in his life, if she hadn’t slipped him her number after his event on their school’s sports day.

The first time Haewon formally met Inhee was three years ago on Valentines’ Day, a month after she joined Dam-il. Johnny had already informed her of Doyoung’s attached status, but she couldn’t put a face to the name – until Inhee walked by her desk with a big beautiful smile, all red Lancôme lipstick and smelling like Chanel, into Doyoung’s office and encircled her arms around his neck, planting a generous kiss on his mouth.

(“She kind of looks familiar,” Haewon had whispered to Yuta on the phone that day after Inhee had lowered the blinds around Doyoung’s office and locked his door. “I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere…”

Yuta had scoffed into his phone. “Like, on every, single, Korean Air poster?”)

Inhee is difficult to hate – this is something Haewon had quickly gleaned after a short interaction with her. Her beauty is dizzying, her confidence making her even more charming without making her appear conceited, and she takes care of Doyoung so well. She is constantly showering the office with late afternoon snacks, visiting Doyoung for lunch on days she doesn’t have to fly. And while she hates books and anything to do with writing, and they don’t arguably have that much in common, she has always supported Doyoung in his career to a fault.

Haewon wishes she could hate Inhee, but she makes him so happy.

(Sometimes, on nights she feels particularly petty, Haewon counts the number of compatible traits she has with Doyoung, comparing it to that of him with Inhee. Truthfully, she does this to comfort herself, wistfully hoping to feel less pathetic given the knowledge that these things don’t matter when they all know who has Doyoung’s heart.)

“You have to tell him.”

Haewon looks up from her plate in surprise, meeting Johnny’s eyes. After Haewon had blurted out what she had seen at the airport, Johnny had fallen awfully silent, concentrating on the road ahead of them and only asking factual questions. Haewon had never seen him so serious before, watching his expression morph from disbelieving to crestfallen as the news gradually sunk in.

It had taken four hours and a whole pot of fettuccini for Johnny to say something.

She looks at him for a moment, twirling the pasta with her fork and making endless bolognese sauce circle patterns.

“Don’t get me wrong – I think he should know. But you don’t think that would be overstepping? It’s not really any of my business.”

“I’m over it.” Johnny comments abruptly, until he catches Haewon’s judgmental look. “I meant the betrayal. I’m over it. She’s not my fiancée, I’m not going to invest any more of my emotions in this.

“But practically, have you thought about this? If she can cheat so close to the wedding, do you think she’ll stop even after?” Johnny’s voice is low and measured. “God, I’m so glad I RSVP’d no. I don’t think I’d have been able to stomach it, especially now knowing this.”

Unlike Haewon, it had only taken Johnny two days to respond to Doyoung’s wedding invitation, citing an emergency company conference happening in London. This hadn’t sat well with Doyoung, at least not according to what Haewon had overheard when she had reached home a little earlier that day.

(“Look, why on earth would I want to miss your wedding, Dons?” Johnny had been facing the living room window, his grip firm on the windowsill. “You’re- No, you don’t need me there, Doyoung, I am one person. You’ll have your whole wedding party there, all your high school friends and your entire family. You won’t even realize I’m not there.”)

Johnny has never been the biggest fan of Inhee – an opinion he has never hid from Doyoung since day one. While likening Inhee’s personality to an annoying yellow cartoon character, Johnny had been frank with Haewon about his inability to hold back from cringing at how extraneous, overblown and unnecessarily exuberant she is. To top it off, her fiancé happens to be practically Mensa level intelligent, while Inhee…

(“I was telling Doyoung about a new accounting system the company had decided to adopt, how I had thought that it was offered to us at a price that was too good to be true,” Johnny had recounted to Haewon at dinner one night, “and he told me maybe we needed to kick the tires on that offer first.”

“And she went,” Johnny had started to imitate her voice and gone up to a vocal inflection that was uncalled for, “oh, maybe you should kick the trunk too!’”

Haewon had almost choked on her dinner.

“I thought to myself, ‘what about kicking the bucket?’”)

The hilarity of his condescension aside, Johnny has always been at least respectful to Inhee, an implicit understanding of their respectful roles in Doyoung’s life at the forefront of his interactions. From her understanding of Johnny, she had been pretty sure that the reason he had given was legitimate, that he wouldn’t intentionally miss Doyoung’s wedding for any reason, but now there seems to be room for second guessing.

“I don’t know, maybe I misjudged the situation-”

Then she saw the look on Johnny’s face.

“Okay fine,” she picked at her food, “but I can’t ruin their relationship.”

“You’re not ruining their relationship; the relationship was ruined the moment she decided to cheat! You’re doing him a favor, you’re-” Then he realizes. “You’re projecting.”

“What?”

Johnny gnaws at his bottom lip, turning ideas over in his head. “You know what I’m thinking?” He continues when she doesn’t reply. “I think you want to tell him, but you think that the part of you who wants to tell him is the same part of you who’s in love with Doyoung.” He sighs. “That’s the real reason you can’t tell him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s not just that.” She takes his empty plate, scooping more pasta for him.

“The whole time we were in the car, and then back home, I’ve gone over so many scenarios in my head, of how this situation may turn out. The conclusion is always the same – he needs to know.

“I don’t need to be the person who tells him, but if I were in his position, I would want someone to tell me. Even if she ends it – which I really hope she does – it’s unfair to him if he doesn’t know that there was a time her heart didn’t belong to him. It is definitely cruel, but far less cruel than the idea of living in an illusion.

“It’s just that… I can’t think of a way to tell him without hurting him.”

Her phone rings, saving her from the conversation with Johnny, but his eyes are steady when he mouths to her “we’re not done” as she picks up her phone.

“It’s me.” The voice on the phone is quieter, gentler and wearier than ever, but undoubtedly belonging to Doyoung’s fiancée.

“Hi Inhee.” Johnny’s head whips up, his eyes widened.

“Can we talk?” She asks for them to meet later in the afternoon, then tells her that she would text her the details. Johnny has a resigned smile on his face when she puts down the phone.

“So it was her you saw at the airport.” He says lamely.

“Seems like it.”

“At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I’m just going to say what we’re both thinking – that if Doyoung had met you before he’d met her, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. If he’d met you a bit earlier, she wouldn’t even have been an option.”

Johnny’s loyalty is touching, but not especially helpful in light of the present situation, when she’s faced with the quandary of meeting Doyoung’s fiancée at a café two hours later. Even across the street, she can see her perched against the window of the café, wringing her hands nervously. Her hair is brought up into a high ponytail today, and she looks stunning in a baby pink tweed dress and short white boots.

Inhee’s gaze meets hers as she crosses the road towards the café, pursing her lips together as Haewon smiles casually back.

“I got Americanos for both of us,” she blurts immediately when Haewon pushes the door and the wind chime tinkles brightly.

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve seen you drink cups of them every day.”

“Thanks.” Haewon pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

It’s close to a minute later before Haewon speaks again. Clearly Inhee isn’t going to broach the subject, but she refuses to either. “Cool nails.”

This brings a small smile to Inhee’s lips. “Thank you.”

The waitress arrives, placing hexagonal marble coasters down onto the table and then the drinks onto the coasters. Haewon sips on her coffee, looking at the way the patterns converge on the coaster.

“I won’t make this long, I have a flight to catch…” Inhee gestures towards the luggage sitting next to her, pressing her lips together. It doesn’t take a genius to know that she was meeting her thick-lipped lover.

“Did you… Did you tell him?” Inhee’s voice is softer this time.

Haewon looks up at her, watching flecks of fear dance in her eyes, and shakes her head.

Inhee nods her head and inhales, as if expecting this response.

“Are you… going to?”

She licks her lips and places the coffee back down onto the coaster. “I don’t want to, but yes if I have to.”

Inhee let out a laugh with an edge. “Of course you would.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She scoffs quietly, lifting her gaze slowly, her lips pulling back to resemble a scowl and her jaw tightening. Haewon had never seen her like that.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at my fiancé?”

Haewon swallows, unable to reply.

“Kang Haewon, I know that you’re in love with Doyoung.”

Haewon concentrates on her breathing, falling silent in favor of Inhee’s calculated monologue.

“You're not fooling anyone. You are constantly around him, you’re close to Johnny-”

“I’ve never tried to do anything.” It’s like a dam has broken, and the words rush out of her mouth before she can stop them. They’re not the wrong words, they just seem self-centered, like she’s attempting to justify herself when there’s a relationship independent of her that’s at stake.

“I’m just saying, don’t factor me into the equation. It’s always been professional. It’s my job to be around him, and when it’s not, when he wants to be around Johnny, I always excuse myself.”

There’s something cruel about being so self-righteous as the lips and hands of her boss’ fiancée tremble uncontrollably, but Haewon lets her words cut through. It feels like with every word, she’s slowly regaining the breaths that had been stolen from her all these years. She watches as something hard darts around in Inhee’s eyes, the same eyes that reflect her own rigid posture.

“He was attached even before I knew him, and passionately in love. I could never take that away from him-”

“You don’t think I know that you’re the reason Johnny isn’t coming to the-”

“You flatter me too much.” Haewon chuckles humorlessly, tucking strands of hair behind both her ears. “So is this why you asked to meet? Because if this is it, I would like to leave.”

She gets up from her seat, placing way too many bills that the coffee could be worth on the table before turning to leave, but stops short at Inhee’s next statement.

“Things haven’t been okay for a while now.”

Even as she sits herself back down, Inhee’s gaze remains far away from her.

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.” Something occurs to her, and she lets out a laugh somewhat verging on hysterical, “do you know we haven’t had sex in four months?!”

She looks at Haewon, like she’s searching for an answer she knows she can’t give her. And Haewon, she tells herself not to avert her eyes as Inhee squeezes her hands together. The whole scene feels vaguely invasive, bearing witness to the chipping of a stranger’s carefully polished veneer.

“You don’t need to tell me this-”

“I kept telling myself it’s wedding jitters, but…” Inhee bites back a cry, “I think he doesn’t love me anymore.”

She bursts into tears, shaking and crying into her hands. It’s like the glossy, rosy façade of the airline poster girl is slowly being lifted off, the remains of an embittered, desperate shell of a person sitting in front of her.

Haewon doesn’t know what to do, but can’t find it in herself to completely retract from the situation, so she pulls her chair towards Inhee, not even blinking when Inhee throws her arms around her and sobs even more mournfully.

“I know I don’t deserve to say this… but I just love him so much. I don’t want to lose him, Haewon, I’m so scared.”

“He’s my whole world, he has always been…”

It feels like hours later when she leaves the café, hailing a cab for a broken-hearted Inhee to take her to wherever she might want to go. She feels the tell-tale buzz of her phone in her pocket, knowing instantly that Johnny must have grown impatient of waiting for her update on this meeting.

But as she checks the notification banner on her phone, as her brain wraps around the curves of the letters forming the name of the email sender, her heart almost skips a beat.

Nothing, however, can prepare her for the first line she reads on her locked screen.

Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you…

w/n: last week’s update was intentionally postponed to this week; there will be regular posting (shifted to Saturday, 11pm KST) from now on.

also, I’m sorry for my long and sometimes convoluted sentences. i try my best, but we all know fic!doyoung would never give any of my work a second glance tbh. unlike the young author, however, i willingly apologize for my tenses.

28 notes · View notes

leam1983 · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Musings, Quatrième Partie: Electric Boogaloo

Danger. Darkness. Dwarves.

I’m in one of the deepest cavern networks I’ve seen in the past week-end. My last flare’s just started to dim out, casting the open mouth of the corridor, ahead, in partial gloom. The smooth dome of stone above me feels like a cathedral’s arch. I’ve found the Sistine Chapel in the depths of a forlorn rock waiting light-years away from my home - and all Management cares about is my quota.

The cavern’s mouth spits me into the largest chamber I’ve seen. My high-intensity flare gun’s payload hits a distant slope several hundred feet above me, turning into a barely-brighter star lost in the sea of bioluminescent fungi that coats what almost feels like the inner curves of a titanic geode.

“Oh my God,” I say on Skype, cheekily adding a pause, “it’s full of stars...”

I’m joshing with my friends, of course, but that wonderment isn’t entirely fake. I’ve seen plenty of medium-sized chambers before, most of them cut off from one another by walls of packed dirt our Driller technician works through, or connected by long corridors that are just random enough to evoke the snakelike meanders left by streams of water eating away at limestone for thousands of years. Apart from my company’s provided space station, I haven’t seen a single space that carries the comforting lines of man-made design.

Nature carves away at rocks with no regard for Man’s ambitions. The walls close in or pull so far back the brightest of your flares becomes almost indistinguishable from the surrounding pockets of blood-red Nitra or sparkling, star-like Morkite. Nature cozies up in those dark, almost Eldritch spaces that haven’t seen light nor footstep since the planet’s formation, adding pockets of bioluminescence or other bits of chemical trickery that only succeed in piercing the pitch-black recesses with pockets of low, fey light. There aren’t staircases or guide-lights, here. One false step at the favor a dimmed flare could send me tumbling hundreds of feet down. To compensate, I obsessively keep an eye on my Terrain Scanner. The render isn’t especially legible, but it doesn’t take me too long to render those fat polygonal coils as my current prison of stone and crystal.

One of my friends pings a deposit. It’s gold - not mentioned in our quotas for the day, but still nonetheless appreciated. Our ancestors might’ve been the sort to wax on about the curse of gold, but we’ve got microprocessors to trace and solar panels to coat. With the company offering us room and board, filthy lucre matters less than coming back with a satisfactory performance report.

Our Gunner yells. He’s spotted Glyphid Swarmers and Grunts and runs back towards us. I turn to face his direction - effectively staring back at the sea of blackness that stretches behind me - when Management decides to warn us of the impending swarm just shy of a second after my colleague’s panicked, if astute observation. As I raise my flare gun again, I briefly catch sight of bobbing, ovoid patches of chemical light tinted a disquieting shade of seafoam. My headlight traces the contour of a leg, the curve of a mandible - and somewhere, the ghost of John Carpenter adds in the best anxiety-inducing Synthwave he can drum up. All that’s missing is jangling chains and the creak of rusting steel, and I’d swear I’m onboard the Nostromo.

My flare sails above the swarm, bringing all the curved carapaces and glowing internal organs into full view. The insects are converging, and they’ve noticed my colleagues taking potshots at their placid larvae.

“Horde is on me!” I shout. The Gunner’s Gatling gun rattles up ahead, the massive bulk of an Oppressor following in the swarm’s wake. If that beast slaps its forelegs down with enough force, entire blocks of stone and crystal might fall down on us. None of us will survive being crushed under this. Pulling out my grapple hook launcher, I Batman my way out of the encroaching mass and opt to use my newfound perch and my few seconds of earned peace to refocus, as well as lend a hand. Pulling out my assault rifle, I follow the Gunner’s kiting efforts and take shots at any and all exposed organs I can see, pausing only to toss a manual flare. They’ll last for several seconds less than my launcher-delivered, high-intensity variety, but two or three seconds of chemical light is all Gunny needs to zero in on the Oppressor’s rear end and unload. The remaining Swarmers are rendered to mulch by our Driller’s arm-mounted drill-bits, and the errant pickaxe swing or two takes care of the rest.

We’re wounded and tired, and none of us have spotted veins of Red Sugar for almost fifteen minutes. “The Chapel”, as we’ve taken to referring to the now-obvious main chamber of the complex, has a few patches of packed earth that easily fall away to reveal other side-paths, other slithering byways delving towards deeper darkness. Being the Scout, I’m quick to notice that if a swarm cuts me off from my teammates in these twisting paths, I won’t have any decent angles of elevation to escape to. I’ll be able to sail across their numbers, sure - but only insofar as to turn their rear into their front. Their rear usually packs other Oppressors, Praetorians and Wardens - if not worse.

The short of it is that if worse comes to worst around here, I won’t survive. The Engineer drops a turret at the tunnel’s entrance and decides we’ll try and circle around, see if there’s a point where the Chapel’s walls turn thin and could be forcefully made to intersect with that corridor at the favor of a few pickaxe strikes.

Darkness has engulfed us again, by the time we’ve come to an agreement. The crystals weakly refract our headlights, looking almost spectral.

Unfortunately, my Gunny’s a Level One greenbeard. He’s spotted a chemical vent next to us, and noticed how the limestone deposits that have formed a chimney of sorts are easy to hack through. One errant swing too many adds a spark to flammable gases - and we all die.

Such is life in the unhallowed bowels of Hoxxes IV, and such is the lot of Deep Rock Galactic’s employees.

This comes highly, highly recommended.

#deep rock galactic #story #review?#review #game

13 notes · View notes

cerezsis · 5 years

Text

Too Soon

Human AU

Summary: Winona Damon is pregnant with baby #3. All is going well… until it’s not.

WARNING: This story depicts blood, premature labor, and pregnancy/birth complications. Tread cautiously if you are bothered by any of those topics.

“Good morning, Mrs. Damon,” the young secretary greeted.

The 45-year-old CEO barely even nodded in response as she headed to her office. She was far too busy to bother with pleasantries. The new summer collection was due to launch in less than a month, and there was still so much to do.

Winona closed the office door behind her and immediately began shuffling through papers. She groaned internally as she caught a glimpse of the clock. She had barely a half hour until her first conference call. Normally she arrived to work at least an hour earlier than she had that day, but the small bump in her abdomen had caused her to run behind. This was her second pregnancy and third child, so she knew well all the ways it could slow her down, but this one was already causing her more grief than the twins had. Perhaps it was because she was much older than she’d been when she had Yvonne and Beatrix, but stars she was so much more tired this time around. It was bad enough that her unborn daughter had a habit of using her bladder as a trampoline, but add in the round ligament pains, and trying to sleep was impossible.

Just as she always did, Winona pulled herself together in time for the conference call. It was the usual talks of which rings should be the center focus of the commercials and which bracelets should appear largest in the print adds. About halfway through the call, Winona stood up from her desk to retrieve the file of sample earring ads, when she felt a painful tightening in her abdomen. A small cry escaped her lips, not unlike the sound one would make after stubbing their bare toe on a sharp corner.

Round ligament pains again, Winona rationalized, I stood up too fast.

The conference call continued as planned, but Winona wasn’t as focused as she’d been before. This tightness in her abdomen had never happened before, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of unnerve. The remaining hour and a half of the call could have been pure static for all she knew. She was too preoccupied with the persistent thought that she needed to call her OBGYN.

Winona started to breathe easier as the executives and heads of marketing and advertising began their words of departures. She had a few hours until her next meeting, which would give her plenty of time if her doctor thought her concerns warranted a trip to her office. Just as Winona was about to say a hasty goodbye, she was silenced by the feeling of something warm gush between her legs. Her immediate thought was that the baby had hit her bladder too hard, but that went out the window when she saw her white skirt rapidly turning red.

“Mrs. Damon are you still there?” an executive on the other line asked.

Winona had already slammed open her office door before the question had been fished. The intern screamed at the sight of her, alerting the sea of cubicles to their boss’s plight. Winona found herself unable to move as blood pooled at her feet. Her body was shaking and sweating as she felt the color quickly drain from her face. Half the room was frozen in fear, and the other half was rushing to her aid. The lights were getting dimmer. Her secretary caught her as she fainted.

Her last thought before completely blacking out was of the stillness in her abdomen.

“What do you mean you’re delivering the baby!?” Yvonne screamed at the attending nurse. She and Beatrix had been in school when they got word of their mother’s condition. Naturally, they’d left immediately for the hospital. Beatrix hadn’t stopped crying since they got in the car. “Mom’s only five months pregnant!”

“Ms. Damon, normally we’d try to hold off delivery for as long as possible, but the placenta has detached completely,” the nurse explained, “With the amount your mother is hemorrhaging, if we don’t deliver now, both she and the baby will die.”

Beatrix cried harder. Yvonne’s jaw clenched, and her hands were balled in fists.

“What’s going to happen to the baby?”

“We’re going to do all we can for her Ms. Damon, but in my professional opinion, 24 weeks gestation is far too early for there to be a predictable outcome. Her odds of surviving are anywhere from 30-50%.”

Yvonne’s jaw clenched tighter. She didn’t like those odds.

“We’ll notify you when your mother’s out of surgery,” the nurse went on, “If the damage to her womb is as bad as the doctor’s predicting, we might have to perform a hysterectomy. We’ll keep you two updated.”

Yvonne nodded. As the nurse hurried off, the elder twin turned her attention to her crying sister.

“It’s going to be ok, Bea,” Yvonne assured her as she sat down in the seat next to her, “You know mom. She’s going to pull through.”

“B-but the baby,” Beatrix sobbed, “Y-Yvonne, our b-baby sister…”

She couldn’t complete her sentence. Yvonne held her as she began to cry harder.

The sound of consistent beeping was the first thing Winona heard as she started to come to. She tried to recall what had happened and where she was, but getting her thoughts straight was like trying to navigate through a maze in a sea of fog. Opening her eyes, she could make out two tubes attached to her arm; one for an IV drip and one for a blood transfusion. Something attached to her finger was monitoring her pulse and heart rate. Still clouded in confusion, she tried to sit up, but was stopped by her attending nurse.

“It’s too soon Mrs. Damon,” she advised.

Right on cue, Winona felt a sharp pain spike through her abdomen. She hissed as she laid back down, instinctively placing her hand on what should’ve been her baby bump. It was then that it all came rushing back to her.

“My baby! Where is she?”

“She’s in the NICU, Mrs. Damon. You’ll be able to see her tomorrow morning.”

“You will take me to see her now,” Winona demanded.

“Mrs. Damon…” The nurse chose her next words carefully. “Due to the damaged caused by the placental abruption, we had to perform a postpartum hysterectomy. The doctor doesn’t want you out of bed until tomorrow.”

Winona stared blankly at the nurse. She wasn’t sure how to process that. She hadn’t planned on having more children after this one, but a hysterectomy…

She decided she’d have to figure out how she felt about that later. What truly mattered right now was her baby.

“What’s happening with my baby? Is she…”

“She’s not doing great, but it’s too soon to come up with a prognosis. Babies born at this stage are very touch and go.”

“So what you’re saying is my baby could die at any moment, and you’re not even going to let me see her?”

“That’s not what I-”

“No, let me finish,” Winona interrupted, her tone quickly shifting from one of fear to anger, “Do you know who I am? I’m Winona Damon, founder and CEO of Damon’s Diamonds. I could buy this whole hospital if I wanted to. I will not sit here and be told what to do by someone who’s worth less than my Porsche. Now, go do whatever you have to do to get me to my baby girl, or I will have your job!”

The nurse stood there for a moment, speechless. Finally, she walked out of the room without another word. Winona waited, impatiently, for her to return with a wheelchair and whatever else she needed to make her mobile, but instead she was greeted by an agitated looking Yvonne and a clearly hysterical Beatrix.

“How are you feeling, mother?” Yvonne asked, though her tone sounded like she’d rather be asking “Why on god’s green earth are you threatening the hospital staff?”

“Where has that nurse gone to?” Winona demanded.

“Mother, please,” Yvonne begged, she and Beatrix moving to stand at their mother’s bedside.

“You just had major surgery!” Beatrix added, “You need to rest.”

“What I need is to get to your little sister,” Winona protested, “Have you two seen her yet?”

“No, but-”

“We’ll go together then. One of you go get the nurse.”

“Mother-”

“Don’t you “mother” me! I’m the parent, you’re the child! You listen to me! Now one of you go bring that nurse back here or so help me I’ll-!”

“Alright, alright, mother!” Yvonne said, mostly out of fear Winona would end up reopening her wound if she didn’t calm down, “I’ll talk to the nurse and see what I can do.”

Winona was satisfied enough with that response. Yvonne left the room, Beatrix following close behind her. She didn’t like being alone with her mother when she was angry.

After much arguing with nurses and doctors, and having to sign several wavers stating she understood the consequences of disobeying doctors’ orders, Winona was finally wheeled down to the NICU, her teenage daughters following alongside. It had the most depressing energy out of everywhere else in the maternity ward, riddled with sick babies and scared parents. The Damon women were soon at the side of the incubator labeled with their family name. Beatrix gasped, Yvonne’s eyes widened, and Winona stared blankly at the much too tiny creature that was housed inside of the incubator. She was skinny, wrinkly, and hooked up to so many tubes and wires. Her delicate eyes were covered with a tiny eye mask, too sensitive for the fluorescent lights of the hospital. She was so still, the only indication that she was alive coming from all the machines she was hooked up to. The twin sisters looked at each other, communicating without words that this thing looked more like an alien creature than a baby.

“I’m sorry to say that I can only allow you to look at her,” the doctor explained, “She’s too weak to be held, or even touched right now.”

Winona was silent. Yvonne and Beatrix were silent. This little thing was so fragile. How could it ever fulfill the dream of the bright young heiress they all envisioned?

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve had time to examine her,” Yvonne said to the doctor, “What’s the prognosis?”

“As I’ve already explained, Ms. Damon, I can’t say for sure at this point. Things can change from minute to minute.”

“But what about this minute?” Beatrix begged, “What are things looking like this minute?”

The doctor’s expression dropped.

“Right now… I wouldn’t encourage getting your hopes up.”

The twins expressions dropped alongside the doctor’s. They’d expected as much, but to hear it out loud…

“Piper,” Winona finally spoke.

All eyes turned to the new mother.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Damon?”

“Piper. Her name is Piper.”

It had been three weeks since Piper Damon was brought into the world. Though she was on doctor’s orders to get as much rest as possible, Winona hadn’t missed a second of visiting hours. She’d been warned several times that her recovery time would be much longer if she didn’t take it easy, but, as she often did, Winona dismissed their concerns in favor of her own instincts. Nothing would keep her from her baby, especially not today.

Winona sat in a curtained off area in the NICU, little Piper in the incubator beside her. Unbuttoning the last button of her blouse, she watched in anticipation as the nurse removed the impossibly tiny baby from her incubator. At long last, Winona’s newborn was placed on her bare chest, a baby blanket provided by the hospital placed over them.

The mother smiled at the baby, who, though still connected to several wires and tubes, was finally where she was supposed to be; in her mother’s arms.

“Hello Starlight,” Winona softly said.

Piper’s eyelids began to twitch. She didn’t need to keep her eye mask on for as long of periods anymore, and just a few days ago she opened her eyes for the first time. Winona hadn’t been lucky enough to be there to see it, and Piper had still yet to open her eyes during visiting hours. Maybe now she’d finally get the chance to look into her daughter’s beautiful eyes.

Winona gently ran her finger down Piper’s pencil thin arm, stopping when she reached her impossibly tiny hand. The nurse had gone to tend to another family. It was just the two of them now.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry,” Winona began to sing, “Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.”

Piper’s eyelids continued to twitch. She was clearly reacting to her mother’s voice.

“Little one, when you play, pay no heed what they say. Let your eyes sparkle and shine. Never a tear, baby of mine.

“If they knew all about you, they’d end up loving you too. All those same people who scold you, what they’d give just for the right to hold you.

“From your head down to your toes, you’re not much, goodness knows, but you’re so precious to me. Sweet as can be, baby of mine.”

As the song came to an end, Piper’s tiny eyes fluttered open. Winona smiled proudly as she held onto the baby’s doll sized fist. Her eyes were a bright blue, though were likely to change as she got older. Winona hoped they’d turn gray, like her own.

“There you are,” she quietly said to the baby.

As quickly as they were open, Piper’s eyes shut again. Though it felt too soon, Winona was so happy to finally see it.

“We’re all so excited to bring you home. We’re already almost finished with your nursery. Everyone’s told me not to get my hopes up, but I know you’re a fighter. You’re a Damon, after all. Soon you, me, and your sisters will all be together in the estate. You’ll have many toys to play with, you’ll want for nothing. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Piper?”

Though her view was obstructed by the breathing tube, Winona could’ve sworn she saw Piper smile.

#su #steven universe #my writing #white diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #pink diamond #human au #the great diamond authority #it's been too long since I've written something

52 notes · View notes

xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

Text

Remnants, Part IX

Chapter Summary: This chapter is transitional, so bear with me. I’ll be borrowing some ideas from the NATM movies, but mostly doing whatever I want to the plot to make it more Ahk-centric. Part X will be the final, action-packed chapter, but I do have an epilogue outlined, too.

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII

Story Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

Thanks so much to @kitkatcronch @kpopperotp12 @seafrost-fangirl @sassystrawberryk @perfect-rami @txmel @limabein and @rami-malek-trash for reading : ) If anyone else wants added to the taglist, let me know. I’ve greatly appreciated the feedback!

Warnings: None

It was mid-April, and you smiled as the sun warmed your skin. Although the air still held a chill, it was clear from the budding trees lining the courtyard that summer would soon make an appearance. It had been a particularly brutal east coast winter, and even though the thought of summer brought forth deep pangs of nostalgia, the sun was a welcome change.

“Okay, Y/N,” Chelsea said as she flicked a long strand of hair over her shoulder. “One more time from the top.”

You began the introduction to your thesis defense for the tenth time that afternoon. In two weeks, you would be in front of a room of both your current and potential peers delivering your defense. The details of your work had drawn a lot of curiosity, so your chairs warned you that it would be a full house. You felt your work as a TA prepared you pretty well for addressing a full auditorium, but you knew that you probably wouldn’t sleep properly until this was all over. To secure job offers, your delivery needed to be stellar.

In addition to professors, a variety of museum directors and field experts, including the museum director of Cairo, were flying in to listen to your defense. Thanks to Ryan, your name had become familiar to the director in Cairo, and he began to closely follow your publications. If your defense went well, you could be fielding offers not only from all over the states, but globally.

After Ryan’s six months in Africa, he transferred to The University of Sydney to finalize his thesis and finish his PhD. You always had a hunch that he’d return home, and you sent a text congratulating him, wishing him the best. He’d responded something similar and that was the last you had talked to him in a while. As much of a presence as Ry once was in your life, it was shocking how quickly you could put a person behind you.

Unless, of course, you were still in love with that person. Despite Ahkmenrah’s last words and his desire to no longer see you, your feelings had not waned. The days did get easier, and you were actually prone to smiling and going out with your friends, but when it got quiet, when you ran out of things to keep your mind occupied, your mind flooded with your memories of him.

It had been eight months since you had seen Ahk, nearly double the time you had actually spent with him. That was one of the reasons you knew your feelings were real, unlike anything you had experienced before. Normally, like with Ryan, when someone was out of your life, they were just that—out. You thought of them less and less until you never thought of them at all. That was the nature of life—people came and went, just like in that verse from the “Prufrock” poem by T.S. Eliot: “In the room the women come and go. Talking of Michelangelo.”

You still had to work every single day to keep thoughts of Ahkmenrah at bay.

Chelsea finalized her markings in your notebook and handed it back to you.

“I really think you should stick to opening with that in-depth description of the Nile—the sight, the sound, the smell—it’s riveting. It sets up the scene for the Egyptians acceptance of Akhenaten’s proposal—one river that gives life, one god that gives life.”

You nodded, drawing a star by Chels’s note.

“I’ll rework the PowerPoint tonight. Can I buy you dinner as a thank-you?”

Chelsea laughed, “You don’t need to keep feeding me. I’m happy to help. God knows you’ve proofed enough of my papers over the years.”

You grinned and shrugged your shoulders.

“Does that mean you aren’t hungry?”

Chelsea shrugged into her backpack and said, “Hey. Let’s not get hasty now.”

The two of you giggled together as you decided on a place for dinner.

* * * * *

After latching your door and sliding the deadbolt into place, you dropped your backpack by the coffee table and headed to the fridge to grab a water. You wanted to make Chelsea’s suggested change to your PowerPoint presentation and then settle in to do yet another round of edits.

You nearly had each slide memorized, but when you got to the part of your presentation that challenged your field’s previous notions about Egyptian royalty and argued that the emergence of monogamy in marriages made for a natural evolution to Akhenaten’s monotheistic cult, you paused, your mind swirling with thoughts of Ahkmenrah and his parents.

You knew once your mind began swirling with memories of Ahk that your proofing skills were rubbish after that, so you shut your laptop and made a cup of tea, sipping it while you watched some light television.

This was your nightly routine; the more you could push away your thoughts of Ahkmenrah and the museum, the easier it would be to fall asleep.

You settled into bed, and after about a half an hour of tossing and turning, you fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

The cat in your lap purred, its sleek, warm body a welcome weight. You smiled as you stroked the fur behind its ears, noticing that the cat was curled tightly in your lap, settled on your white linen dress that fluttered around your ankles; golden bangles intermixed with brightly colored beaded bangles adorned both of your arms and jingled pleasantly as you moved.

As you looked up from the sweet creature snuggled on your lap, you smiled as you took in the scene before you. Below, the Nile sparkled in the sun, its lifegiving waters reflecting a deep blue that reminded you of a stormcloud plump with rain. Palm trees littered the banks, grouped in clusters that shaded the grass underneath.

A strong, but soft hand, one that you knew well, slid over your bare shoulder. Your eyes closed to your husband’s loving touch, his fingers eliciting goosebumps as they slid down your upper arm.

“Still so sensitive to my touch, love?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, eyes still shut as Ahkmenrah’s presence enveloped you.

“Would you like to join me for the meeting with the builders? They believe they have figured out a way to extend irrigation channels into Fayyum to revitalize the fields there.”

“Oh? That’s excellent news!”

Ahkmenrah returned your grin, reaching to take your chin in this hand, his fingers grasping the point to tilt your head up. He leaned down for a kiss, sweet, at first, but with a quick swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip, it occurred to you that it was odd for the king to be visiting you mid-afternoon.

You licked across your lower lip, relishing in the taste of him.

“Is there something else that you wanted, my king?”

“I missed you,” Ahkmenrah said with an earnestness that squeezed your heart.

“I always miss you,” you said, gently prodding your sleepy companion until they leapt off your lap, allowing you to stand and stretch before turning to face your husband.

You slid your hands up his biceps and locked your eyes onto his. His eyes were particularly blue today, not unlike the Nile. Words weren’t needed as you looked at each other, love etched across both of your faces.

Ahkmenrah pulled you close to him and closed his lips over yours once more. Soon, you were lost in the passion of the kiss, in the way his body felt against yours, and in the warmth that radiated from his love.

~ ~ ~

You gasped as you bolted upright, sweat pooling at your lower back and across your temples. It was the third night in a row that you had this same dream and its vividness continued to overwhelm you. Similar dreams had plagued you over the months, but there was something about the clarity and the purity of emotion within this dream that made it much worse than the others.

The tears were already formed and as you laid back down, they silently spilled onto your pillow. You knew that no matter the results of your dissertation, you would have to put distance between yourself and Ahk.

When you loved someone, sometimes you really did have to let them go.

* * * * *

Normally, you weren’t one for big parties, but the laughter and spontaneous emission of congratulations along with the buzz of the bar, the clang of glasses, the din of the band in the next room, were all a welcomed cacophony. You hadn’t a clue how many drinks had been bought for you and even worse, consumed by you, but you were the happiest you had been in months.

You passed!

You earned your PhD and you had a small pile of job offers to sort through, although you already knew which one you were going to take. It wasn’t quite as much money as some of the others, but it was your dream; and even better than fulfilling your dream, you would be able to give something back to the person who had helped you in your hour of need.

After you had presented your defense, as you were shaking hands with Dr. Omar Gamal, the director of the Museum of Cairo, an idea took shape and you weren’t ashamed to think that it really was brilliant.

As you finished the drink in your hand, you gathered everyone’s attention to announce that you were taking the job in Cairo. Cheers erupted and you couldn’t stop grinning as your friends and family took turns congratulating you and peppering you with questions.

What you didn’t tell anyone was that you already knew exactly what you were going to do once you got there, thanks to Ahkmenrah’s papyruses and your journey through his memories. If you couldn’t be the one to bring happiness into Ahk’s life, then perhaps a reunion with his parents could.

* * * * *

By early September, you were well settled in Cairo. Finding Merenkahre and Shepseheret proved to be easier than you expected. In the basement of Cairo’s museum, there was a repository of unidentified mummies, most proving to be average Egyptians who had just enough money to build a decent tomb.

Apparently, as a final insult, Kahmunrah had buried his parents as commoners to ensure their afterlife would be the opposite of the glorious affair normally reserved for the royals. To Kahmun, a life without luxury was the true punishment, so you really weren’t shocked to find that he did bury both of his parents together. Of course something like love wouldn’t have been valuable to him.

Villains. In the end, they’re all the same.

At first, Omar thought you were crazy, and you thought that you were going to for sure get fired. One of the most prominent kings of the Middle Kingdom and his beloved wife were Unidentified Mummies #17 and #18? Impossible.

But after extensive tests, you were able to prove that the ages and the causes of death matched that of Merenkahre and Shepseheret. What you weren’t able to do was reveal your exact source. It took a lot of cross referencing and circular explanations, but Omar was diverted when you made your proposition for an exciting new exhibit, and even more diverted when you made your proposition to reunite Merenkahre and Shepseheret with their son, Ahkmenrah.

Omar’s dream was to return all major Egyptian exhibits to their homeland in order to declare them property of the Museum of Cairo. Lending them out to travel the world was one thing, but it was a true indecency when colonizers were the ones who still owned what was taken from the Egyptians’ land.

You had sketched up a proposal of showing the three layers of royal Egyptian life—the throne room, the Royal Wife’s garden, and the prince’s chambers. The only hitch in your plan was that to raise the funds for a permanent exhibit in Cairo, you had to build the exhibit at the British Museum of Natural History. If they held the first rights to display, they would fund a permanent exhibit in Cairo.

The British Museum could also secure the rights to display Ahkmenrah because the American museum was willing to trade Ahk for the mummy of Ahmose-Meritamun; the Americans would then be able to create a female-centric display, something they had been looking to do to showcase the prominence of women during the Ancient Egyptian empire.

The only thing left to do was to ensure that Larry and Rebecca helped to keep your surprise—when Ahkmenrah was ready to be moved, he should know only the scarcest of details.

For the first time in a long time, everything was going according to plan.

* * * * *

After Omar popped the top of the champagne, the cork skittered across the floor and you and your team laughed as you held out glasses out to catch the bubbly alcohol.

Merenkahre and Shepseheret’s exhibits were a smash hit. Your PR team had been hyping the return of Ahkmenrah next month to complete the triage of Egyptian royals and opening night had already been sold out.

The current exhibit of Merenkahre and Shepseheret had been featured in multiple publications and the detail of each layer of royal life had cemented your place as one of the top anthropologists in the world. You never forgot that you owed it all to Ahkmenrah, and you never forgot that you were really doing all of this for him. Within the next month, he would be reunited with his parents.

Your phone rang, its music invasive and interrupting the happy atmosphere.

You sipped the top of your champagne before it could overflow and checked the screen.

Larry.

Larry never called. He was a texter, and it had been a long time since you talked. He was still working as the night guard, but he started going to classes to get his teaching degree. Aunt Rebecca was proud of his initiative, and she had kept you up to date on his progress; had she been calling, you wouldn’t have thought twice about letting it go to voicemail and checking it later. But Larry calling . . . something wasn’t right.

“I gotta answer this—be right back!” you said as you moved away from the laughter and the even happier chatter.

“Hey Lar—what’s up?”

“Y/N! I’m so glad you answered. Look, I’m not sure how to tell you this, and he doesn’t even know I’m calling you because he’d probably sick those jackals on me if he did find out and we all know—”

“Larry. You’re babbling. What’s going on?”

“Ahk’s sick.”

“Sick? He’s a regenerated mummy. He comes back to life in perfect health, perfectly restored. How could he be . . . sick?”

“It’s the tablet. I think the tablet is . . . dying.”

You had made your way to the end of the hallway where a large set of stairs led up to the display. You sat down, hard, on the top stair, your body numb, your mind whirring—you were so close to giving Ahkmenrah his parents back. He couldn’t be dying, for fuck’s sake. He just couldn’t be.

“Tell me everything.”

#Ahkmenrah #ahk #ahkmenrah fanfiction #NATM #natm ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #rami malek #rami malek's character #ahk x reader

147 notes · View notes

the-walnut · 5 years

Text

Night Vale + Scientists

Alrighty, I’m relatively new to this fandom and all, so I’m not entirely sure how well this actually coincides with canon and whatnot, but I’m going to feel free to vocalize this anyway.

We all know from relatively early on in this particularly lovely podcast that Carlos the “Perfectly Imperfect” Scientist has an unrivalled passion for the unexplained. The idea of mystery drives him crazy, and he chases blindly after anything that doesn’t have a feasible answer, that can’t be understood, that seems far too beyond human comprehension to decode- a trait that, I will argue to my last dying breath, is part of why he fell head-over-kettle in love with Cecil Palmer, perhaps the most mysterious and unexplainable character in the show, and the first impossible riddle he wasn’t hell-bent on solving

Cecil, though, is the exact opposite of his counterpart. See, Cecil’s job is announcing the happenings of Night Vale, not analyzing them. When something occurs out of the ordinary, he doesn’t always need a ‘why’- in fact, in most regards, Cecil’s pretty content to just have a general grasp of what’s going on or what to expect from something and roll with the punches. Animal carcasses raining from the sky? Don’t panic, just get a stronger umbrella. The sun didn’t rise today? You know, that happens sometimes. It’ll pass!

It makes sense, in this fashion, for the fandom to naturally come to the conclusion that Cecil is terrible when it comes to science. I’ve seen a lot of posts and fanart about the worst accidents in the lab being Cecil’s doing, and while they’re amusing, I have another perspective to bring to the metaphorical table.

What we often seem to forget is that, while Carlos always seems to come to the right conclusions at the right times, and make sense of an insensible world, he’s still an Outsider. Night Vale is a curious thing to most of its occupants, let alone an individual who wasn’t born and raised there. There’s a lot of stuff about this one unique speck in the desert that even Carlos doesn’t know anything about, and I have no doubt in my mind that it would hinder him sometimes.

So instead, in the early stages of their relationship, I can imagine Cecil waking up to a call from a frustrated Carlos, going off on an absolute venting tangent from the lab at 4:37 A.M. And at first, it’s a bit of a shock to both of them because, well, from Cecil’s end it is 4:37 A.M. on a Wednesday, and he’s talking particle theory with a man who probably should’ve tried getting some sleep three days ago at the rate he’s going, but all the other members of Carlos’ team have long since gone home, and he usually finds it helpful to go step-by-step through his experiments vocally to catch any mistakes or hash out new ideas.

After at least a full forty-five minutes of Carlos rambling into the phone about how the molecular bonding of this solution shouldn’t be even remotely close to what it is, and that he can’t understand why it keeps giving off such staggeringly different temperatures with each batch he makes, Cecil (getting over his initial surprise that Carlos is calling him of all people) gently reminds him that maybe he’d best rest and think about it again with a clear head.

“Try some of that raspberry oolong Intern Stephen dropped off earlier this week,” He suggests brightly, explaining that it’s supposed to help with clarity and that the crushed beetle wings in the mixture hardly throw off the taste at all. “And remember to whisper a compliment to the water before you try to boil it- it can get fussy otherwise, you know. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten and wound up with a solid block of ice in my kettle or, worse, the kettle itself melting all over the countertop. Terrible to get out of the carpet later in that case, but as long as you’re cordial, it should boil nicely for you.”

And at first, there’s dead silence on the other end of the line, before Cecil can hear Carlos scrambling to make a note on this development, because of course he wasn’t whispering anything to the water he’d used in his experiment, and that’s probably the reason for 74% of the problems he’s come across so far.

It doesn’t take long for this to become a normal occurrence, Carlos calling in regularly with all kinds of questions and, as before, just needing to talk through something, Cecil offering advice on how to handle certain stuff, or even just talking a while about the things Carlos is working with. More often than not, this leads to some kind of revelation, because while Cecil might not understand the science behind why glass stirring rods need to be used only in a clockwise direction, he at least knows that they just do, and that’s what Carlos needs.

Eventually, this extends to the rest of the lab crew as well, because, yes, they might be Night Vale residents, but there’s a pretty large chunk of information about their town that even they are missing. With how quickly things can come up or change in their spooky little town, it can be impossible to keep track of everything on one’s own. Tentatively at first, but with growing speed, the other scientists begin asking for advice and extra help with info as well.

Catching on to the trend, a new addition makes its way into Cecil’s radio show, where, every day, scientists can send in questions for the citizens of Night Vale, and they can respond accordingly, offering insight. If nothing else, it serves as a reminder to those listening in on the broadcast that their scientists don’t miraculously have the answers to everything, and that the downside to having the entire population of your city looking to you for those answers is sometimes not having any.

Even those who don’t have knowledge to offer find ways to help. Scientists return home, weary beyond measure from saving their friends and family from yet another disaster, only to find the lights already dimmed and welcoming, old takeout containers thrown away, and bed made. There’s a note on the table that would be eery and concerning, were it not for the sensation that there had always been a presence in their home, and, if nothing else, this only confirms one of their many hypothesises, setting another theory down to rest. Creatures (that definitely are not angels) appear in the lab every now and then, bringing with them a smiling old woman, and several Big Rico’s pizza boxes, cases of bottled water, and bundles of grapes. Nobody knows why grapes in particular. Maybe the not-angels have an affinity for them. Either way, the mandatory snack break is welcomed by many. Secret police mutter helpful tips from bushes under open windows, and, despite books being banned, once in a blue moon a torn-out page from some volume makes it’s way onto a given scientist’s lab table, curating many more questions, and causing many to reevaluate their perceptions of the harrowing librarians, the hooded figures who show no fear of them, and the public library itself.

Night Vale is a place of mystery and intrigue and danger- but it is also a place of people bonded by experience and survival. It’s a place called “home” by many, even if they do not necessarily understand it, and these are the people who save this city by supporting discovery in their own little ways. Night Vale loves its scientists, and it will do what it can to help them understand it even a little bit more.

#night vale #nightvale #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #cecilos #welcome to night vale #welcome to nightvale #WTNV #wtnv headcanons

674 notes · View notes

eleanor-writes-stuff · 5 years

Text

chemistry (my heart’s a city you’re out to destroy) - [IV/IV: EPILOGUE]

Kylo Ren - superhuman, mercenary, and the world’s most dangerous man – has recently resurfaced after a mysterious three-month disappearance.

Rey Niima, listicle writer by day and investigative reporter by night, is way too busy to worry about that. Seriously, she’s got a million things on her plate - she doesn’t have the time to think about anything else.

Especially now that news editor Benjamin Snoke has returned to the office and seems hell-bent on making her life… interesting.

At long last, the end.

Questions are answered, loose ends are tied up, and the road to recovery leads to a happily ever after.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter and Ko-fi?

. . .

At the last intersection before Takodana Street, Rey reaches out to still Ben’s nervous tapping against the steering wheel.

It’s the third time in ten minutes that she’s had to do so, and he allows her to pull his hand off the wheel and into her lap with nothing more than a sheepish look from under his lashes.

“Babe, you need to relax. I can’t believe big bad Kylo Ren is this nervous about meeting a little old lady.” Neither of their smiles sour at the mention of his alter ego; after six months of difficult but frank conversations, they’ve finally reached a stage where everything is out in the open but also firmly in the past, something to laugh about now that the wounds have healed.

They’ve also reached the stage where she introduces him to the woman she considers her mother for all intents and purposes, and Rey’s spent the past week trying to assure her boyfriend that tonight’s dinner is going to be just fine. Judging by the way Ben’s fingers keep twitching in her grip, she’s not exactly done a good job.

“Little old lady makes her sound so harmless,” he mutters as the light turns green. “She raised you, Rey. You. There’s no way she’s a harmless little old lady.”

She could tease him for that, but Rey takes pity on him and decides to simply accept it as the compliment that it is. “Okay, fine, so maybe she’s not going to be some cute little grandma,” she concedes, quickly powering through the rest of her sentence before Ben can panic, “but I promise everything is going to be okay. She’s going to take one look at you and ask to keep you forever.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

In the face of everything they’ve been through, of all they’ve overcome to reach this moment, introducing Ben to Maz doesn’t seem like a big deal at all. When she tries to tell him as much though, the tapping just starts back up.

Rey sighs and stares out the window at the familiar surroundings leading to her childhood home, casting about for a distraction. There’s no shortage of shared memories and inside jokes for her to pick from, but one in particular causes a laugh to bubble past her lips unbidden.

“What?” Ben asks, sparing her a quick glance as his lips twitch in response to her laughter.

Rey shakes her head. “Nothing, just… Remember that first day at the office? I didn’t realize it then, but…” She thinks back to their very first meeting outside of his mask, to the wild look in his eyes when she bumped into him, and laughs again. “You were horrified to see me, weren’t you?”

“I could never be horrified by you,” he objects, too distracted and defensive to realize he’s turned onto her street and Maz’s house looms just down the road. “I was terrified, sure, but not horrified.”

“You say that as if there’s a difference,” Rey snorts as they reach the end of the street, only to find that there is, in fact, a difference.

She’s seen Ben terrified many, many times now – starting, of course, with the incident they’re talking about. But parked in front of her mother’s house, having arrived without noticing it and now being mere feet away from his worst nightmare – this is the first time she’s ever seen Ben horrified.

“Is it too late to turn around?” Ben asks even as she moves to release her seatbelt. “We could just tell her I got sick and we need to reschedule–”

The weathered front door swings wide open, and Ben tenses as Maz appears in the doorway.

“Too late,” Rey shrugs, and laughs as she leans forward to press a reassuring kiss to his cheek. “C’mon, it’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Ben is the first person she’s ever brought home, and in the days following Maz’s invitation to dinner Rey had expected to find herself just as nervous as he is about the whole thing. They’ve already discussed the future, already made plans to move in together, but this makes it all real somehow, feels like the first actual step towards that future. And maybe five months ago – or three, or even one – that would have unsettled her, but Rey knows now that everything is as it should be, that they’re finally ready for this.

So she calmly takes Ben’s hands and gives them a squeeze, and gets out of the car to introduce the two most important people in her life to each other with not a single hint of nerves.

“I’m home!” Rey calls out with a grin as she rushes towards Maz, careful not to slam her weight into the older, smaller woman as they meet in a tight hug.

“Always good to have you back,” her mother murmurs into her hair, and they share a quiet moment before Maz pulls back and peeks beyond her shoulder to greet the new arrival. “And you brought a snack! Come closer, Rey’s boyfriend. Let me get a good look at those eyes my daughter is so lost in–”

Ben has always worked best under pressure, and this is no exception. His nerves seem under control as he makes his way up the driveway to join them, and there’s even a smile on his face as he humors Maz and stoops down so that she can get her hands on his shoulders and her face all up in his business, one hand pushing her Coke-bottle glasses up her nose to get a better look at him.

Maz gasps and takes a step backwards, and Rey braces herself for the kind of horribly yet charmingly dirty comment only a little old lady can get away with. At least she’s warned Ben about this bit, so she doesn’t have to worry about him running for the hills when Maz inevitably comments on what good handholds his ears must be or how those lips were made for a higher purpose or–

“Ben Solo!” she croaks, one hand to her heart, and Rey swears she’s never seen her foster mother this genuinely taken aback in all the years they’ve known each other. Maz’s eyes glimmer with tears as she slowly steps closer, reaching forward to settle a hand on Ben’s shoulder once more as her other hand slowly cups his cheek and pushes his face this way and that.

Ben, meanwhile, appears to be completely frozen.

“It is you,” Maz whispers in awe as she finally completes her examination, allowing Ben to straighten up to his full height in a daze. “I would know those eyes anywhere.”

“What– How–”

Rey winds one arm around Ben’s middle when both his voice and his footing falter, planting her feet in the ground when he sags against her just the slightest bit. “Maz, are you saying… you know Ben?”

“Know him?” her mother scoffs, voice still thick with emotion as she ushers them into the house, Rey pulling Ben along as he shuffles after her. “I practically raised this boy. Broke my heart to lose you, second only to your parents I’d say.”

That snaps Ben out of it. “My parents? You know my parents?”

Maz closes the door behind them. “Oh, child,” she sighs, eyes soft and sad as she pats Ben’s arm. “Come. There is so much to talk about.”

. . .

Dinner is left untouched and forgotten in the kitchen as the three of them huddle close together in the living room, Rey offering Ben silent support and comfort as he and Maz fill in the gaps in each other’s stories to finally form a complete puzzle.

The story goes like this:

One of Ben’s first memories of Snoke is his supposed father droning on and on about his uniqueness, about how special his bloodline makes him. It’s how Ben had pieced together the truth about his adoption-slash-kidnapping in the first place, realizing sometime around the age of six that the man who poked and prodded at him with needles and strange liquids and odd contraptions all day long was not his real family.

The story goes like this:

A long time ago, a highly respected scientist by the name of Sheev Palpatine rose to prominence for his seminal work on gene editing, and his magnum opus was a test subject by the name of Anakin Skywalker, a man he had been experimenting on since infancy in order to create the ultimate human specimen.

The story goes like this:

The Knights of Ren weren’t always five. In fact, when Ben was twelve and finally satisfactory to his father, Snoke introduced him to fifteen new playmates who would be living with them from now on. Having known no one other than his father from the age of four, young Ben was ecstatic to finally have friends – friends who, he would realize in time, just weren’t the same as him. They couldn’t run as fast, couldn’t jump as high, couldn’t kick as far, couldn’t play as long – and eventually, the slowest, weakest ones just… disappeared. In time, though, the four who remained learned to keep up with him, after months and months of poking and prodding and strange liquids and odd contraptions. And so the Knights of Ren were born, with Kylo Ren – the strongest, fastest one – their natural leader.

The story goes like this:

Eventually, the ugly truth about Palpatine’s experiments came to light, and with it a dozen nameless children buried in shallow graves. Not everyone, Palpatine argued, was ready to become the best possible version of themselves. Not everyone, he said, was destined for greatness. The law had none of it, and Palpatine was thrown behind bars for the rest of his short life while Anakin went through every test known to mankind until he was finally allowed to walk free and live a normal life, complete with a wife, two kids, and a white picket fence. Until one day, the past reared its ugly head and broke something inside him – and that day ended with a dead couple, two orphaned children, and a dark secret never meant to be unearthed.

The story goes like this:

Secrets never stay buried for long.

. . .

When all of the pieces finally fall into place, when the last question has been answered and there is no more room left for doubt, Maz goes upstairs to call the Organa-Solos and urge them to make the one-hour drive over.

“I always knew,” Ben says, head in her lap as they lounge on Maz’s porch, his eyes glued to the stars while hers keep careful watch over him, “that I had a family once. But for some reason I never thought…”

Rey runs her fingers through his hair and allows him to gather his thoughts.

“All of the others, they had lives from before, lives they remembered and could go back to after Snoke,” he murmurs after a while. Rey already knows this, already grilled him about the other knights months ago, but she lets him speak anyway. “But this life is all I’ve ever known, all I can remember no matter how hard I try. I’ve been Ben Snoke for so long I couldn’t even remember Ben Solo. Rey, what if… what if…”

Ben turns to her then, looking more scared than he had the night everything came crashing down around them, and her heart aches for him, for what he’s going through, for the pain and fear and tiny spark of hope she knows all too well.

“You know, by the time Maz found me, the Organa-Solos had all but disappeared from this city.”

She keeps her hand in his hair even as her eyes stare blankly ahead, taking a minute to sort out her thoughts before she turns back to a puzzled Ben. “Growing up, everyone knew who they were. Your mother practically ran this city, and your father was nothing short of a legend. But one day she stepped down and he retired, and not long after that they just… disappeared.”

Rey lets that sink in for a moment, holds still as Ben finally rolls off her lap and pulls himself up into a seated position next to her.

“I was still so young then, I had no idea what was going on. Only that the pretty lady wasn’t on front pages anymore and I never saw the Falcon in another race on TV again. But that was five years after you disappeared, Ben. They tried for five years to find you, did everything they could to hold on, and eventually it just broke them. They gave up everything – their jobs, their home, their lives – because it was too painful without you. Because they love you.”

Ben is crying now and so is she, tears running down their cheeks as she reaches for his hands.

“And I think… I know everything is going to work out, Ben. Because they love you. It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember them, or if they don’t recognize you, or if things are awkward at first. They love you, and you’ll love them, and that’ll be enough until everything else works itself out.”

Because it would have been enough, for her and her parents, if they’d just loved her.

And it has been enough, for her and Ben, while they fix everything else.

So Rey knows, she knows, that when Han and Leia walk through the door in an hour’s time and Ben meets his parents for the first time in more than two decades, everything will be okay.

“How can you know that?” Ben whispers, hands holding hers so tightly it nearly hurts. “How can you be so sure everything will be okay?”

Rey leans forward, presses her forehead to his and waits until Ben closes his eyes to do the same. “Because you’ve already been through so much, baby. Because I know you can make it through anything. And because I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”

That, above all else, is what finally gets him to relax into her and release her hands in favor of wrapping his arms around her waist.

“We’ll face this together, I promise,” she murmurs against his lips, kisses him soft and slow until she can feel the beginnings of a smile on him. “You’ll make it through this, Superman.”

He laughs, a puff of air against her chin, and Rey pulls back to find that teasing smirk she’s come to adore.

“Oh, so now I’m Superman?” Ben huffs as he crosses his arms, bright eyes giving away the act.

Rey hums in mock contemplation. “I mean, you did turn out to be my awkward coworker secretly moonlighting as a superhero, so…” She shrugs, biting back a grin as Ben pulls her into his lap.

“And who does that make you, then?”

Underneath his playful smile, behind the brightness dancing in his eyes, there’s still a small, scared boy forever looking for reassurance, forever unsure about his place in this world. So Rey trades her grin for a soft smile and gently takes his face in her hands, stares deeply into his eyes until the right words come to her.

In all honesty, she’s had them ready for months.

“The woman who loves you no matter who you are – Superman or Clark Kent, Kylo Ren or Ben Snoke or Ben Solo.”

Awe washes away everything else on his face, leaving Ben with wide eyes and parted lips as he takes in her words. His breath hitches, he slowly blinks his eyes, and then finally, finally he gives her a brilliant smile for all of two seconds before she’s pulled into a kiss that says everything she needs to know.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Ben whispers between kisses, holding her so close she swears she can feel the beating of his heart. “Always have, always will.”

The front door opens, and Maz says something about light traffic at this time of day and another forty minutes at most and–

Rey presses her palm to Ben’s heart, the heart she’s known from the very start even when nothing else was certain, and knows that together they can face anything.

. . .

And that's that, friends. After almost exactly three months - just two days shy, in fact - this story has finally come to an end. I can only hope it was a satisfying one for both characters and readers, and worth all the time and emotion you've so generously invested.

To @nancylovesreylo, I hope this satisfied you above all. I've come to love this Rey and Ben so dearly, but I know this story would never have existed without you. Thank you for this amazing prompt, and for everything else you do for this fandom. I could spend years trying to write a birthday fic worthy of you, but I hope this came somewhat close to that at least.

Once again, thank you to everyone for waiting even when all hope seemed lost, and for giving this odd little fic a chance in the first place. I hope you've enjoyed this, and as always please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment. Until next time, friends!

#reylo #rey x ben #kylo ren/rey #rey/kylo ren #rey/ben solo #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #my fics #fic: chemistry

60 notes · View notes