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flowersforjude · 17 days

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𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ≈ 𝐢. 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

❛ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦❜

﹙finnick odair x oc!fem reader﹚

﹙next chapter ➵ masterlist﹚┈﹙read on ao3 ➵ read on wattpad﹚

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | canon typical violence, slight self-injury, mentions of death, etc.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.8 k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I've been working on this for little over a year now. I've posted all current chapters on Wattpad and AO3. I thought I might as well post it here too. This chapter was really just for scene setting and character introduction. The juicer stuff is in upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!!

The crunching of gravel beneath hundreds of feet echoed through district four in a sorrowful song. Each pair of feet belonged to a different person with their own story. Each pair was distinct from the one beside them, in front of them, or behind them. But today they were all moving in the same direction, for the same reason. Today they all had one thing in common. They were all reluctantly marching towards the Justice Building because today was the reaping for the annual Hunger Games. They were hesitant, and yet everyone walked steadily on their path without complaint, as if resigned to their fate.

I walked with my mother Camilla, my father Lyle, and my little sister Shae. We are silent as we make our way to the growing crowd of people in front of the Justice Building. Today was not the day for idle conversation. Today was the day for fear or for hope. Fear that your name would be called. Hope that it wouldn't, or that some other unlucky child would be forced to go to their deaths.

This morning, as I got ready, I found myself sitting in the bath longer than necessary. I watched with blank eyes as I dipped my hand down into the cooling water and lifted it back out. Droplets of water raced down the back of my hand until they faded out like one of the many lives taken by the games every year.

The longer I sat in the cold tub of water, the harder it became to keep my mind focused on the small things. Like how shivers ran races down my spine or how my damp hair rested limply on my shoulders. No matter how hard I tried, my thoughts wouldn't stay simple for long. Soon they morphed into debilitating notions of blood and death. My mind ran rampant with scenes of tributes dying in brutal and messy ways.

Now as my feet crunched gravel under my soles, my brain created new ideas of torment. Shae turned twelve this year, and that meant it was her first Reaping Day where her name was in the drawing. It was only once, I kept telling myself. She wouldn't be picked. But the odds never favored ones in our position.

"This is where we go our separate ways." My mother said when we reached the point where we had to split up. I could see unshed tears making her brown eyes glossy as she pulled me and Shae into a hug. She kissed both our cheeks before stepping aside for our father.

"Be brave, girls." He told us and then bent down to hug Shae. When he straightened up, he pulled me in and squeezed. He gave me a kiss on the cheek before he stepped away completely.

"After the reaping, we met back here, and we'll go home." My mom said firmly, as if cementing the idea that both of her daughters would be returning to her. She wiped away a few tears that managed to sneak their way down her cheeks. "We love you both."

"We love you too," I replied.

My parents went off to the area where the adults watched. Watched as two kids were chosen to fight to the death. Shae and I walked on together, our breaths shallow with fear and anticipation. As we approached the spot where our paths diverged, I turned to say goodbye. Her eyes flickered over to me as if to plead for escape. She switched her gaze to her line, staring at it like a slithering viper ready to strike if she dared take even one step closer.

"Shae?" I dropped down to her height.

She started shaking her head, and her pink lips began to wobble. "I can't, Lyssa. I'm scared."

I gave her a sympathetic look and smoothed down her hair with my hands. "I know you're scared, but your name is only in there once. The odds of you being chosen are slim."

She inhaled deeply, her chestnut eyes still wide and fearful. I pulled her close and breathed into her hair the words of reassurance that she needed. I cupped her face in my hands, gave her a gentle nod of encouragement, and watched as she tentatively stepped away from me and towards the other children. It took everything in me not to grab the back off her dress and run.

I took my place in line with the other seventeen-year-olds and watched as the people in front of me got their fingers pricked by an intimidating looking woman.

As the seconds ticked by like the timer on a bomb, it grew harder to breathe. The nerves I chained down all this morning fighting their way up. An anchor pressed down on my chest, weighing my whole form down as it rested in the sand of the sea. I couldn't look scared. I knew it made no difference whether or not my fear was visible. If my name was called, then that was that. But I didn't want anyone to view me as weak. Even if that's what I was in reality.

My feet shuffled forward as the line flowed. The girl in front of me gasped loudly as her blood was drawn. In seconds, she was moving out of the line, and it was my turn.

"Next!" The woman called. "Name?"

"Lyssa Monroe."

She looked down the list till she landed on my name. She silently held out her hand, and I held my pointer finger out to her. She pricked it, but I barely registered the small pain; I was too focused on staying calm. She smeared my blood on multiple sheets of paper; in a way, she just sighed my possible death certificate. Those slips of paper will be sent to the big glass bowl, whose only purpose was to hand out death sentences. And I stood a chance of being called. I wonder if that bothers her. That by doing this job, she's sending kids to their deaths. I wonder how she feels or if she feels anything at all. Maybe she didn't; maybe you have to be void of emotion to do this job.

When she called for the next person, I stepped out of the way and went to stand with my age group. I pressed my still bleeding finger into the fabric of my dress. It was the nicest clothing item I owned, and I hated it. I wore it on reaping day and reaping day only. The atrocious piece of material served as a reminder of the worst days of my life. Days filled with fear and dread. The only thing I felt when I looked at it was anguish.

I didn't know any of the girls I was standing with, so I searched the crowd for Shae. I found her standing between two girls her age, but she was so small compared to them.

I caught her eyes and sent her a smile and a wink. I tried to look carefree for her even if my stomach was twisting in rough knots. Something was off; I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, swirling around like unruly waves in a storm. No matter how much I attempted to convince myself otherwise, today was not going to have a good outcome. But Shae needed me to reassure her so she wouldn't break down. I knew she was scared. This was her first year in the drawing; her name was only in once, but it was that one chance that kept her up all last night.

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The sharp pain of them digging into my skin was enough to ground me for now.

Sabine Glass, our district escort, strutted out from the Justice Building, and we all focused our attention on her. She had the usual bold and careless air about her as clicked her way to center stage. With each step, her dress glistened in the sun, its green sequins catching the light like tiny mirrors. Around her neck hung a necklace of bronzy-white seashells that matched her earrings, bracelets. The same shells were intricately woven into her updo. Her shoes were the same color as her dress and had heels so long that I wondered how on earth she even managed to walk on stage without falling.

She cleared her throat into the microphone, getting the attention of the crowd. "Welcome! People of District four, to the reaping of the 70th Hunger Games! I know we're all very excited to see who our tributes will be this year, but before that, we have a presentation from the esteemed President Snow!"

The crowd clapped with a small fraction of Sabine's enthusiasm. four was a career district, but only half the population fell into that category. So some of the citizens had pride for this whole charade, but the hatred and fear of the other half far outweighed that misguided respect for the games.

Two huge black screens were set up on either side of the building, and with Sabine's cue, they started to play the origin video of The Hunger Games. We were made to watch this video every reaping day, year after year. It was to remind us of the horror before the games so we wouldn't want to rebel again. When the video was over, Sabine began clapping, and slowly, the crowd reluctantly joined in.

"That was spectacular!" Sabine cheered into the microphone. "Let's begin, shall we? As per usual, ladies first!"

She walked over to the glass bowl and swirled her hand around in it, meticulously searching for the right slip of paper. The tension of the crowd was palpable. Everyone was still and the quietness was suffocating. My heart raced in my chest, like I had just gotten done for a swim and was laying on the warm sand of the beach, soaking up the sun's rays. Though even after all the time I spent out there, my skin stayed its same pale shade.

Sabine plucked out a slip of paper and pranced back over to the microphone. As she neatly unfolded it, my nails racked deeper into my palm, digging into my skin until I felt a slight trickle of blood flow down my palm. My ears clouded with the sound of adrenaline, and only Sabine's shrill voice brought my senses back to me.

"Lyssa Monroe!"

My heart stopped along with everything else as the blaring silence rang in my ears. Chills ran down my body, and the blood froze in my veins. I didn't move; I couldn't move. The girls around me murmured amongst themselves and stared at my unmoving body with sympathy and selfish relief.

"Lyssa Monroe?" Sabine spoke again, this time as a question.

The girls parted like a great wave, creating an aisle for me to walk through. The first step I took was unintentional, but it was like my body had switched to autopilot. My legs numbly carried me all the way to the stage. I didn't raise my head until I walked up the steps and was in front of the crowd.

As I lifted my eyes, the sun seemed brighter than before, momentarily blinding me. When they adjusted, my eyes met the crowd of my fellow District four members.

I found my parents in the cluster of adults. My mother had her face buried in my father's chest. Even from here, I could see her shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs. My father's face was set hard, but I knew he was trying to keep his tears reigned in.

I turned my attention to Shae, who had pushed her way to the front of her section. Her tiny hands held the barricade in a death grip. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears.

Sabine shoved the microphone at my face, and only then did I realize she had asked me something.

"What?" I muttered dumbly.

"I asked how old you were, dear."

"I'm seventeen," I mumbled.

Sabine took the microphone back and placed her hand on her heart. "And how lovely you are, my dear."

She turned back to the audience, clapping her hands. "Now for the gentleman." She glided over to the bowl that held the boys' names. She repeated the same swirling hand movements around the glass until she snatched up a slip of paper.

She cleared her throat before reading the name. "Hector May!"

A gasp rang out among the crowd, and even me in my numbed state lifted my eyes in surprise. Hector May was Mayor Walim May's son. Of course, being the child of the mayor didn't exclude you from the reaping, but they were rarely chosen. That's why everyone had started to murmur amongst themselves as Hector slowly made his way up to the stage.

He looked behind him at his father. The mayor tried not to show any emotion at his son being reaped, but I saw how his jaw clenched and his hands began to subtly shake in his lap.

"What an interesting turn of events!" Sabine exclaimed. "How old are you, dearie?"

"Eighteen." Hector answered in a deep monotone voice.

"And you're the mayor's son, correct?"

"Yes."

Sabine laughed almost giddily. "What a wonderful pair we have here." She motioned for us to shake hands. We both moved forward and grasped the other's hand as Sabine addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of presenting to you your District four tributes for the 70th annual Hunger Games!"

━

We were marched in silence down a long hallway, escorted by a couple of stern-faced peacekeepers. Hector and I were taken to separate rooms, mine with harsh fluorescent lights that cast everything in a painful brightness. The stark and sterile air felt suffocating as I helplessly waited for what was next. I shifted nervously on the hardwood chair, tracing small circles onto its smooth surface while my leg anxiously bounced up and down. Even pinching myself couldn't make this nightmare go away. My throat tightened in despair while tears stung my eyes.

A creak of the door handle made me jump, and I scrambled to my feet. My parents and Shae entered the room, their faces blurry with emotion. We raced towards each other, a tangle of limbs that collapsed into a heap on the floor. Someone was sniffling, and it took me a moment to realize it was me.

My father wiped the tears off my face and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Everything will be alright." He stated calmly like there was nothing to worry about.

I looked at him in disbelief. "Dad, how can you say that?"

He sighed. "I know you're scared, sweetie. But you can't let your fear control you. You're going to be fine because you're going to win."

"How? I can't–" I couldn't even finish my sentence. How could my father be so sure, so calm?

"Lyssa." My mother said, clearing the tears from her eyes. "Your father is right. I know you're scared, but you can't think about that right now."

"What do I do?" I asked helplessly.

My father was the one to answer. "Find a weapon that fits you. One that's easy for you to use but effective. Try throwing knives. You were always good with those."

"Okay." I nodded along with him.

"You have to come back, Lyssa." Shae blurted out.

I looked down at her small frame and immediately drew her to me. "I promise I will try my hardest." I said into her hair. My lips connected with the top of her head as her arms tightened around me.

The door opened again, and the peacekeepers came in. "Time's up." One of them said.

We hugged each other one last time before one of the peacekeepers escorted them out. They all called their last farewells as they were moved out of my view.

"Be brave, Lyssa! Remember what I said!"

"Win, so you come back home!"

"We love you, sweetheart!"

There was one peacekeeper left in the room with me. "It's time to board the train, Miss Monroe," he said.

I nodded and hesitantly followed him out into the hallway, where Sabine and Hector stood waiting.

"Now then, you're both very excited, I'm sure, so let's hurry along. The Capitol awaits!" Sabine sang, genuinely excited, with a smile plastered on her face. I tried to tell myself it was just because she was from the Capitol and didn't really know any better. Though, as she led a silent Hector and I away, I couldn't help but feel disgust towards her. She was voluntarily escorting us to our deaths.

My face remained blank as we boarded the train. The odds were never on my side, and they never would be.

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this story! <3

#ˏ*ೃ➵violent delights #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair x reader #thg #thg fanfiction #fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #thg finnick #thg series #the hunger games catching fire #the hunger games mockingjay #friends to lovers #mentor x mentee #slow burn

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morganaspendragonss · 2 years

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how in love and lucky i feel now

the 3.18 coda i've been 'working on' forever is finally done! up until two minutes ago this was titled 'engagement bitch!!!' in my doc and i did consider keeping it that way

title actually from skylights by lucy spraggan because this song is thee tarlos song

ao3 | 1.2k | 3.18, fluff and minor hurt/comfort, tarlos softness, references to gwyn's death

Telling everyone is harder than TK thought it would be. And not because he has any regrets — except for perhaps not doing it sooner. Proposing to Carlos felt as natural as breathing and being engaged to him is the light TK has been staring down the tunnel at for so long. He can’t wait for the moment they get married, but it’s also nice in this little bubble of theirs. The second they tell the gang, not to mention his father and Carlos’s parents, they’ll end up in a hurricane of wedding planning and everyone else’s conflicting opinions.

He’ll be grateful for them, of course, but his family — their family — have a tendency to be a bit…excitable.

Still, TK also knows that he’s more excitable alone than most of the others put together, and if they keep it to themselves for much longer, he’ll probably explode. Which would be really inconvenient timing, because he’s still working on the whole will thing.

He meant what he said though; he is ready. He’s been ready, if he’s being honest, ever since Carlos called Cooper to the loft, but he couldn’t admit it back then. He’d been too scared of the implications of finding his place in life, of cementing his roots and saying, this is where I am going to spend the rest of my life.

Not that Carlos, or Austin, or the 126 have been in question; TK has firmly settled here, there’s no doubt in his mind about them. It’s more… He spent so long thinking he wouldn’t make it this far in life, and he’s had too many close calls with death now not to think something other than luck is involved. Not when so many people die every day.

Not when his mom—

Admittedly, the will thing was stupid. But it was something tangible, something he could control, and not writing it made him feel like he had a say in what happened to him.

It’s only now that he’s realising — if he lets this fear rule him, then he’s just stripping himself of that control.

Still.

He feigns exhaustion the next morning when Carlos tries to nudge him out of bed —

five more minutes, babe

i thought you didn’t want to waste any more time?

— but in his defence, he really didn’t sleep much last night. And, really, TK doesn’t understand how he can be so coherent now after everything they got up to when three am Carlos seriously thought Lou had made his way back.

(and there’s some material for his vows…)

The truth, though, is that he doesn’t want to give this feeling up just yet. At some point, they will have to leave the sanctity of their bedroom and face the fact that the world hasn’t stopped turning just because they got engaged.

But not yet.

Carlos is easy to coax back under the covers. TK takes his time this morning, running his hand reverently over the lines of his body, the jut of his hip bone, the lines of his abs, the curve of his ass. There’s not even anything sexual about it, it’s just…love.

There’s something holy about lying here with Carlos, silent as the sun’s rays stream in through the windows, turning his fiancé’s skin to gold. And when Carlos leans in and kisses him oh so gently, it feels like a benediction.

Eventually, Carlos whispers, “We need to tell everyone.”

TK groans and closes his eyes. “Not right now though, right?”

“No, but we should—”

He doesn’t give Carlos a chance to finish the sentence, stopping the words with a kiss. When they break away, he rests his head on Carlos’s chest and hums softly.

“Five more minutes, babe.”

Five minutes turn into a day before they manage to get the crew down, and TK savours every second they exist like this. He’s turned into a giggly mess, unable to look at Carlos without smiling wider than he ever has in his life. Not that Carlos is much better, though apparently the post-engagement bubble is doing other things to him, which TK isn’t going to complain about.

When they do tell the gang — or, perhaps more accurately, the gang tell each other — it just feels like the bubble expands rather than popping. They’ve all been due some good news for a long time, and for once Catan is forgotten as they choose to spend the afternoon celebrating instead.

“You have already told Cap, right?” Mateo asks anxiously at one point.

TK shakes his head. “Carlos’s parents are out of town right now and we want to tell them all together.”

Mateo’s grip tightens on his champagne flute so much that it’s a miracle the stem doesn’t snap. “What the hell, dude!” he whines. “You know I’m allergic to keeping secrets.”

“They’re coming for dinner tomorrow,” he says. “It’s less than twenty-four hours; just avoid my dad if you really can’t keep a lid on it.”

Mateo still looks distressed, but then Nancy bounds over and loops her arm through his.

“Just stay with me,” she says. “It’ll be better than waiting for Captain Strand to yell at us to keep it down.”

TK almost chokes on his sparkling cider. He can definitely relate to that.

The next day, Carlos’s hands shake as they set the table for dinner. TK watches him obsess over every little detail, his eyes darting between the door and the oven and the table with increasing anxiety as the minutes tick on.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but when Carlos starts fussing over the already perfect table arrangement for the fourth time, TK goes to him and grabs his hands.

“Babe. They’re going to be happy for us.”

“I know.” Carlos bites his lip, gaze dropping to their joined hands. “I know, it’s just… After everything, I can’t… It’s still a little hard to believe that they’re…”

“Hey.” TK ducks his head so that their eyes meet. “I get it. But, baby, your parents love you. And they’re going to be happy for us. For you.”

He leans up to kiss him, but it’s broken when, as if fate were listening in, their buzzer goes off.

TK squeezes Carlos’s hands. “Ready?”

His fiancé heaves a shaky breath, then smiles and squeezes back. “Ready.”

In the end, the hardest part is the place setting he doesn’t get to lay, the phone call he doesn’t get to make. His dad tells him, when TK’s head is buried in his shoulder, how happy his mom would be, and how proud she is of him, and TK knows it to be true, but it’s not the same as hearing it from her.

He does end up calling New York — even if his mom is gone, there’s still Jonah, still Enzo — but he can’t help but wish it was her contact and her voice on the other end. He almost does it, in fact; he can’t bring himself to delete her number from his phone, and the temptation to ring it is almost too much to bear. But leaving her a message feels a little too much like giving into the fantasy where she is still alive, and the pain of knowing she’ll never call back would be even worse for it.

He likes to think that she knows, though.

And, looking at the empty place at the table, he likes to think that she’s there in spirit, even if she can’t be in person.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #lone star #911ls #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userbones #userjillian #tusersilence #tusererica #useream #kirassunshine #actuallysara

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lover-of-dusk · 7 months

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Does anyone else feel this way, or is it just me? Venting post.

(WARNING: might be triggering for some people. Discussion of depression and S*****dal thoughts, among other things.)

In the world I live in, it seems like there’s no escape. There’s no help or hope. There’s only misunderstanding, judgment and isolation. No matter how much these people insist otherwise, it feels as though I will never be loved. I will never be understood, or find my tribe. Do I give up hope, or keep pushing? I’m so tired. I wish that socializing would come freely for me. I’m so sick of being “other”, but that’s the only way to describe me. The outcast, the one with too many boxes checked. Too many thoughts and interests to be part of one group. That should be a good thing, right? Not really. On one hand, some people admire me, think I’m super smart. On the other hand, I do too much. I’m too all over the place, my head firmly cemented in the clouds. They lock me up because I’m not like everyone else. I wasn’t the goody-two-shoes, God-fearing, keep-in-line-and-be-quiet little girl I was supposed to be. I’m not even the good, charitable Christian woman who will marry a man, bear his children and bend to their every need. Instead, I’m the free-thinking, easily emotional, mentally fucked-up, genderfluid sapphic freakshow I am. I’m not even welcome in parts of the LGBTQ+ community, or the black community, or any community for that matter. But I think that’s everyone.

But why should I be ashamed of who I am? Why does everyone say I need help, but no one does? Why do they just foister me off to someone else, or smother me to the point that I can’t even tell who I am until I leave them?

It does nothing to explain my struggles to someone else because I can’t seem to do it right. I’m either wound up in self-pity or self-loathing. There’s nothing in between. My brain doesn’t let me feel the pain, the embarrassment or any other negative feeling when it’s not happening in that moment. Only in the dark hours of the night am I allowed to feel those things. They come at me like huge waves of water rushing over a tiny defenseless lifeboat on the sea. And no matter how hard I want to, no matter how much I need to, I can’t sob, I can’t scream, I can’t move. I’m paralyzed in those moments of pain and agony.

Why do I need to be fixed? Why do I have to go through therapy for something I can’t control, much less change? Why can’t I just be?

I don’t think I’ve ever truly sobbed, even when someone dear to me dies, or I’ve been so frustrated with everything that I wanted to join them. I’ve come so close to it though. I’ve hurt myself, I’ve wanted to die, I’ve ridden the waves of pain and euphoria, constantly changing from day to day, moment to moment. Never have I truly, gut-wrenchingly sobbed before. I’ve wanted to sob, at first, to prove that my feelings were valid enough to take heed of. So, my family would stop blaming me for the pain and embarrassment I’ve caused them in the past, so my teachers would help me when I couldn’t help myself. So anyone would take me seriously. Now, I want to sob because it may let me rest for once. To get all of the anger, the depression, the anxiety, the numbness, all of it out of me. Just to let me breathe. The silent tears do nothing for me anymore, because the feelings are stronger than them. Numbness kills those tears just like they were ants and it was a giant’s foot. Effortlessly. I want, no. I need something strong enough to kill those feelings, so I can finally rest easy. So I can get up every morning and move forward. What an amazing feeling it would be, to get up every morning, do everything that I needed to do, without effort or fail. Would I be loved more, be accepted more if I could do this? I’m not sure, but I feel that it may make my life a little bit easier if not a lot.

You, reader, may look through this and say, “This person definitely needs therapy.” However, you don’t know that I’ve been in therapy for 13 years at this point. I’ve been through psychiatric wards to residential facilities, and no one seems to be able to fix me. No one has cracked the code to my crazy brain yet, not fully. I’m exhausted from the necessity of explaining myself, of telling my therapists and the staff at psych wards and residential facilities how I feel. I don’t want to be patronized. I don’t want to be less than, or humiliated, or to be considered incapable of being an adult, because I’m not. I just want to be able to be considered a functioning individual worthy of other people’s time. Not just some patient of a therapist or mental hospital, or someone with mental illnesses. It hurts me when people say that it makes sense that I’m autistic, I have bipolar, or anxiety or ADHD or any other illness that I’ve been formally and informally diagnosed with, because they put me in a box and automatically shove me in with people who can’t function, who need supervision 25/8 just to make sure they don’t hurt themselves. I’m sick of being the only one in a room who understands what it’s like to be someone like me. I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of having too many questions and not enough answers.

Why is it so hard for me to explain things to my mom? Why is it so hard for her to understand? Why is it so hard for anyone to understand? Why do I have to be around people constantly, telling them all of my trauma and struggles just for them to label me as mentally ill and, by extention, untrustworthy of opinion, or too mentally unstable to be taken seriously?

On the flip side, why am I expected to be an outgoing, completely perfect carbon cutout of a “model citizen”? Why do I have to be just like the curated images on social media? Why can’t I make mistakes? Why can’t I be imperfect, with differing or ambiguous opinions? Why do I have to know everything about other people’s struggles and hardships when no one shares them with me? Just because I didn’t know about Stonewall for the first 16 or 17 years of my life, or about certain microaggressions (I’d been dealing with microaggressions my whole life, by the way) doesn’t make me a shitty person who deserves to die a horrible death.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. I just want to know if anyone else knows what this feels like, or can at least understand where I’m coming from. Sorry for the vent, but I'm really needing someone else who's not a therapist to tell me I'm valid in this.

EDIT: I'm also sick of people telling me to "suck it up" and move on, too. Tell me how, then. Tell me how to suck up my literal shitshow of a brain and be a perfect human being when I have so much shit in my brain. Sorry, this seems like it's going on too long, but that should be it in terms of ranting for now.

#tw vent #vent post #personal vent #tw depression

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padfootastic · 2 years

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listen i do not care if it’s overdone or cringe but i will die on the hill that sirius occasionally called harry pup 😤

because padfoot raised that kid, too, ok?

harry learnt how to walk by tightly holding on to pitch black fur., wobbling alongside the omen of death that was like, five times larger than him.

he spent all his years from infancy to adulthood spilling his woes to the canine version of his godfather first.

he spent hours and hours just playing fetch and tag and running around aimlessly with the large dog. snapping at pigeons and running through public fountains and being a general public nuisance.

padfoot chased away his nightmares by curling up at the foot of his bed, just as sirius did by checking the closet for monsters.

padfoot and sirius are similar but distinct and they occupy equally important spaces in harry’s life!!!!!

#harry potter #sirius black #good godfather sirius black #padfoot #i will keep going until this is firmly cemented in everyone’s head #if you think it’s cringe u have simply not moved on from badly written fic that used pup every three words #because lemme tell u it fits so perfectly #because padfoot was just as protective of harry as sirius was #(am i perhaps projecting from some of my own childhood experiences w our family dog who was v perceptive? yes)#but sirius would be curled around harry as padfoot as long as he could. they would take midday naps with baby harry sprawled over his belly #and harry would tie little bows in padfoot’s shaggy fur #and paint his claws? nails? with sketch pens #and generally freak everyone out by being besties with the grim #(now i’m not this charitable about remus & cub but that’s another story altogether)#and pads would be the most well behaved dog ever until he got even a whiff of danger #and then it’s like. all hackles raised because who dare threaten his pup?!?!?#all the parental instincts in the world condemned into this being who’s actually two souls in one #pen’s notes

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baroquebucky · 2 years

Text

caring

the four times Peter cares for you and the one time you return the favor

word count: 4k

masterlist

a/n: hi hi hi !! here is a peter fic <3 thank u anon for the request ! i hope u enjoy mwahaha (memories are italicized!) as always please let me know what you think !!! not proof read sorry for any typos

major no way home spoilers !!!! do not read under the cut if u have yet to watch !!!!!

It was always obvious to you peter parker was a caretaker. From the way he did his best to protect his friends from people being mean to the way he swung around around fighting crime and keeping the city safe.

Peter Parker was a giver.

Peter parker was also the sweetest boyfriend you’ll ever have.

“you guys aren’t going to remember me” peter spoke, voice wavering and you shook your head, denying that this was happening. MJ and Ned were speaking to peter, trying to find a way out of it but all you heard was the peter voice ringing in your ears.

“right y/n? tell him he’s wrong!” MJ spoke, bottom lip quivering and you look up at them, eyes filled with tears as you glanced from ned to MJ and then settling on peter.

He was trying to hold it back, trying to hold back the tears and pain that this was causing him, but you could see right through him.

Peter parker was a giver, and he only wanted to do what was best for everyone. It’s all he ever wanted. What was best for you.

“be careful!” peter squeaked as you jumped from one ledge onto a lower one, just barely catching yourself from slipping on the ice.

“you need to loosen up parker! not once have i ever fa- SHIT” you squealed, slipping on ice and tumbling down onto the cement, scraping the palms of your hands and your knees.

You groaned as you rolled over, smiling slightly when Peter picked you up bridal style, worry written all over his face.

“oh my god sweets are you okay? i told you to be careful!” he scolded, his brows drawing together before his frowned was replaced by a small smile. “why are you smiling? are you laughing at me” he questioned.

You could only nod, love and adoration swimming in your chest as you wiggles out of your lovers arms. “I can walk just fine, just need to put some bandaids on and I’ll be fine.”

Peter shook his head, picking you back up before heading to your apartment which was closer, knowing you had a first aid kit there. “you can walk after i clean this up, until them im not risking anything” he spoke firmly.

Peter knew he was being overprotective, but he didn’t care. He wanted to make sure you were more than fine, so what if it’s a little scrape?

“okay all done” peter smiled, throwing away the bandaid wrap and kissing you softly on your forehead, “my angels gonna be all healed up in no time, then maybe you’ll listen to me” he grinned.

“he’s right guys” you spoke, tears running down your face as you shook your head. “this is the only way” you whispered, shoulders falling.

“but you won’t remember him!” Ned argued and fought to keep back the sob itching it’s way up your throat.

“it’s what’s best for us” you told them, finality in your voice as you turned to look at peter one last time.

The knock at your door made you groan, pulling the heating pad off of you and opening it to see your boyfriend.

“hi lover” you smiled tiredly, letting him in before crawling back to bed and placing the heating pad on your abdomen.

“hi angel, i brought your favorites” peter spoke softly, knowing you might have a headache, “brought some ice cream, chocolate, chips and picked up some more pain killers, ‘remember you telling me you were running low” gently placing the bags down next to your bed and sitting on the edge of your bed.

“i never even told you i got it” you questioned, and he blushed, fidgeting and stumbling over his words.

“i- well you know how it is- i just- well i have it marked on my calendar on my phone so i know when to get you snacks and take extra care of you” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck before staring at you for a little and then focusing on the Lego starship the two of you built together.

Your chest filled with happiness and warmth. Peter kept track of your period so that could take care of you? So that he could buy you snacks? You felt the tears welling in your eyes and before you knew it you were crying.

“oh no angel don’t cry” peter gently moved over to you, sitting next to you and moving your head to his chest. He held you tightly, one had rubbing your back and the other holding your head to his chest, occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You let out a small thank you and he simply kissed you again. “anything for my love” he smiled.

After you calmed down and made enough room for him on the bed, he handed you the ice cream, “now which show are we binging tonight?”

“y/n” peter whispered and you shook your head at him, holding his hand tightly in yours.

“don’t” you mumbled, “don’t talk to me like you’re saying goodbye because you’re not” you shook your head again, “you aren’t saying goodbye it’s just- just a see you later” you nodded, shifting your focus from your hands to his face.

Peter smiled softly at you, and you chuckled softly, tears still flowing down your face. “Just a see you later, my angel” he whispered to you, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“no you know what, fuck math” you groaned, throwing your pencil onto your desk and crossing your arms angrily.

Peter looked up from his place on your bed, peeking over your stuffed animal, “what’re you working on?” he questioned, rolling off your bed and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“i can help with this actually” he mumbled, moving to stand next to you, “scoot” he spoke as he grabbed your pencil and a piece of paper from besides you.

“i have my exam for this Friday and i don’t understand it at all pete, how am i gonna learn two weeks worth of lectures in three days” you cried, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow as your bottom lip quivered.

Peter immediately reacted, dropping the pencil on the desk and taking your into his arms, placing your head on his chest and rubbing your back softly, “hey, hey don’t cry angel.” You did your best to hold back but it was useless as a sob left your mouth.

“I’m so stupid i can’t even do math” you sobbed, peter held you tightly, letting you take as long as you needed before your sobs died down to the ocasional sniffle.

“you are one of the smartest people i know y/n, this concept is so difficult i promise you just need some extra help and you’ll have it down long before your exam time” he reassured you, sitting down so he was eye level with you.

He gently placed his hands on your shoulders, moving on to wipe away stray tears on your cheeks, giving you a kind smile when you had stopped crying. “how about we take a break before you start yeah? sometimes you just have to step away for moment” you nodded and blew your nose, rubbing your eyes a bit before peter stood up and took your hand.

“cmon” he giggled, you looked at him confused as he made a b-line for your window, “nothing better to get your mind off things than swinging around the city” your eyes went wide as you began to protest.

“peter i don’t know-” you started and he cut you off, “cmon y/n! It’ll be fun i promise!” He smiled, a playful glint in his eyes as he explained how safe it was.

“what if is looking mid swing! what if your arm gets tired or, or what if-” peter tuned out halfway through your rambling. The only thing he could focus on was the way your cheeks were flushed, how your heart was racing and how breath taking you looked.

“you know I’ll always take care of you angel, i won’t let you go, i promise” he smiled gently.

You looked at him for a second before sticking your pinky out, “pinky promise you won’t let go” you spoke firmly, it made Peter fall in love with you all over again, warmth spreading in his chest.

He looped his pinky with yours without hesitation, “pinky promise” he smiled, brining your interlinked pinkies to his mouth and gently kissing them.

“you’ll come find me right? you’ll make me remember you?” You whispered, desperation in your eyes as you looked at peter, focusing on every detail you could, drinking in his every feature. “Promise me you’ll help me remember you lover” your voice cracking as you called him the pet name.

Peter didn’t want to let you go, not when your hand fit so perfectly in his, not when you had years and years of inside jokes. Not when you could almost read each other’s thoughts, not when your friend would ask you what the other would like a present.

All those small moments between the two of you, the stolen glances, the hidden blushes and small arguments, you’d remember nothing.

The ticket stubs in your treasure chest would mean nothing anymore, the notes he had passed to you in chemistry class would go straight to the recycling, the dried roses from the first bouquet he ever gave you would have no meaning.

It broke peters heart, it shattered his soul in the most unbearable pain, but as he looked up and saw strange struggling, the sky ripping open, he knew he had no choice.

And it hurt him.

But Peter Parker was a giver.

Peter parker always gave more than what he would ever receive.

You thought it was your allergies acting up, maybe the pollen count was high yesterday? Your body hurt all over and just going to the restroom drained you of any energy you had.

“angel? are you okay?” Peter spoke over the phone and you mustered up all your energy to reply quickly, “yeah ‘m fine, think it’s my allergies” peter hummed in response.

“okay, see you in class then?” you took some Claritin and replied with a quick ‘yup’ before hanging up. You took two Advil to help with your body ache and prayed you would feel better by the time you arrived to class.

Your immune system strongly disagreed.

As you arrived to class Peter smiled brightly at you, before it fell from his face and his hand immediately pressed to your forehead.

“angel you’re burning up!” he squeaked, looking at you in shock as you sneezed and looked at him as if he was an idiot.

“I’m fine! Just allergies i swear, nothing i haven’t dealt with” you shrugged him off, walking past him and into the halls of midtown, “the ride here did take a lot out of me though im so tired” you complained.

Peter followed you closely, there was no way this was just allergies, he does remember MJ saying the flu was going around.

“what if it’s the flu? It’s been going around and-” he began and you shook your head, stating once again it was just allergies and you’ll be fine when you took some Benadryl.

Halfway through the day you began to cough, your body ached all over and you felt you were gonna pass out any moment. Peter noticed and shook his head, taking his phone out and sending a text to your parents, knowing you wouldn’t do it yourself.

Within the hour your parents were picking you up and taking you to the doctor. Two hours later Peter sat in class, mind drifting off to how you were doing when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘i have the flu :/’ your text read, Peter fought the urge to say ‘told you so.’ Instead he sent you a comforting message and let you know he’d swing by after school.

Peter arrived with your favorite snacks and some medicine your mom had asked him to buy, refusing to take her money and saying he would’ve bought them for you anyway.

You hated peter seeing you like this, but all your worried melted away when he walked in and kissed your forehead.

“oh sweets how are you feeling? do you need me to grab you anything? have you drank enough water? i brought you some just in case” he quickly spoke, setting two bottles down on your nightstand along with your medicine.

“sit up to take your medicine and then we can cuddle yeah?” he smiled, helping you up and handing you a water bottle along with your medicine. After you took it, he kissed your forehead once more before slipping into bed next to you.

“what if you get sick?” You asked innocently and peter shook his head, “I’ll be fine, i was born tough” he giggled and you rolled your eyes.

Peter held you close to him as you fell asleep, shivering and you got chills despite being in a sweater and under two blankets. His chest tightened as you instinctively held onto Peter tighter.

“I’m right here sweets, don’t worry” he mumbled, wrapping the blankets tighter around you and kissing the top of your head.

He stayed with you all night, waking you up so you could your medicine on time and missing class the next day to stay with you at home when you’d be home alone.

After a couple days you were back to normal feeling great as ever when you heard Peter coughing over your FaceTime call.

“lover?” You questioned and peter moved back into frame, letting out a small ‘hmm?’ as indication for you to continue.

“are you getting sick?” you asked, brows furrowing together and peter tried his best to play it off, but he couldn’t even get a word out before he started coughing again.

“i just choked on water i swear!” He defended, trying his best to ignore the cough creeping up on him as he spoke.

After the two of you hung up Peter realized he was also getting a runny nose. ‘Just allergies, the pollen count was high yesterday, right?’

He shivered under two blankets and tears pricked his eyes, his body hurt so much as he walked and knocked on mays door, guilt washing over him as she yawned.

“peter? what is it are you okay?” she asked and he frowned, “think i got the flu” he frowned, may pressed her hand against peters forehead and gasped, “Sweetheart you’re burning up!”

When peter didn’t show up to school the next morning you grew worried. Then your phone buzzed.

‘i have the flu :/’

“Lover, please promise me” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his waist and crying into his chest, “i cant lose you” you whimpered.

“you aren’t losing me, we’ll find our way back to each other, he squeezed you tightly, pulling you back slightly before sticking his pinky out in front of you.

“pinky promise” he smiled sadly, a few stray tears ran down his face as you linked you pinky with his and kissed them softly.

“you can’t break a pinky promise” you spoke softly.

“wouldnt dream of it angel” he replied, pulling you close to him before placing his lips on yours, holding you tightly and cherishing this moment for as long as he could.

You both pulled away out of breath, blushing slightly before he said his final goodbyes to ned and MJ, hugging them both tightly.

The three of you said goodbye to him, watching as he left you, fresh hot tears falling down your face.

Peter parker was a giver. Peter Parker’s love language was giving and caring. Peter parker gave up everything for you and for the rest of the world. He was the best boyfriend you’ll ever have, but you wouldn’t know that.

You grinned to yourself as you set down the groceries in your new apartment. It wasn’t anything fancy, nothing too terrible, but it was your first apartment. Something had been eating at you for a week now and you decided to take a gap year, get some work experience before you continued on with your academic life.

With a smile you turned on some music, prepping all the ingredients you needed for the dinner you were making yourself tonight. It didn’t take long for you to realize you had made too much food for one person, sure you could have some for lunch tomorrow but you would have some left even after that.

You were about to text your friend to come get some to take home when you heard something on the fire escape. You peered over and looked out the window, a gasp leaving your lips when you saw the Spider-Man sitting down, out of breath and bloody.

Without hesitation you opened your window, feeling at ease with the masked man despite not knowing who he was.

“are you okay?” You squealed, fully opening the window and peeking your head out, concern filling your eyes and panic settling into your chest as you noticed he was bleeding.

Peter felt his body go cold as you looked at him, your voice just as concerned as when you first saw him bruised and bloodied. His heart ached as he remembered how you would always have a mini first aid kit on you after you found out he was Spider-Man.

“mr Spider-Man? do you need help? should i call someone?” You repeated, noticing how the man had frozen and stared at you for a solid minute already.

“I’m- no I’m okay, just have to get home” he muttered, attempting to stand, only for him to whimper and fall back down.

“Let me help” you spoke, moving onto the fire escape and helping him stand, “is it okay if you come into my apartment? I have a lot of first aid kits and I’m not really sure why” you chuckled, trying to get his mind off the pain he felt.

Peter wanted to kiss you, take his mask off and tell you how much he had missed your touch, your voice, how much he had missed you. ‘I’m not sure why’ the words rang through his head and he wanted to break down crying.

“maybe you have really clumsy friends” he mumbled after a minute of composing himself, you giggled nodding your head.

You sat him down on a chair, running to the restroom to get your first aid kit and promptly beginning to clean his wounds. “Just let me know if it hurts okay? Don’t wanna put you in more pain then you already are” you chuckled softly, cleaning where you could without him having to take his suit off.

Peter was quiet, savoring every moment of being near you, he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find the right words. A small hiss left his lips as you pressed down a little too roughly on one gash.

“sorry” you apologized and Peter shook his head, “it’s alright don’t worry ‘bout it” he smiled, realizing you couldn’t even see it because of his mask.

After a couple more minutes you looked up at him, “i think i bandaged most of them and cleaned any minor ones, let me get you some pain killers” you smiled, leaving him alone in the living room for a couple minutes before returning and handing him two.

“you uh- well you have some cuts and stuff on your face, but you’d have to take off your mask for me to clean them” you began, fiddling with your fingers, “of course you don’t have to! I’m sure you can do it on your own since I’m sure you wouldn’t want just anyone to know who you were and what if you live in my building and then I’ll know and then-” you rambled and peter laughed softly, causing a smile to break onto your face.

“what’s so funny?” You asked, a bashful grin on your face as the hero looked at you.

“you ramble a lot” was all he said, causing a blush to form on your face. Peter debated if he should take his mask off, it was you after all.

“just nervous is all” you replied, letting a breath you had been holding, “but i think i did well playing nurse for Spider-Man” you grinned.

Peter nodded, he had already began to heal and felt much better, especially knowing you lived in his apartment building. Right next door to him.

“You did very well, i think I’ll get home just fine now” he spoke, standing from the chair and moving towards the window.

“wait! before you go, do you wanna take some dinner home? i made too much” you blushed, realizing how embarrassing the whole ordeal was. “never mind that was stupid of me im sorry-” you began but he cut you off.

“I’d love some” he smiled, heart pounding in his chest as he debated telling you who he was or not, what you used to be to him, what he was to you.

You smiled and sighed happily, grabbing some Tupperware and filling it up, moving quickly as to not hold him back from any duties he had.

“i hope you don’t have any food allergies by the way, sorry if it isn’t that good i don’t think I’m that good of a chef but I’m trying my best” you joked, turning around and handing the container to the super hero.

“I’m sure I’ll love it-” he looked at you and you blushed, realizing you never introduced yourself.

“y/n, my names y/n” you smiled sweetly.

“it’s good to meet you y/n” you only nodded and walked with him to the window, walking onto the fire escape together.

“are you sure you’ll make it home alright? some of those cuts looked nasty” you worried, peter only nodded.

“I’m sure I’ll be okay, see you around, neighbor” he waved, smiling to himself as your jaw dropped when he slid into the apartment window right next to yours.

You hadn’t met your new neighbor yet, they’d only moved in a couple days ago and you hadn’t had the courage to say hello yet. As you ate your dinner your mind raced, trying to process everything that had happened that night.

When you finished your dinner and washed your dishes, a knock at the door stopped you from putting the rest of the leftovers in the fridge. You walked to the door and looked through the small peep hole, opening the door soon after.

“hi, can i help you?” You smiled softly to the brunette boy on the other side.

“just wanted to return your Tupperware” he grinned and you felt your face flush, your ears burned as you stared at him in shock.

“i- yeah- no yea- thank- i mean- you’re welcome” you stuttered, fumbling over your words.

Holy shit.

Spider-Man was hot.

“it was really good by the way, wish there was more” he joked and you chuckled nodding.

“no yeah i mean- yeah well i have more- i don’t know if you were serious but uh yeah” you laughed awkwardly and Peter smiled, butterflies in his stomach as you looked at him,

“i don’t wanna intrude” he began, praying to any higher forces that you would let him in and give him a chance, that somehow this one thing would work out for him.

“no no of course not! come in!” you protested, moving to the side and letting him into your apartment, “I’m your personal nurse arent i? I need to make sure you’re in tip tip health” you spoke proudly, giving him a playful smile which he returned.

It was quiet for a bit as Peter ate another plateful of your food, finishing rather quickly. The two of you sat on your couch, the tv on for background noise as a question ate at you.

“well since i know what you look like now, can i know your name?” You asked, looking at him nervously.

Peter smiled and nodded.

“peter” he spoke up, “I’m Peter Parker” you smiled at him.

“peter parker, that has a nice ring to it” you grinned at him. Peter felt his heart growing in his chest, his love for you growing and he wanted nothing more than to hold you.

“well Peter Parker, you can count on me to take care of you.”

#Im so sorry this was so long #also the angst hehe sorry i had to do it #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfic #peter parker imagine #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker #Spider-Man imagine #spider man x reader #no way home spoilers #nwh spoilers

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omniscientwreck · 3 years

Note

Let me combine both of your favorite things! I would love a little thing about Caduceus (in his infinite wisdom and questionable intelligence) trying to give either Essek or Caleb relationship advice that may or may not be actually helpful. Those two wizards are probably too much in their own heads to see what's right in front of them and could use a little nudge. Just imagine both of them going to Caduceus for advice on how they're attracted to the other and Caduceus just sitting there trying to fight to urge to facepalm.

Hello! Thank you for combining my two favourite things into this fic that took way too long but I'm quite pleased with! I hope you enjoy!

In which Caduceus has three conversations with two wizards fighting against a force bigger than either of them.

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The first of these conversations Caduceus had was expected. Gardening alongside Essek, teaching him how to sow beauty where destruction had laid waste had been therapeutic for both of them. Caduceus had never given up on the war criminal. It’s difficult to feel no sympathy for someone whose story was written across their face in blank but pleasant stares and a mask of platitudes.

The state he’d been in when they met him at the outpost had filled Caduceus with determination. He’d been as close to a wreck as they’d ever seen him and now kneeling alongside him and looking over to see a small self-satisfied smile as he observed the work they’d done, it feels like they’ve done something right. This second chance had been well earned and he has faith that Essek will continue to earn it for the rest of his days.

This Essek is determined to right wrongs, and he’s started with the garden. He pays careful attention to the plants, always asking if he’s unsure about the compatibility of certain species, and making sure to put them exactly where they tell him. When they work past the point when the sun disappears behind emerald leaves he takes off the gloves Jester had made him and digs his hands into the ground. It seems to bring him peace, it’s good that he’s found any.

Most of the time when they work it’s silent, creases pressed into Essek’s forehead. He sweats through the layers that serve to keep him safe from the heat overhead and always has to be cajoled into taking breaks or drinking water. It reminds him a bit of Yasha.

On the third day, when he’d nearly gone faint Caduceus has to intervene, “You don’t need to hurt yourself to repent you know.”

Essek takes great care to swallow and not choke on the water he’d been sipping, bad timing. The mask comes up again, “I don’t know what you mean.” he states flatly. He knows that Caduceus is smarter than that and it shows.

“Hurting yourself doesn’t change anything. It’s the creation of beauty here that tips your scales, not the destruction of yourself.”

He nods slowly, indigo eyes downcast. “I suppose you’re correct. I have much to atone for Caduceus. There is much work to be done before I will deserve any of the kindness you foist upon me.”

“Hey now, I decide who deserves my kindness. We all do.”

Essek nods again, running a dirt stained hand through his silver hair. It leaves streaks of dirt, Caduceus says nothing.

“It’s difficult to be made aware of your stark moral failings, to learn what it means to truly care for someone again. It’s difficult to care more than you expect and to know what is enough, if anything is.”

His eyes flick behind Caduceus, where he can hear Caleb explaining something to Luc and he understands more than Essek probably wants him to. “You’ll find enough.” Essek looks at him, eyes full of a delicate hope, easily shattered, “He’ll tell you when it’s enough.”

His eyes widen just slightly and a deep blush spreads across his face alongside a smile so small it’s like he doesn’t want to let himself accept the barrage of feelings it holds back. “If.” His voice is small but the weight is heavy in the tone.

Caduceus reaches a hand to cover one of his, “When. Remember, I see things the rest of you don’t.”

Essek smiles wryly at that, voice full of mirth, “Of course Mr. Clay the ever observing.”

They go in for dinner and Essek speaks up a little more, he’s a little more alive. The change is small, but Caduceus notices.

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The second conversation is less expected, completely unexpected if he’s being honest. Caleb arrives at the doorstep of the grove one evening around 8 months after they’d last seen each other. “Hallo friend, I hope I am not intruding.”

His smile is easier now, though still restrained by sadness. “Not at all Mr. Caleb you are always welcome here. There should be left overs from dinner, fix yourself a plate.”

Caleb allows himself to be ushered in and fussed over. He tells a few stories of the trial but Caduceus tries to steer away from that particular vein of conversation. It’s raw and it doesn’t look like he’s fully healed. There’s still one catch somewhere that he needs to loose himself from before the smile will be easy and free, before he can walk away from his past and toward the future.

“I am going to Aeor next.”

Ah.

When Caduceus doesn’t say anything he continues, voice laced with trepidation, “I am going to ask Essek to join me.” he wants Caduceus to convince him of something.

“Well, two wizards is better than one.” He eyes Caleb knowingly and the wizard squirms a bit under his gaze.

“It is just, a little strange isn’t it? The directions we are led in.” He trails off again, maybe he’s hoping for wisdom. Caduceus decides he can probably dispense something.

“You’ve never seemed like someone who wanted much to be herded into decisions to me.”

“It’s been a journey.”

Caduceus clears his dish and sets down a teapot, “It’s a journey you’re still on. One that might not have a definite end. Is it worth it to deny yourself happiness because you’re worried about whether you deserve it?”

That caught him a little off guard, copper hair shook a bit as he’d clearly gone a little further than Caleb was expecting. He likes to talk in metaphors so that he can hide from truths later, or at least pretend everything can have multiple meanings. It’s time for Caduceus to stop letting him twist words around in that expansive brain of his until the original meaning is obscured by hypotheticals.

“I cannot tell you what’s right Caleb, but if you came here for a reasonable perspective listen to the one I’m giving you.” He pours the tea and offers honey, “You will never know if you don’t go and I know you better than you think. You don’t like loose ends, not as long as there’s something to learn.”

He nods, staring into tea, they’re so similar and so stubborn that Caduceus can feel the loving annoyance usually directed at his siblings creeping in. “Caleb, stop punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault in the first place.” Caleb nearly interrupts but Caduceus keeps barrelling through, “Self-flagellation won’t get you anywhere, you’ll just end up with regrets and what ifs. Go explore Aeor, forget everything else for a bit. Do that thing the two of you do where you’re finishing each other’s sentences and nobody knows why you’re bothering to speak out loud because it’s obvious you’re thinking the same things.”

Caleb’s smile is smaller now, but lighter. “Ja mein Freunde, I think you will. Thank you for tolerating questions I don’t know how to ask out loud.”

Caduceus smiles back, “I think this will be good. If you need anything while you’re there don’t hesitate to reach out. Stock up on healing, you’ll need it.”

Caleb laughs at that and spends the night, before heading to Zadash the next morning, undoubtedly to clear out Pumat’s stock of healing potions.

----------

The third time this conversation is had it’s his fault. He doesn’t mean to start it, but honestly the situation is getting ridiculous and the sibling feelings Caduceus has to both the wizards are firmly cemented.

They decide to get everyone together maybe a year after the last conversation. It’s his first time seeing any of them since then and as soon as they’re all in the same room it’s like no time has passed at all. Essek had come to get him while Caleb gathered the rest at Beau and Yasha’s home in Rexxentrum. Jester wraps him in a crushing and loving hug, Beau gives him a punch that’s soft for her but still stings, Yasha offers clippings of flowers immediately, and Fjord’s hug is warm. Veth’s family is here and she looks happier than he’s ever seen her. Caleb greets him with the warmth that’s always burned behind eyes that hold less and less sorrow every time he sees him. He hopes they’ll drop it all together one day.

When they pop back into existence from the way Caleb and Essek look at each other Caduceus expects something to happen. He doesn’t know what exactly but they hold each other’s eyes in a profound way. There’s gravity to them and everyone can feel it, he’s getting tired of watching them fight it.

It seems so simple even though he doesn’t feel that kind of pull, to see where this is going. It’s feels like the days before a big storm, when everyone knows what’s coming and it’s getting a little ridiculous that you’re still waiting for lightning to strike.

Everyone else drinks, they cook and eat and tell stories. Caleb and Essek sit apart but spend the entire time stealing glances across the table when they don’t think the other is looking. Nearly always they catch each other.

Yasha plays on the bone harp, she’s gotten very good and Jester swings Veth around into a dance. Kingsley, three sheets to the wind, grabs Beau and whips her into a reluctant dance and her initial protests eventually bubble into laughter. Caleb sits beside Caduceus and Jester has switched to twirling a flustered Essek across the floor of the livingroom. It often turns to dancing with these people and he loves that they love it so much.

“As I recall you’re an excellent dancer Mr. Caleb, go cut in.”

He shakes his head, “Ah- I couldn’t. Yasha is playing and I don’t think you’re much of a dancer.” He looks over with a quirk of a brow.

“I’m sure Jester won’t mind a break.”

He coughs at that, “I ah-”

Caduceus shakes his head, “No, talking is done, this is getting ridiculous.” He puts a hand square on his back and guides Caleb to stand, “You two will weave circles of metaphor around each other until one of you drops. Go Caleb, follow gravity.”

He seems to understand, seems to accept Cadcueus’ words and as soon as he stands to full height, Essek is watching over Jester’s shoulder. She, thankfully, understands the same way Caduceus does and even sends a wink as she loudly proclaims, “Oh my gosh Essek I’m so tired, I think Caleb needs someone to dance with, go to him.” She extends her arm, releasing him, and his levitation doesn’t allow him to stumble at the abrupt change in momentum.

Essek and Caleb meet and Essek steps to the ground gracefully as Caleb holds his hand out and pulls him in.

Nobody says anything for fear of spooking the delicate peace that settles over both of them as they gently turn, but Yasha slows the music she’s playing a bit and a quiet celebration is shared in the eyes of the rest of the Nein.

Caduceus breathes a sigh of relief and Jester sits herself beside him, bringing an overly sweet juice she’d found on her travels for him to try. She tells him stories into the night, and the wizards never let each other’s hands go.

#shadowgast #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #caduceus clay #critical role #the mighty nein #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #tm9 #my writing #omni writes #my fic #a little worried this is ooc for Cad but also I think he's just treating them like he'd treat his siblings #eventually you just gotta push people in the direction they're heading

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ilguna · 3 years

Note

here we goooo: prompt list #2, fluff, # 47, finnick x reader. reader feels insecure about finnick and annie’s past relationship (or friendship, you decide!) and wonders if he loves reader as much as they love him. this could also happen during catching fire or mockingjay, tysm :)

☼ insecurities (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, arena mention, hints at trauma.

wc; 1.1k

prompt; “Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”

Since you two started dating, you’ve always been sure that Finnick was yours. Never once did he do something that might have made you question whether or not the two of you were meant for each other. Not even during arguments, serious or otherwise, did you think that you wouldn’t make it out as a couple.

Until now.

The difference between then and now, is the changes of circumstance. Just last year, you and Finnick had your own houses, surrounded by your friends. And maybe your job of mentoring teenagers every year wasn’t the best, but you were happy. The two of you were just getting to be comfortable, settling in and deciding that it would be forever. Nothing would have to change ever again.

Everything came crashing down within the course of a couple of months, though. It started with the Quarter Quell, sparking an argument about who was and wasn’t allowed to go inside of the games. Which lasted up until the reaping, and neither of you ended up falling through on the promises you had made, anyway.

And then you went to the Capitol with him, and quickly found yourselves entangled in a rebellion plan that made you sick to your stomach. So many people had to be sacrificed for two teenagers that didn’t even know what they did wrong. Which you wouldn’t have been so against if Finnick hadn’t thrown himself into the plan entirely.

It started to get worse once the two of you were actually inside of the arena, though. With the tasks of protecting Katniss and Peeta, protecting the group, and thinking of everyone back home--your friends especially. It was practically impossible not to come across bumps. Especially when his body language was telling you that you weren’t a priority.

You really wish that theory had stayed a mystery. But it’s like the gamemakers knew exactly what to do, driving that wedge further, deepening the already overgrown crack. All of you had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time, literally. It took Annie screaming Finnick’s name for his attention to be drawn away from you. Katniss followed after him, being encased in her own trap, listening to her sister.

That was the exact turning point, watching the light leave Finnick’s eyes as he heard his ex-girlfriend scream his name, begging for help. You all followed behind the pair as they went further into the jungle, but as soon as that forcefield had been put up, keeping them inside and keeping you out. It felt the exact same way for you, like you were cementing your own bricks in place.

It’s not like you don’t understand, him and Annie had been together for a while. You know that they hadn’t planned on breaking up, it just ended up that way. And with no plan on getting back together, Finnick moved on faster than she did. You always knew that there was something off-putting by that, and it’s taken forever for you to drive the thought of you being a rebound out of your head.

She, the doubt, is much too eager to come back. Evil and watering her sprouts that have only been growing since the arena.

It just keeps getting worse, more bad news comes along and you have to leave the room to take it alone, rather than with him. You knew that going inside of the arena was risky, you knew that joining the rebellion plan was risky, but you didn’t know that it would end in your friends getting kidnapped from their districts. When Annie had been in Coriolanus’s clutches, Finnick was an absolute mess.

And now that she’s on her way, it’s hard to be around him.

He’s leaned over, feet planted firmly on the ground. His hands are together like he’s praying, fingers pressed to his lips, eyes closed. Katniss sits a foot over, staring at the door, waiting for Haymitch to come and deliver the news that they’re all here. You stand next to the wall, arms crossed and staring at Finnick.

You thought that the two of you were secure. You thought that Finnick was over her.

It seemed that way, at least. She was never the center of the room anymore, it was like you were the one anchoring him. It doesn’t feel that way anymore. For him, right now, his entire world has been rocked. Like he can’t survive without her being okay.

And you understand that he’s worried that she’s okay, because it’s not like you aren’t either. She’s one of your friends, a very good one. Before there was a Finnick, there was Annie. However, this is not how you’d react if it were your ex-boyfriend that were hurt.

It makes you think that she’s still his first priority, and you are always in second.

You see Haymitch coming before they do, pushing yourself off the wall and approaching the door as he comes down the hall. Katniss looks up, and then gets to her feet. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Finnick raise his head, but you place a hand on his shoulder to keep him planted. The two of you need to talk.

He doesn’t catch the memo, bringing your hand into his to hold. He stands anyway.

Haymitch leans into the room, “They’re back.”

Katniss is out the door, with Haymitch starting after her. You have to squeeze Finnick’s hand to keep him from going anywhere, “Can we talk before you go?”

It must be your wording, because his face twists in confusion. He turns his body towards you fully, which you see as a good sign. For the first time in weeks, you’ve got his attention.

“What’s the matter?” his voice is soft.

Communication has never been a problem between you two before.

“You love me, right?” you ask.

His mouth falls open, “Yes, always.” he pulls you closer, “Why?”

You press your lips together, “Are you sure?”

“(Y/n)--” Finnick shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands, “Is it that hard to believe that I love you? What did I do?”

You sniff, letting out a laugh. You hadn’t even realized the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, “I… it’s stupid, forget it.”

“Tell me.”

You suck in air between your teeth, “You’ve just been very…” you shrug, “I don’t know, I thought that you still loved Annie or something.”

Finnick hugs you without warning, wrapping his arms around you tightly, “I love you, I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

hope you liked it!! <3

join us for my 1.6k celebration!

#ilguna #anon #ask #1.6k celebration #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #thg

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beifongsss · 4 years

Text

fake it till you make it [zuko]

Pairing: Zuko x reader

Requested?: Yes! By a very amazing anon!: “u should totally write a zuko fic wherein he persuades the reader to fake date him so he could make mai jealous but in the end falls in love w the reader ^-^ i love ur writing btw!!”

Summary: Takes place during season 3, “The Beach”. As the request said, fake dating to make Mai jealous but it backfires. For Zuko that is.

w.c. ~4.3k

.masterlist.

You had no clue how you had ended up in your current situation.

Actually, scratch that. Looking back, you knew exactly how you ended up in your current situation. It was all Zuko’s fault but then again, things usually were.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your breath had caught in your throat at Zuko’s question, and you had to hold back your gasp. “W-What?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Zuko had repeated, looking at you hopefully. You had looked at him in surprise, your jaw dropping. After years of crushing on the prince, here he was, asking you to be his. You couldn't believe that he returned your feelings.

“I-I, what?” you had finally stuttered, still gaping at him in disbelief. His gaze focused on someone behind you and a blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“Please (Y/N). You’re my best friend. I-I want to make Mai jealous and you’re the only one I trust to do this with,” he’d admitted quietly, his eyes never leaving the dark-haired girl.

You followed his line of sight, your heart aching when you realized that he didn’t like you; at least not the way you liked him. With a big sigh, you had pushed down your tears, forcing a smile onto your face.

“It’d be my pleasure to court you, Prince Zuko.”

That conversation had taken place a few days ago, but your heartache never lessened.

It was funny, really. After joining Azula on her quest to track down Zuko, Iroh, and the Avatar, you had planned to confess your feelings for the prince. In your head, it all worked out. It was the stereotypical story of two childhood best friends who grew up, fell in love, and got married.

But it was never that simple. And now here you were, playing girlfriend to Zuko as you watched him pine for Mai. You were, quite literally, acting out your dream.

What made it worse for you was that Zuko was the perfect boyfriend. He was a good listener and always made sure you were comfortable no matter where you were. He would plan little dates and picnics when he knew Mai would be at the palace and treat you as if you were royalty. You knew your crush had turned into something stronger when even the slightest of touches made your heart race. It was time to stop the act before you got hurt.

Unfortunately the news about you and Prince Zuko spread like wildfire through the palace and soon enough, the entirety of the staff and residents knew. It was too late for you to come out and say it was all a lie because both Ozai and your parents were very pleased with the new relationship. To your parents, your relationship meant that you were set for life. They had always been Ozai’s biggest supporters and your relationship with Zuko only cemented their loyalty to the royal family. For Ozai, he was simply glad that Zuko would be distracted; which was why he suggested that all the teens take a vacation to Ember Island while he met with your parents and the rest of his trusted advisors.

You had been walking through the royal gardens with Mai and Ty Lee when Zuko had jogged up to you. He had greeted you with a short hug before nodding to Mai and Ty Lee.

“You three should get to packing,” Zuko said, causing the three of you to exchange confused glances.

“Why?” Ty Lee chirped, looking at Zuko curiously.

“My father has just told me that we’re going on a vacation to Ember Island,” Zuko replied. “We leave immediately so I suggest you all start packing as soon as possible.”

Ty Lee clapped excitedly, already excited to go to the beach. Mai simply nodded in acknowledgment before smiling lightly at Ty Lee’s excitement.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a few things to sort out before we leave,” Zuko said, walking away before doubling back and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’ll meet you on the ship.”

You nodded wordlessly, a bright blush spreading across your cheeks at his action. You faced your friends, being met with a large grin from Ty Lee and a small smirk from Mai as they observed you. Nodding at the palace’s doors, you began to walk away from them.

“I’m so glad you two are finally together!” Ty Lee exclaimed as she bounced up to your side. Mai trailed after her quietly. “It’s about time you guys finally confessed.”

You chuckled lightly at her words, glancing at Mai to gauge her reaction. “I guess it was perfect timing.”

“I’ll say,” Mai spoke up, her smirk growing into a tiny smile. “I was getting real tired of watching the two of you pine after each other.”

A laugh escaped your lips as you all split up to go pack. You finished quickly enough, choosing a few casual outfits and a bathing suit to last you for the few days you’d be on the island. On your way to the ferry you bumped into Zuko, who fell into step with you as you boarded the ship.

“So?” he questioned, looking around to make sure you were alone. “Anything? Is she jealous?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I was trying to get a read on her but all she said was that it was about time we got together, whatever that means.”

Zuko groaned softly before leaning against the ship’s railing. “I thought the kiss would surely tick her off. I guess we’ll just have to keep on trying.”

“Zuko,” you said hesitantly, looking away from him. “I-I don’t think we should keep doing this. I mean, it hasn’t worked so far. What makes you think that it’s gonna be any different on Ember Island?”

He looked at you quietly before coming up to you and taking both of your hands in his. “Let’s keep doing this until after the vacation. If nothing changes, then we’ll stop. I promise.”

You bit your lip softly as you thought over his words. Zuko stared at you intently, trying to ignore the way you bit your lip. After a few minutes of contemplation, you nodded slowly. You would only be at Ember Island for a few days, things couldn’t possibly get any more heartbreaking for you. “Ok. I’ll do it for you, Zuko.”

“Perfect timing,” Zuko said, a rare smile on his face. You glanced behind you to see Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee approaching before looking back up at Zuko. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Zuko slung his arm over your shoulder, pulling you in close as the three girls boarded the ship. The ride to Ember Island was spent with the two of you sitting together on a bench as the three girls whispered amongst themselves, occasionally throwing glances your way.

“So,” Azula finally addressed you, a knowing smirk on her face. “I can’t believe you two are finally together. I always thought Zuzu had a thing for Mai.”

You felt Zuko stiffen up next to you at Azula’s words. You kept a straight face, looking at the younger girl as you panicked internally. Zuko’s arm tightened around you, pulling you in as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“What are you talking about Azula?” he asked roughly, his eyes never leaving her. “I’ve always had a thing for (Y/N/N).”

“So you guys won’t mind me asking what it is that you like about each other,” Azula said, a very fake smile on her face. “Right? (Y/N/N), you first.”

You exchanged a mildly panicked look with Zuko before answering Azula. It wasn’t like thinking of an answer was hard; the problem was that you were going to be telling Zuko the truth about how you felt about him, even if he thought you were just playing along. You were baring your feelings not only to him, but to his sister and your friends.

“Well,” you began, taking a deep breath and glancing at Azula before refocusing your gaze on Zuko. “He’s attractive-”

“Even with that scar?” Azula asked, a wicked smile on her face as she noticed Zuko’s uncomfortable expression.

“Yes,” you stated firmly and without hesitation. Zuko looked at you in surprise. “He’s attractive even with the scar. But he’s not just physically attractive. He’s kind and sweet and just a little bit of a hothead but it’s kind of endearing. He’s always there for me no matter what and he’s always put my needs above his own, even though my needs are nowhere near as important as his. He’s my best friend and honestly, I like everything about him.”

The ship was silent as Zuko stared at you in awe. There was an unreadable look on Azula’s face before she turned to face Zuko. “Your turn Zuzu. What makes (Y/N) so attractive to you?”

“W-Well she’s pretty, and she has nice...hair?” Zuko said, stuttering for a moment before shaking his head and looking at you. He stared at you for a few seconds before speaking again. “What I mean is, I like (Y/N) because she’s been with me through everything. She made me feel like I was special, even when we were little kids. She always knew just what to say to make me feel better and she was the only one who was ever willing to put up with me no matter what. She’s the only person I truly trust, and that’s why I’ve chosen to trust her with my heart.”

You looked away from his stare when he finished speaking, knowing that what he had said was probably how he felt about Mai. In Zuko’s head, he began to question his feelings for Mai. Sure, what he had said applied to Mai but as he spoke, he began to realize that you were the one he was truly speaking about. He kept his eyes on you as his inner turmoil raged on, only getting worse when you glanced up at him and sent him a soft smile.

“Well, I have to say, I was a little skeptical about whether or not your little relationship was real or not,” Azula said, clapping her hands twice before turning away from you. “But now I can see that you truly like each other. You have my blessing.”

Zuko scowled at her before speaking. “I wasn’t aware that we needed it.”

Azula waved him off before walking to the railing and looking out at the water. The rest of the trip was spent in silence as everyone did their own thing and you found yourself drifting off to sleep.

“It smells like old lady in here,” Zuko complained as you walked into the beach house.

“Gee, I wonder why,” you replied sarcastically, yawning as Zuko sent you a half-hearted glare. You nudged his shoulder with yours, giving him a teasing smile. He rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Who are those beautiful women?” Ty Lee gasped, looking at the hanging painting.

“Can’t you tell?” Lo asked. “It’s Li and me.”

“It’s Lo and me!”

You all grimaced as Lo and Li copied the pose from the painting, Zuko digging his face into your neck to avoid looking at the scene in front of him.

“Zuko, stop,” you whispered, giggling as his hair tickled your neck. He glanced up at you, smiling at your reaction before he continued to do it. You swatted at his arms, desperately trying to get out of his hold. He simply tightened his grip, grabbing your hands to stop you from hitting him.

He glanced up to see everyone staring at the two of you, loosening his grip when he met Mai’s gaze. He was surprised to see that she didn’t seem annoyed or upset. If anything, she seemed almost happy, watching the two of you with the faintest of smiles. He loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to slip away from him. You bent down to grab your bag, only for Zuko to step in and take it from you.

“So, there are only four bedrooms,” Azula said, looking around. “(Y/N), Zuzu, you wouldn’t mind sharing one, would you?”

“Not at all, Azula,” Zuko replied instantly. Your eyes widened before looking at Azula and nodding meekly.

“Great. Let’s go to the beach, I want to have some fun,” Azula said, stalking off.

You soon found yourself down at the beach, helping Ty Lee as she tried to find the perfect spot to settle down in. Azula was off terrorizing little kids and Zuko was trailing behind you as he walked with Mai. You ignored the pang in your chest as you glanced behind you, instead focusing on the two boys that were now standing in front of you and Ty Lee.

“Hey, need some help?” one of them asked, taking Ty Lee’s bag.

“Sure! Thanks,” she said, smiling at them. The other boy took your bag as well, setting your towel down besides Ty Lee’s. The two of you sat down next to each other, squinting in the sun.

“Could you scooch just a little bit to the-” Ty Lee trailed off as the boys moved to block the sun. She sent them a smile and a wink. “Thanks.”

A few yards away, Zuko was sitting next to Mai under an umbrella. He noticed a shell next to him and picked it up, looking at it while he turned it over.

“(Y/N) would like that,” Mai said dully, glancing at the shell.

“What about you?” Zuko asked, meeting her eyes. Mai snorted.

“No way. A dumb shell? I’m not that type of girl,” she replied. Zuko looked at her for a few seconds before tossing it aside. It landed farther than he meant it to, one of the boys that was with you picking it up and examining it before turning to face you.

“Here, this is for you,” the boy said quietly, handing you the shell. You looked at it before placing it down next to you.

“Wow, thanks. It’s beautiful,” you said bashfully, sending the boy a polite smile.

“Just like you,” the boy replied instantly, bringing a faint blush to your cheeks.

Mai watched the scene in amusement, noticing the way Zuko tensed up slightly. “Told you she’d like it.”

“Hey beach bums!” Azula called out, standing by the kuai ball net. “We’re playing next.”

You all made your way over to Azula, both you and Ty Lee giving the boys apologetic looks. The game was pretty intense, all because of Azula. At the end, your team was victorious and you were left standing around as Azula gloated to the other team about her victory.

“Hey, I’m having a party tonight,” a boy said, approaching you and Ty Lee with his friend. “You should come by.”

“Sure! I love parties,” Ty Lee chirped. The boy looked at you expectantly.

“Sure, I’ll go,” you said, nodding softly.

“Your friend can come too,” the boy added, glancing at Mai.

“What about me and my brother? Aren't you going to invite us?” Azula asked, staring at the two boys. You don't know who we are, do you?”

“Don't you know who we are?” the boy shot back. “We're Chan and Ruon-Jian. But, fine, you're invited. Just so you know, though, some of the most important teenagers in the Fire Nation are gonna be at this party, so try and act normal.”

“We’ll do our best,” Azula replied, smiling sinisterly.

You had arrived at the party way too early. Watching Azula trying to flirt was painful and so you found yourself tucked away in a corner with Zuko, the two of you quietly munching on some food.

“So, does Mai seem jealous?” you asked quietly, leaning against the wall as more guests began to arrive

“Kind of? Maybe? I don’t know, it’s hard to tell,” Zuko muttered, his gaze on Mai as she looked around the food table for something to eat. “She was kind of emotionless when we were talking about you but she usually is so I’m not sure.”

You nodded amusedly, glancing around before your eyes landed on Ty Lee being cornered by a group of boys. “Oh no. Sorry Zuko, I’ll be back.”

You darted away, pulling Ty Lee away from the group before she could chi-block them. She gave you a thankful smile before bouncing away making her way to Azula. You turned around to go back to Zuko to find your path being blocked by Chan.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, leaning against the wall as he smiled down at you.

“O-Oh, yeah,” you replied softly, looking around for any of your friends.

“Yeah, I’m known for throwing the best parties,” Chan boasted, leaning down towards you. “How bout I show you around? Give you a tour of the house?”

“No, that’s fine,” you said meekly, meeting Mai’s eyes. She gave you a nod, understanding that you wanted her to come and save you from Chan. Unfortunately, before she could approach you, Ruon-Jian stopped her and began to talk to her.

“C’mon,” Chan said, placing his hand on your lower back as he guided you away.

“Stop talking to my girlfriend!”

The room went silent at Zuko’s outburst and you sighed in relief, before turning around and seeing Zuko standing in front of Ruon-Jian. You swallowed harshly as Mai met your eyes, surprise evident on her face as she looked from you to Zuko. Sensing the tension in the air, Zuko glanced towards you, a panicked expression on his face.

“I told you they weren’t really dating,” Azula scoffed, looking from you to Mai. “Poor (Y/N) likes Zuko but Zuzu here only has eyes for Mai. Fake dating was the furthest she was ever going to get with him.”

Feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, you ducked under Chan’s arm and sprinted out the door. The room burst into chatter as people began to gossip about what had just happened.

“Mai, I-” Zuko began to speak, stopping when Mai held up her hand.

“Zuko, I’m not stupid,” she said blankly. “We all knew you were fake dating, we just wanted to see how far you’d go until one of you would fess up.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Zuko asked, following Mai as she walked outside.

“Because after the ferry ride, we realized something,” Mai said, turning around and facing Zuko as she came to a stop. “You’re in love with each other.”

“No we’re not,” Zuko argued. “This whole thing started because I wanted to make you jealous.”

“I know,” Mai said, causing Zuko to look at her in surprise. “You’re not exactly subtle. We could tell that your focus wasn’t on her but I’m telling you that after the ferry ride, something changed. Whether you want to admit it or not, you love (Y/N). You said it yourself, she’s the one that’s always been there for you. She’s the one you trust. What you said was true, Zuko. You just don’t want to admit you’re in love with her because you’re afraid of losing her. But trust me, she feels the same way. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, you can’t tell me you don’t feel anything for her, not after seeing the way you were holding her at the beach house.”

Zuko stood in silence for a few minutes, thinking about Mai’s words. She was right, and he knew it. He had loved you since you were children and he had never told you, too afraid of the rejection that would inevitably follow. Mai was simply a replacement for you, as harsh as that was. He had wanted Mai because she was easy and convenient to be with. But you had always held his heart because as he had said earlier, you were the only one who was trustworthy enough to have it.

“She’s down by the beach,” Mai said, breaking Zuko out of his thoughts. He looked at her questioningly. “She finds it peaceful down there, it’s where she’d go to be alone.”

Zuko nodded, sprinting down the house’s steps before pausing. “Thanks Mai.”

Mai smiled as she watched him sprint away. After many long, long years you were finally going to be together. And if Zuko messed this up, she would personally make sure that he’d regret it.

Tears streamed down your face no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay. You knew that it was a bad idea to go along with Zuko’s dumb plan but you had always had a hard time saying no to the prince. And look where that had gotten you, heartbroken and crying on an empty beach.

You picked up random rocks and shells, throwing them into the water as you tried to quiet your sobs. A part of you had always hoped that Zuko would wake up and magically fall in love with you but deep down you knew that you would never be the one for him. When you were younger, maybe. But not anymore. Sighing deeply, you sat on the sand, bringing your knees to your chest and crying quietly as the water lapped at your toes.

You closed your eyes when you felt someone sit next to you, knowing it was probably Ty Lee trying to make you feel better. “Go away Ty Lee. I just want to be alone.”

Ty Lee didn’t answer, instead wrapping an arm around you. You leaned into her embrace, eyes widening when your head landed on a muscular chest. You looked up to meet bright golden eyes and you threw yourself backwards, escaping Zuko’s embrace.

“What are you doing here?” you asked quietly, putting more space between the two of you. “You should be inside with Mai.”

“Is what Azula said true?” he asked, his voice equally quiet. “You like me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, looking anywhere but him. You could feel his eyes burning into you, causing you to swallow harshly. “Zuko, please. Just go away. Just forget that tonight ever happened. Once we get back to the palace, we can just ignore each other. Just leave me alone.”

“I like you too,” Zuko said, pausing for a few seconds. “Wait no. I don’t like you, I love you.”

You shot him a look, his figure looking slightly blurry due to your tears. “Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“I’m serious,” Zuko said, scooting closer to you and brushing away your tears. “Remember the time we were feeding the turtle ducks in the royal gardens and my mom left us to go get more food for them? You pushed me into the pond once she was gone, as payback for the time that I accidentally made you fall out of the palanquin. I was so angry but when I looked up at you, you were laughing and I couldn’t do anything but stare. That’s when I knew I loved you.”

“We were nine,” you snorted, remembering the incident. “We didn’t know what love was. We still don’t.”

“Maybe not,” Zuko replied. “But I know that I felt something for you. After that, every time I saw you I couldn’t breathe right and I couldn’t stop blushing. Trust me, I fell in love with you a long time ago, even if i didn’t know what love was.”

“Then why were you trying to make Mai jealous?” you asked quietly, wanting to believe his words.

“Because I’m stupid,” Zuko said, chuckling softly. “Because I didn’t think that we could be more than friends. I didn’t think you’d ever like me back so I went after Mai because she was a safe choice. But it’s always been you, (Y/N). And it will always be you.”

You looked at Zuko, seeing nothing but honesty in his eyes. You scooted closer, resting your head on his shoulder as you looked out at the water. “I knew I loved you when I first met you. I had been so scared when my parents had left me with one of the maids. They had a meeting to get to and the maid was leading me to the kitchen to keep me busy. You came out of nowhere, running from Azula as she chased you and you knocked me over. When you held out your hand to help me up, I knew I had a crush on you. You led me to the gardens and you made sure that I was okay and you even stole a cookie from the kitchen for me to apologize for knocking me down. I was a goner.”

Zuko smiled fondly as he remembered the incident. He had been so worried that he had hurt you. Looking down, he saw you smiling contently, still looking out at the ocean. Softly, he grasped your chin, turning your face towards him. You sent him a questioning look, sighing softly when he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You tilted your head up, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your hands trailed up his chest, circling around his neck and pulling slightly on his hair. He pulled you onto his lap completely and you shifted, straddling his lap. You felt his tongue swipe at your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss. You pulled apart after a few more seconds, both of you breathing heavily as you looked at each other with a large smile on your faces.

“I told you I’d make it up to you,” Zuko whispered. The two of you laughed lightly before he spoke again. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your breath caught in your throat again as you recalled Zuko asking the same question a few days earlier. You leaned down, pressing another kiss to his lips before you answered.

“It’d be my pleasure to court you, Prince Zuko. This time for real.”

taglist!

@musicalkeys, @mywigglybaby, @bubblebars, @iguessthefloorislava, @dekahg, @boxofteenageideas, @bottledcotscowater, @butterflycore, @coldlilheart, @the-firebender-girl, @ajediherowitchrunner, @lammello, @astroninaaa, @samsmultifandomblogs, @sadskater25, @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak, @duh-dobrik, @eternallyvenus,

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therenlover · 3 years

Text

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong.

Laszlo Kreizler

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist.

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour.

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple.

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions.

That’s where the problems would begin.

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine.

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry?

Oh it would be over for him.

The yelling would never end.

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling.

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm.

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back.

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert.

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be.

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college.

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation.

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again.

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother.

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor.

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight.

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad.

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family.

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend.

Niki Lauda

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons.

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties.

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey.

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door.

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal.

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette.

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most.

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature.

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings.

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps.

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual.

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help.

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it.

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no.

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation.

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it.

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it.

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud.

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never.

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake.

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks.

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father.

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him.

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time.

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin.

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music.

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin.

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige.

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along.

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family.

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier.

Ernst Schmidt

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory.

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings.

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family.

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could.

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually.

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit.

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues.

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist.

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on.

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing.

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house.

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally.

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other.

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family.

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one.

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him.

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18.

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either.

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t.

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first.

Oh how they’d learn, though.

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone.

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces.

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults.

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else.

And that something would be my flirty aunt.

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way.

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long.

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him?

That’s even more difficult to deal with.

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions.

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them.

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone.

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances.

For now, though, he’s safe.

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #niki lauda #andrea marowski #ernst schmidt #laszlo kreizler #alex kerner #jac rambles #imagine #the danny bunch

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welcometoclass1ahell · 3 years

Text

Fake Redemption Dabi x Fem! Reader

Another depressive read from a depressive writer. Boom ta da Dabi x Reader who clearly needs help. Please No minors, even if this isn’t sexual it’s still meant fo adults.

Word Count: 2088

But TW!: Abuse, drugs, cocaine, abuse and more abuse, depressive triggering shit

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She knew.

It was a terrible idea. She however accepted that idea. It didn't matter if it was the worst idea either. She wanted this.

The cold air whipped into her face as if someone just threw a glass of water filled with reality onto her. Why was she going? Why did she think she deserved it? That last thought caused a strained laugh to spill from her almost blue lips.

Thankfully nobody would see her laughing at her own self at this time at night, standing next to the bus stop. She wasn’t even waiting for a bus, it was just another distraction for her. Taking her time was only delaying what was coming.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she looked at the name calling her, her lips curling into a sneer. “Impatient to get this over with huh?” mumbling to herself, she silenced the call and continued on the dark road towards the only place she knew would get her what she wanted. No. What she needed.

Walking there was the part she hated the most. It gave her time to rethink, to go over her thoughts repeatedly until she hated herself more for it.

Finally getting there felt like a redemption, a false one, but a redemption indeed. Looking at her goal, the rusted iron door to an old worn down factory that screamed ‘Stay away!’ only enticed her closer. Raising her hand she knocked three times slowly and waited as she heard the heavy footsteps on the other side.

The door creaked open to reveal what she had been waiting for, a man who would have caused children to cry and mothers to scream at one glance of his jet black inked face and arms. “You could have answered my call, doll” The man who referred to himself as Dabi drawled out his eyes narrowing down on her.

“Could have, but didn’t,” She responded tiredly yet a tone of anxiety seeped through her voice. Shrugging, Dabi side stepped letting the woman enter before slamming the door shut and locking it to make sure no one would be interrupting tonight. “You got everything?” She asked as she walked over to a small wooden crate, one of the few only items left in this abandoned building. Sitting down she turned her eyes to Dabi who nodded with a smirk and walked over pulling out a baggie with white substance coating the insides.

“I got everything, all yours doll. I also made sure no one will be around till morning. Are you sure you want to do this again?” He asked, his godly blue eyes staring into her own eyes made them both pause. Now normally, he couldn’t give a rat's ass who he made dealings with but this frequent customer of his had his curiosity. She wanted something nobody has asked of him ever. Not willingly anyway.

“Yes. I doubled the payment as well, I need this to last a while,” She stated matter of factly before shrugging off her coat. Dabi’s eyes couldn’t help but peer down at her arms covered in bruises. He hated to admit it but the swirls of yellow, blue, green, purple, and even black were beautiful to him. Maybe he was biased, since he was the one who had put them there.

“You know I don't usually ask about anybody’s business, but I’d like to know. Why do this to yourself?” He couldn’t help but ask as he watched her smile up at him like a lunatic. He knew better though, she was only faking the smile.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Mr. Dabi?” She responded keeping her edge of mystery and teasing as he threw her the bag of snow which she caught with two hands. Opening the bag she eyed the substance and once satisfied she pulled out her phone and her debit card. Cutting lines silently, she didn’t bother to acknowledge her supplier, still staring at her with amusement. “It’s just not everyday a pretty woman comes knocking and asks for some supplies as well for her dealer to absolutely beat the shit out of her to go along with it. I prefer beating the people who owe me money, not pay me money,”

“Funny isn't?” She retorted back as she rolled a dollar bill from her wallet into a fine tube before lowering her face but not before she looked up at Dabi through her eyelashes, “However I don’t go around asking anybody to beat me up you know? You just happen to be a very handsome man who knows how to hit the spot just right,” Her laughter filled the cold room for a moment as Dabi couldn’t help but chuckle a bit himself. “You intrigue me, dollface,” Was the only response she got before she put the dollar tube up to her nose, expertly inhaling the lines she had set up.

“I’ll give it a moment to kick in and we can start, yeah?” Dabi only nodded before kicking another crate close to the one she was sitting on and sat across from her,” How about after we finish up here, you and me go for a drink? My place?” He offered to which the woman sat still as she looked at him in disbelief. “We’ve met up numerous times, fucked once or twice, smoked or did lines once and twice, but every time I always had to beat you till I wasn’t sure if you were breathing or not. But me asking you out to drink is shocking?” Dabi teased after getting no response with a smile before he received a nod.

“Fine, I suppose that's alright,” She agreed and both her and Dabi sat in silence for a few moments before she started to feel the rush come to her veins. Energy began to flow through her as she stood up and walked to the middle of the spacious factory room signaling Dabi to follow to which he did. Turning around to say she was ready was only met with a harsh punch to her cheek which had her huff out in surprise. No noise spilled from her lips as her head cracked to the side. Kicks, punches, spit, and anything else Dabi could do to her, she felt for the past hour. It felt painful of course, but so freeing. It was just what she needed. She longed for some type of touch, something to pull her from the edge of slipping through the cracks of insanity and this…..oh yes this was her redemption.

Everyone always left her, friend or lover. Parents or teachers. She was always given up on or abandoned. She couldn’t figure it out. Years of being neglected as a child to now being seen as nothing but a waste of ‘potential’, whatever that meant, had her come to realize a false truth. She was the problem. Now deep down she knew it wasn’t that. She never did anything. She only had hateful parents, fake friends, teachers who just couldn’t care for their less paying jobs, and lovers who needed a quick fuck bring her down to this level. But she needed a reason otherwise it would hurt more. She decided she was the problem. She didn’t communicate enough. She was the one who didn’t try harder, who kept trying till something worked. It was all her fault and now to this day she seeked her false redemption.

She loved the sound and feeling of Dabi’s knuckles cracking against her face, the way his heavy boots collided with her ribs giving off a satisfying thump, or the way he spat on her with a loathsome look in his eyes. She loved it all because she knew at the end of the day he wouldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t neglect what she wanted, no what she needed. He was always there. That’s why she kept coming. The pain, the feeling of adrenaline, the focus of someone else on her was what she loved having.

She felt free, as if this was going to lift her out of her shithole of a life. The sad fact however is once it began it also ended. Lying on the cold cement ground, heaving deep breaths of air in her lungs as the drugs still pumped through her veins wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Pushing herself up with shaking arms, she tried to stand up to face more. The fresh bruises on her face screaming in the beautiful vibrant colors couldn’t be felt to her. No she could never feel the after effects for a while but she can feel the impact. It was powerful enough to get through the drug that way.

“M...More,” She breathed out looking up to the onyx haired man who simply had taken out a cigarette and started to smoke. “I think you’ve had enough for-”

“It’s never fucking enough! I need more! Please...im begging you,” She screamed out, her voice echoing through the facility as Dabi stared at her in shock. She never screamed at him before. In fact he’s never heard her raise her beautiful voice to anyone. She knew she looked pitiful, he could tell with the way her face started to scrunch up in shock from herself. Taking a deep drag of his smoke, he squatted down so the balls of his heels were firmly planted into the ground.

“Hey...look at me,” He gently muttered as he helped her sit up before his eyes bore into her own. “That's enough. Here, take a hit,” He offered to which she took, her pupils still large and round as she looked back at him, “Listen, after a while I kind of started to figure you out. You don’t need this to feel something you know. You don't deserve to do this to yourself,” He started to which she looked at him with wide eyes, tears starting to pool threatening to spill over.

“You don’t know that,” She simply stated in a hurt quiet tone. “No, I don’t. But you know what I do know? People who do deserve this don’t do this to themselves. They bring it out on others. I would know that at least,” Dabi responded lightly, “You come here every three days. Every three days you pay me to do this to you. Every three days you get yourself so fucked up and get me to beat the living shit out of you and for what?”

“It’s the only thing I have Dabi! I want to fucking feel something for christ sake! Don’t I pay you enough?”

“It’s not about the fucking money anymore!” Dabi roared back, causing both to be silent for a few seconds before he continued, “It’s about the fact that I’m starting to feel like shit doing this to you. Dealing you shitty drugs is one thing, but beating up a woman who’s so pathetically on the verge of not caring for her own life anymore is something else,” He spat more harshly than he meant to. Sighing, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear,” Doll, I don’t want to be the reason you want to end it. I want to be the reason you start something more. I hate to admit it but after a year of this shit I can’t help but start caring for the mystery woman who like to have her ass get kicked,” He laughed to which she couldn’t help but join in a little.

“Why?” Was the only response she gave to which he shrugged, “You’re cute for one thing, but from the times we fucked, drank, smoked, you show something more than this. I want to see more of it. If you really want to feel something then let me show you another way,” He offered, holding his hand out.

Staring at him then his hand she took it with a small sigh,”I...I don’t know but...I’ll try,” She agreed to which Dabi smirked, ”That’s all you gotta do. Try,” He said, happy to finally have her do something other than this. If only she knew that though his sweet words and handsome promises of something better was still a fall. This man wasn’t good, healthy either. A shady drug dealing and maybe even murderous bastard he was but still, to her right now he looked nothing but an angel. Oh but if she only saw in the shadows how broken and fallen his wings actually looked.

#bnhaxreader #dabi x reader #dabixreader #mhaxreader #mha #bnha #tw: mental health #tw: drugs

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babydaddyleorio · 3 years

Text

falling for you

pairings: Dabi x fem!reader

word count: 1,757

warnings: a shit ton of angst, grammatical errors

The truth was It was over for the two of you. It was a hard pill to swallow, but one that you had to unfortunately accept.

You and Dabi stood back to back on the rooftop as helicopters twisted and turned above your heads. The spotlight harshly shined across your scathed face and you had to cuff a hand to shield your eyes from the intensity of the brightness. You turned your head, analyzing the current state your boyfriend was in since he endured the most damage. Dabi staggered in his spot as If to be chasing his balance, holding on to the wound that was placed on the side of his stomach.

The League had tried to carry out the mission of dismantling the hero society completely, using you and Dabi as pawns to infiltrate UA. They wanted to start by eliminating everyone that was present in the school, relieving the city of any future hope they harbored for heroes. The plan was foolproof in your opinion, but It inevitably was sabotaged since the League had a mole planted unbeknownst to them. By the time you and Dabi had arrived at your positions, the heroes were already waiting for you with smiles on their faces. Being severely outnumbered, the both of you were left with no choice but to flee the area. Of course the Heroes were such pests that they ended up trailing you, stopping at nothing to obliterate you and Dabi. You sucked your teeth in annoyance as you recounted all the injuries Dabi had gotten just from trying to protect you.

Your eyes shut themselves, the intense wind from the blades of the many helicopters making your hair fly in all types of directions. Dabi grabbed your hand, feebly looking for any exits that could save you both in this moment, but It was futile since they had already cornered you like flies on a spider’s web.

“Give yourself up, League of villains! Or else we’ll have no choice but to open fire.” The man who you assumed was the chief policeman yelled into his megaphone while staring down at the both of you with malice in his eyes. Dabi tsked to himself angrily, shaking his head while gripping his body tighter.

“We can’t go out like this.” You spoke suddenly while gazing towards Dabi with creased eyebrows. Dabi chuckled lowly, turning to look at you with a smirk shaping his lips.

“Don’t worry, I got you-”

Before you could even blink, a bullet pierced Dabi straight through his chest, causing him to stumble off the ledge of the building from the immense force. You gasped with wide eyes and flung your body towards him, grabbing on to his hand just before he fell into the black abyss below you.

“Hang on, I’m going to try to pull you up.” You grunted into the air and mustered all your strength to yank his body, but pain mercilessly shot up your arms as little progress was made from your attempts.

“Stop, It’s no use.” Dabi rasped, sucking in a breath at how unbearable his pain was becoming shortly after doing so. Dabi couldn’t believe how terrible life was looking for him right now. It vexed him that he was able to endure the agonizing suffering Endeavour put him through for years, but a few measly bullets was what was going to take him out of this world?

“No, I think I can do It.” You expressed quickly, continuing your hardest to lug him back to the rooftop. Dabi looked up at you, watching through hooded eyes as you tried your best to keep him afloat. His throat felt dry as he finally came to terms with what he had to do for the both of you right now. His expression became dull as he relaxed his body to fall slack, and confusion blanketed you as you wondered why Dabi had stopped his movements.

“Leave me and save yourself while you still can.” He demanded and you finally stopped your tugging, in fact your whole body had gone still at his words.

Leave him? No you could never do such a thing.

“Don’t do this to me, Dabi. We’re a team, I’m not going to leave you.” You insisted, ignoring the nonsense he was currently spewing. Dabi smacked his lips, the pain in his stomach starting to eat away at his patience.

“Y/n, look at where we are right now. The cops and heroes have surrounded us, I’m hanging off the side of a 200 feet tall building with wounds everywhere, and you can barely hold on.” Dabi squeezed your hand firmly and the feeling still lingered across your palm as you licked your dry lips.

“It’s time you let go.”

Your mouth fell open, unable to process what Dabi meant by that. You hadn’t realized It yet, but your eyes had begun watering which tampered with your clear vision. You told yourself that this could’ve just been from all the debris that was flying into them, but deep down you knew that your sore eyes was sparked by the ending of your story being closer than you had hoped.

“You know I can’t do that.” Your voice cracked as you spoke and your hands had become overwhelmingly sweaty as you kept an iron grip onto his. Dabi slowly looked up into the obsidian sky, a series of events suddenly playing in front of him as If he were watching a movie. Realization finally hit Dabi as he saw himself and you appear in the clouds.

It was his life flashing before his eyes.

The first scene he saw was the day he first met you and his heart pounded heavily against his chest as his eyes captured the bright smile that swept across your face when he introduced himself to you. What he wouldn’t give to go back to that day.

The next thing that appeared in front of him was your wedding day. You wore an angelic white dress with your hair done elegantly, and the way your skin glowed as you walked down the aisle was enough to snatch Dabi’s breath away from him. I wish I could have proposed to you and met you at the altar.

The last thing that was shown above him was Dabi holding you in his arms, your belly being swole as your hands rested endearingly on It. I’ll never get the chance to have the family I’ve always dreamt of.

Tears steadily dropped from Dabi’s eyes, his stomach churning as a helicopter suddenly blocked his view of the future you could have had together.

“Dabi? Do you hear me?” You frantically asked him, having to raise your voice slightly higher to grab his attention. Dabi’s gaze seemed far away to you, but you quickly were reminded that he was still there by the tear you saw roll down his chin.

“I really wish I could’ve been with you until the very end.” Dabi sniffled with a strangled voice and your eyebrows shot up at what he was implying.

“You will be with me until the very end!” You shouted confidently, but Dabi’s vacant gaze was still placed on the black sky. His eyes then shifted down towards you, and your breath caught in your throat as you got a glimpse of the small smile that adorned Dabi’s face. With the little strength Dabi had left, he moved his free hand so that It laid on top of yours.

“It’s time.” Dabi announced and you moved your head back in disbelief. The sound of what you assumed was the squad of Heroes and policemen's footsteps attacked your ears as they stomped up the stairs that led to where you were at. You couldn’t believe this was all happening and all of It felt as If It were moving too fast.

“No…” You said, barely above a whisper. The wind circulating around you blew harder, and the feeling of uneasiness had sunk down to the pit of your stomach

“Surrender now!” You heard the police yell through his megaphone again, his loud voice now closer than It had been when he first used It.

“Shut up.” You hissed in response, clenching your jaw to the point where It hurt.

“Let me go, y/n.” Dabi urged, and by now your ears had begun ringing from the police sirens that surrounded you.

“Shut up.” You were pleading now, shaking your head side to side as tears streamed from your swollen eyes.

“Give yourselves up right now or we’ll do it by force!” The chief shouted into his megaphone once again and your whole body started to convulse as a sob took over you.

“Shut up, shut up! All of you just shut up!” You yelled repeatedly, closing your eyes tightly as their voices invaded your head. You didn’t want to give yourself up, and you didn’t want to let go of Dabi either. You banged your fist on the cement ground as you heard the footsteps of the police get louder.

“Don’t you think this hurts me too? I don’t want to leave you, but I need to do this. You’ve helped me so much, I don’t know where I would be without you.” Dabi yelled over everything, hoping to be the one that captured all your attention. You looked down at him and saw the pain that was sprawled across his face, hiccuping as the spotlight stopped over you once again.

“Please, do this last favor for me y/n.” Dabi begged, this time his voice desperate. “Please let me go.”

Your hand was tired and at that moment you could see that Dabi was too. His eyes were low and blood had now seeped across his T-Shirt, making It crimson instead of the white It was before you left your home. You felt claustrophobic as everyone demanded that you listened to their commands and with one last look at your shaking hands, you had decided what to do. You inhaled a deep breath of the frigid night air before slowly nodding your head.

“Okay.” You finally said, the door behind you bursting open, showcasing the many heroes and policemen that were here to execute you.

“Okay.” Dabi smiled weakly, his eyes shining under the harsh light.

You turned your head to the side while shutting your eyes, letting Dabi’s fingers slip from yours.

“Y/n, look at me.” Dabi requested and you reluctantly opened your eyes to see his face one last time. The policemen were closing in on you now and It had finally dawned on you that time had run out for the two of you and It was nothing you could do to get It back.

Dabi’s hand dropped out of yours and you watched with a heavy heart as his body plummeted to the ground. Dabi’s hair had covered his eyes, but you still were able to get a glimpse of his upturned lips as he grew farther and farther away from you.

I love you, he mouthed and your bottom lip quivered as you mouthed It back.

I love you too, Dabi.

Dabi closed his eyes, spreading his arms wide as the air tickled his skin.

He heard your piercing scream as gravity pushed him down faster, a lone tear managing to cascade down his cheek.

“I’ll see you in our next life.” Were the last words that fell from Dabi’s mouth before his world went blank and your loud cries filled the air.

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miracle-sham · 3 years

Text

Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Saturday Challenge 1: Hurt No Comfort} |

| It all went wrong so quickly. Marinette thought she could trust Jason, that he'd never betray her. And Jason thought the same. But with a truth-serum turned poison seeping through their veins, neither had thought to look for the purple feathers. |

| Word Count: 1,706. |

———

| A/N: I'll try and keep this short and sweet but it's nice to dip back into writing for Maribat, I really missed it whilst I was gone. Also I've now got a author's channel in MGI where I sometimes put title sneak peaks, snippets, and random au ramblings, so y'know feel free to pop into the channel and have a gander if you'd fancy! And one last thing, keen eyes may have noticed I've added a Spotify Playlist Link, it contains all the songs I listened to when working on this oneshot, if you're curious! |

| If you want to be tagged in future oneshots/fics or a specific Au, then feel free to send me a dm and or ask! |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

Marinette staggers back, clutching at her bloodied side as the world spins for a moment and everything blurs. Breath catches in her throat as a sharp pang of betrayal pierces her heart, tears springing to the corners of her eyes unbidden. Whimpering, she barely manages to cry out, “J–Jason?”

Heartbreak coating his name like the truth serum-poison making its way through her system at this very moment.

She makes an awful choking noise and collapses to her knees, scrunching her face up and wheezing. Barely is she able to keep her eyes open, fixated on staring at someone she thought she could trust.

Smirking lazily, Jason saunters up to her, crouches and then grabs her face by the chin, forcing her to tilt her head up to continue staring at him in the eyes. “Aw, did you really fucking think I cared about you this entire time?”

Marinette swallows thickly—unable to conjure up a response to him. Black spots start to form in the corner of her vision like watching a spattering of embers burning away on a piece of paper.

He tilts his head to the side and snorts, “really? Nothing to say, no heartfelt "I trusted you!" or "you're lying!". Not even a "I know the real you is still in there?", how fucking pathetic.”

There's a small part of her brain that starts flashing red lights and wailing alarms—warning her that she's in danger, that she's hurt, that she's stopped breathing. She can't breathe, can't move, can't say anything or she'll spill all her remaining secrets.

Jason sighs and drops her chin. “And here I fucking thought your shitty-ass reaction to me betraying you would be more fun.”

Grimacing, she waits a heartbeat after he lets go before mustering all her strength to slam her skull into his—if I'm going down, you're coming with me for this, Marinette mentally vows.

There's a horrendous thwacking sound as the impact lands, and Marinette feels as though her brain has turned into a blender that just had its blades snap mid blend.

Jason, on the other hand, flings himself backwards and curses up a storm. He pulls out one of his guns and with dizzying vision, manages to shoot a bullet that just clips the uninjured side of her ribs. “That's what you fucking get for that you bitch!”

Marinette doubles over as the pain seems to ricochet through her; vision blacking out completely. She struggles for breath, her hearing cutting off not a second later. Objectively, she's aware she's not alone. But as her senses shut down one by one, leaving her helplessly trapped in her own mind, she can't help but wonder why her heart aches with loneliness. I'm sorry, she silently apologises to no one and everyone.

Distantly, she thinks she's swaying—or collapsing again maybe. But it's hard to tell, it's disorientating trying to focus on the world with dying senses.

Marinette is lost. Every little movement, every little thought—it's agony, a struggle to keep going, keep holding on. Once more, she silently pleas for forgiveness from the kwami.

She stops.

Stops breathing. Heart stops beating. Stops fighting. It all stops.

At least this way, she thinks to herself, I can't spill any secrets from the truth serum-poison if I carry them to the grave instead…

She sinks into the darkness, clinging to her final thought in numb relief as she does so. Everything fades away.

———

Jason groans as the knife Marinette is wielding digs deeper between his ribs.

She doesn't move back immediately, so he grits his teeth and roundhouse kicks at her—the heavy thump of collision makes his wound burn like acid has just been poured on it.

He's a few seconds too slow pulling his leg back, as Marinette slices the knife through his calf.

“Fuck!” He bites out, throwing himself further out of her range and breathing. “Marinette!”

With the gall to smile faux-innocently, she plays with the knife in her hand, slipping it between her fingers and swirling it about. “Yes, Jason?”

“The fuck are you doing!?” He growls, shifting his position when she doesn't move to apply pressure to the calf wound.

She shrugs, seemingly unbothered, “what? Did you really think this wouldn't happen one day? That I wouldn't get sick of you. Show you just how much you've hurt me the entire time we've known each other?”

Jason spits blood from his mouth at the warehouse floor in front of her. “I don't believe whatever shit you're being made to spew, but I sure as fucking hell know that you'd never do something as fucked up as this.”

“Oh, that's cute! You still believe in me. What's next, are you going to beg me to come to my senses? Are you going to cry my name and hope it changes my mind? Are you going to declare that the "real" me is still there inside and that you're going to save me?” Marinette giggles, high-pitched and yet hollow sounding.

Jason flinches at the sound, breathing stuttering as the poison from her knife starts to really seep in. Shit, he thinks to himself, truth serum-poison. If I'm not careful I'm gonna say shit that should stay secret.

A flash of silver catches the edge of his vision. And it's all the warning he gets. He immediately ducks and rolls, cursing under his breath as his wounds are aggravated. The air by his hair swooshes as the blade just narrowly misses.

Marinette giggles taper off into a hiss of fury. Her hair slips out of her pigtails from the constant movement, and multiple strands fall in front of her face. She huffs, ineffectively blowing them out of the way. “Did you really think I ever loved you?”

“Yes!” The words are choked out of his mouth before he can even think, the truth serum-poison kicking in hard and fast. Jason wheezes and the taste of iron lingers like malice in his throat. Fuck, he thinks desperately, I'm running out of time and Marinette isn't snapping out of whatever the fuck's been done to her.

He stumbles into another roll, as the blade comes swinging at him again. His vision blurts violently, and the next thing Jason knows—is that his view has suddenly tipped upside down and that there's a throbbing ache radiating from the back of his shoulders and head.

“Huh, you really do have a thick skull. Normally that'd be enough to knock anyone else out. Well, I guess I'll have to do this the old fashioned way.” Marinette rambles, pulling out a rag.

Jason grunts as he pushes himself only to be slammed back into the concrete warehouse floor, rag pressed firmly over his mouth and nose.

He thrashes and refuses to inhale. Marinette scowls and kicks him sharply into the ribs, causing him to gasp through gritted teeth. But it's enough to affect him.

His vision teeters then flickers to black, he can feel his movements slowing—becoming more and more sluggish until he's as still as he was in that fucking coffin he's had to crawl out of once before. At least, he barely manages to cling to the final thought, I can't spill any secrets if I carry them to the grave once more.

And then it all fades away.

———

Lila steeples her finger and smirks. She's sitting in her plain white office for the Agreste, three monitors set up before her on the desk. The middle screen shows her emails and a few tabs up on fashion for work-related reasons. The outer two screens, however, show the feed to two identical cells—two by four by five metres with cement floors and grey brick walls, no windows and a single plain black metal door. No furniture either, not even beds or toilets, just chains attached to the wall opposite the door. And in the chains is what has Lila so very happy indeed; Marinette and Jason, one in each cell and both stuck in the chains with no hope for escape.

A steady pool of blood has already formed beneath the both of them, thanks to the wonderful work of her Sentimonster duplicates of the two.

Lila can't help but monologue in her glee, “It's so excellently simple really. Even if one escapes, there's no way they'll help the other escape now. Now they've experienced the pain of betrayal and torture inflicted by the other!”

Footsteps approach the door to her office; all it takes is a quick click and click of the mouse and her two outer screen feeds flip to showing more work-related tabs and emails.

The door opens to reveal Adrien, slightly dishevelled—hair and shirt ruffled, eyes red with dark bags beneath them, and shiny tear streaks down his cheeks—he stands in the threshold, shaking. “Did you know?”

Lila smiles in fake confusion. “Know what?”

Adrien swallows, gaze flickering to her screens. “Marinette's dead. So is Jason.”

Lila tilts her head to the side to make it look as though she's thinking. “The Wayne boy that was close to her, right? Oh dear.”

His tired gaze turns back to Lila as he continues. “They think both of them were kidnapped and tortured separately. Police have found traces of an altered truth-serum among the bloodstains and…” He chokes for a second, grief plain as day across his face. “and they found pieces of fingers, ears, slices of skin, and all.”

“Oh, oh, that's horrible!” Lila gasps, covering her mouth with her hands to hide the victorious curl forming on her lips. “Have they found out who was cruel enough to do that to them yet?”

Adrien shakes his head silently.

“Hopefully, the culprit will be found soon. But if you need any support, I'll always be here for you, Adrien!” Lila gravely announces, bobbing her head slightly as she spoke.

He narrows his eyes at her, shakes his head, and then stalks away from her office.

She scowls as soon as his back turns and gets up to shut her door. “Well,” She says to herself as she flips back to the cell feed, “at least that means I'll have plenty of time to pull the secrets from you two without the police thinking to look for you alive.”

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| Also feel free to send me any asks or comments with any questions you have regarding this oneshot, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #DC x MLB #MLB x DC #Jasonette #Jasonette July #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July 2021 #Jasonette July Saturday Challenge #Jasonette July Hurt No Comfort #Yet So Poison Entwined We Fracture #YSPEWF #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

36 notes · View notes

half-bakedboy · 3 years

Text

i'm not bullet proof (when it comes to you) (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: Teen Summary: Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Speculation for Season 4 Episode 13: Suspicion (contains spoilers from the promo)

Eddie’s ears were ringing. He could hear the distant sounds of sirens but he didn’t remember turning them on when he had left the truck. He didn’t need to turn the sirens on because they had saved the little boy and the emergency was no longer that. They had done their job and everyone was safe and—

Gunshot. He thought he heard a gunshot, barely, too far away for it to fully register in his mind. He wasn’t sure at first if that was what the soft pop was because he was in L.A. He wasn’t overseas and he wasn’t in the line of enemy fire. He had rescued his team, dead and alive, and they had been flown to safety. They were back with their families and he was back with Christopher. He didn’t need to protect anyone in L.A.

Buck. Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Eddie tried to move, but his body was on fire and there was a heavy weight pressed against his chest. He reached to push it away, but his hand only swatted through the air. What was holding him down? He ran his fingers up his chest and along his neck, knowing before he could even pull them into view that they were covered in blood. His mind was fuzzy, his vision foggier than he remembered it to be, and when he tried to call out for help, no pleas left his scratchy throat.

Gunshot. Buck. Firefighter down.

He turned his head away from where the sun was glaring down at him, focusing on the familiar redness of the firetruck and hoping it would calm his rapidly beating heart. His eyes drifted from the window, shattered from what he could only assume was a missed bullet, down to the silver metal that spanned across the front of the truck. His mind clouded while he stared at the bumper and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to the cement that was covered in blood. His blood, if he had to guess.

Underneath the truck, he could see Buck. He was lying on his stomach, a hand covering the back of his head while he reached out frantically, clawing at the clean cement in front of him. Eddie could see his lips moving, the way his eyebrows creased in panic and his eyes widened in fear, the redness of his face mixed with the splatter of blood on his neck.

Buck was hurt and Eddie had to get to him. He tried to move but he couldn’t. How could he protect Buck if he couldn’t move?

Then Buck was crawling toward him and Eddie held his hand out, fingers reaching for solace in his best friend’s. Buck was getting closer, dragging himself across the pavement, underneath the truck like a shield. A bullet clanged above Eddie’s head, destroying the perfectly polished metal and sending shards of it flying in every direction. Buck was covering his head again and that was good. That meant he could be safe. He had stopped moving which meant he wouldn’t be in the line of fire.

Eddie had to protect Buck, save Buck, make sure that Buck was okay. That was his only priority.

“Back,” Eddie choked out as Buck tried to move toward him again. “Stay back!” Eddie yelled as best he could. The intensity of his words caused his mouth to sour with the taste of blood and he knew that wasn’t a good sign. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the pesky liquid that stopped him from warning Buck away and spat on the pavement beside him.

“Let me help you!” Buck screamed. The terror was clear in his voice and it did nothing to lessen the worry that continued to flood through Eddie.

He wasn’t sure if he could feel his legs. He could see his toes wiggling and his fingers trembled from where they stretched out for Buck again, but he had gone numb. Numb wasn’t good. Numb was far from what he should be.

He vaguely registered the hand around his wrist before he was being pulled underneath the truck and tucked firmly against Buck. The move jerked him out of the black hole his mind had pulled him into for protection against the worst pain he had ever felt that blasted through his core. He screamed in agony and he was sure the wetness of his face was from tears of misery. He thrashed and tried to sit up until he realized that only made it worse and Buck slid an arm across his chest to keep him steady. The solid weight was welcome and when focused enough, he could feel the warmth of Buck surrounding him.

He was safe so he let his eyes drift close, the noise around him deafening until everything went silent.

__________________________

“Stay with me, Eds, stay with me. Hey, that’s it. Open your eyes for me.” He awoke to Buck’s voice.

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep or why his head was pounding or why he couldn’t move his body. He was strapped down to what he assumed was a backboard with Buck straddling his waist, his hands pressed to Eddie’s chest, their placement instantly recognizable. That and the way Buck huffed above him meant that Buck had just given him CPR - which meant that Buck had probably started his heart again.

He also realized that the pain surging through his abdomen was from the broken ribs Buck would have inevitably given him. He blinked rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings, his mind trying to puzzle the pieces of the last few minutes together. They were still outside the same building, the firetruck glowing brightly beside them. There was still blood on the pavement in more spots than he remembered, but people in uniforms of all kinds were stomping through it.

“Buck,” Eddie tried to say through the burn in his throat, gathering the strength he could muster to grip Buck’s bicep weakly.

“Hey, don’t talk,” Buck instructed. He must have seen Eddie’s confusion and panic because he moved his hands to cup Eddie’s face, leaning a little closer so they could focus on each other. “We almost lost you there for a minute. Don’t scare me like that, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You got shot, but I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. We don’t know what happened. One second things were fine and the next—”

Buck was babbling, a symptom of his fear, Eddie guess, so he choked out, “You okay?” He rested his hand on the blood dripping down Buck’s neck, lamely attempting to check him for injury through his own anguish.

“What did I tell you about talking. We just got your neck all bandaged up, okay? So you have to stop talking,” Buck pleaded. “Now I know how you feel around me, huh?” Buck teased but the joke was lost in the fear so prominent in Buck’s eyes as he leaned into Eddie’s touch. Eddie’s arm dropped down again because he couldn’t hold it up any longer.

“I—“ Eddie began but then he felt like he was drowning.

Why was he so weak? How bad was it? How could he make Buck look less destroyed at that moment? Was Buck going to be okay? Would he be okay?

His mind reeled with questions, all of them thwarted by the hot liquid filling his throat. He ignored the fact it was probably blood, turning his head abruptly to spit onto the already bloodstained pavement beside him. He could feel his heart slow from where Buck’s pressed against it and his lungs didn’t seem to want to take in the air he inhaled.

“Eddie, please, just stay still. Stop talking, stop moving, stop— No, no, no!” Buck shouted, “You’ve gotta stay awake, okay? You have to stay alive, Eddie. You just saved that little boy and Christopher is going to be so proud of you, just like we are.”

Eddie was safe with Buck above him, so he allowed his eyes to start drifting closed again.

Buck begged and pleaded, but Eddie couldn’t take the pain anymore. His mind hazed even as Buck pressed his lips to his forehead and whispered, “Stay alive for me.”

Eddie wasn’t sure that he could, but for Buck, he would try.

__________________________

There were flashes of bright lights. The sounds of electricity crackling above him. The smell of blood and iodine. The metallic taste he wasn’t sure would ever leave his mouth. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his body still numb, but his awareness of his other senses comforted him. He was hurt, that much he could feel, and if he had to guess, he would open his eyes and be in a hospital room.

Where was Buck?

He couldn’t get the question out of his mind. He had asked it too many times to count. Where was Buck? Was he okay? He had blood on his neck from what Eddie could briefly recall. Was he hurt? Did he get help or did he just help Eddie? Was anyone else hurt? What the hell happened?

“Hey, you gotta calm down, Mr. Diaz. Your heart rate shouldn’t be this elevated so soon after surgery,” a soft voice comforted. Eddie took a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire body burned at the subtle movement of his chest, and finally focused on the nurse beside him.

“Buck—”

“Mr. Buckley is fine. He’s been asking about you every 15 minutes since you got here and annoying most of my coworkers, but he’s okay. We told him the same thing of you, but neither of you are good listeners, are you?” She said and Eddie knew he didn’t have to answer. “You two are quite the talk of the hospital,” she noted conversationally as she checked Eddie’s vitals. He gulped dryly, thankful when she gave him a small cup of water.

“What happened?” Eddie asked. He had more questions, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to ask them let alone wait for their answer.

“We don’t know, honey. You were shot, that’s all the information I have. I’m sure that intimidating sergeant out there will have more for you when she comes in,” the nurse explained, patting the back of Eddie’s hand softly. He knew she must have been referring to Athena and he instantly felt better that Buck had someone out there with him.

“Can he—?” He couldn’t even finish his question, suddenly hit with an onslaught of fatigue from whatever the nurse had given him for the pain. She patted his uninjured shoulder and nodded.

“He’ll be in here when you wake up,” she said and the prospect of opening his eyes to Buck was enough reassurance for him to drift off again.

__________________________

“Yeah, Bobby, he’s already been up once… Christopher’s with Pepa. I let him know what was going on and he wanted to be here, but I convinced him to wait another day… I know, I know. He’s okay, I know.”

Eddie could hear Buck’s voice as he slowly pushed himself out of the cloud surrounding his mind.

“He almost wasn’t, Bobby, and I—” A long sigh left Buck’s lips and he brought Eddie’s hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it as it was the most normal thing in the world. Eddie cleared his throat to speak and Buck whispered, “He’s up, I gotta— Yeah, I’ll tell him. You, too, Cap.”

“Bu—“ He couldn’t even get the name out before Buck made a noise somewhere between a laugh and sob that had panic arising in Eddie. “You’re okay?” Eddie asked because even staring at the man beside him wasn’t enough for him to believe it. He tried to pull his hand away to inspect Buck’s bandages on, but he couldn’t even try to remove his hand from Buck’s grip.

“I’m okay, but only because you’re okay,” Buck explained, kissing Eddie’s skin once more. “You know, I’ve decided that the only thing worse than almost dying is thinking you are dead,” Buck began, holding Eddie’s hand to his chest as tightly as he could. “This is the second time I’ve thought you were dead and honestly, one time was too many.”

“I’m good,” Eddie choked out. He was still struggling to speak, his vocal cords much weaker than he had ever remembered them being. He used his unoccupied hand to reach up to his shoulder where he had felt blood back when he was laying on the street, but Buck swatted it away as if protecting him.

“Bullet went through your shoulder. Sent a chip of your collarbone into your neck. It just missed your carotid but did a number on your vocal cords. The sniper must have thought they were shooting me,” Buck teased and Eddie shot him a look that he hoped warned Buck away from any ridiculous notion that he should’ve been the one to get hurt.

It already pained Eddie to know Buck had to be the one to keep him alive.

“Idiot,” he said with affection before he added, “thank you.”

“For nothing,” Buck responded quickly. “I would have thrown myself in front of you if it meant saving you, Eddie, you know that,” Buck noted and Eddie knew just how true that was. Eddie remembered Buck crawling toward him, putting himself in the crossfire of still flying bullets even after Eddie warned him away.

“Stop doing that,” Eddie pleaded, but Buck shook his head in response.

“If one thing became abundantly clear to me today, Eds, it’s that I will never stop putting you first. Seeing you lying there--” Buck shook his head and Eddie squeezed his hand to urge him to continue, “--it’s like you’ve always been just out of my reach and I don’t want that anymore. I can’t do that anymore.”

The implication of the words wasn’t lost on Eddie. They had been dancing around each other for weeks, months, maybe even years if Eddie thought about it. It was obvious to everyone around them, including themselves, that their relationship wasn’t as simple as coworkers, best friends, or partners. There had been an unwritten line between them that neither was willing to cross, both too scared for the future and what it could mean, what it could damage.

The admission shocked Eddie more than the bullet had. He had always thought that Buck would never be the one to fully cross over, always allowing Eddie to be the one to control the ease and direction of their relationship, so to hear him erase the last of that nearly invisible line had his heart soaring.

“I don’t—“ Eddie coughed, burning pain rising through his entire body as he struggled for air. He could hear Buck calling for a nurse and felt their hands separating but he wouldn’t allow it. He pulled Buck back because he couldn’t allow him to move away again and risk him backpedaling his words. “I don’t want that either,” Eddie said through bated breaths as the same nurse from before pumped him with new medications. He sent her a grateful smile and her eyes shined back as she watched the two of them. Everyone always looked at them like that and for the first time, Eddie knew what they saw.

“Well, good. I’m glad we’ve, uh, cleared that up?” Buck squinted, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was still confused, and Eddie reached up to stroke the side of his face where the skin around his eyes had crinkled.

“We’ll talk,” Eddie promised, his hand falling only to be caught by Buck who entwined their fingers and brought them to his mouth again. He nodded before resting his head on Eddie’s lap, cradling Eddie’s hand against his chest as he let his own eyes fall shut. It couldn’t have been comfortable but he figured he wouldn’t be able to send Buck home even if he tried, and he wasn’t about to try. Instead, Eddie rested his other hand in Buck’s hair and gazed down at him until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Buck was there. He was mostly uninjured and holding onto Eddie as if nothing would ever make him let go.

Buck was safe, so Eddie was, too.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 #911 on fox #911 speculation #speculation #but i really want it to be real ajskldf;asd #my writing

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

without my enemy what would i do | r.t.

richie tozier has been announced to come to dinner and y/n doesn’t know if things could possibly get worse for her.

word count: 8.3k

warnings/included: !!TW!! mentions of suicide/attempted suicide, nsfw (smut, fingering, oral -- male receiving), enemies to lovers, bratty!fem!reader

a/n: this was in no way meant to glamorize/romanticize suicide or any topic relating to that so if that’s triggering for you either don’t read this fic or the end. also i was heavily inspired by freaky friday and some other fics i’ve read

y/n couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mom’s mouth that morning. It had started pleasantly. The two were sharing a fruit medley her mom had prepared the night before at the breakfast nook. But those eight words had ruined the rest of her day.

“I’m inviting the Toziers over for dinner tonight.”

The tea in y/n’s mouth must’ve fallen out because she had been scolded for soiling the white tablecloth. But y/n didn’t care. The only thing occupying her mind was the fact that Richie Fucking Tozier would be in her house.

“How could you do this to me?” y/n accused her poor mother who was now frantically sopping up the stained green tea from the white fabric which she had just bought. She supposed she could just switch out the cloth for the time being, but everything had to be perfect when the Toziers came over.

“I don’t understand why you have... such disdain for them,” her mom said calmly. She always had a way of keeping her heels in the ground while her daughter’s head was stuck in the sky. “The Toziers are a family friend,” she insisted.

“I don’t have an issue with all of them.” y/n got up and gently placed her plate and mug in the sink. She washed them thoroughly before exiting. “Just Richie.” She mumbled the last part under her breath as she made her way up the stairs. y/n still had to put on her school clothes and make her way to school—something she was going to do rather unwillingly now.

y/n and Richie went back—way back. The Toziers and y/l/ns have been family friends since the two were in diapers; always forced to play together while their parents had their Sunday luncheons, the awkward lets-be-partners-since-I-don’t-know-anyone-else in middle school. Sometime in between the summer of ‘89 and their freshman year of high school, something changed. Richie changed. He was still the funny guy who hung out in the back of the room making offhanded jokes, but he was also the guy who made it his mission to hook up with every girl who stepped foot in Derry.

And somewhere in between, maybe y/n changed. She traded her pastel sweaters for cropped, graphic shirts and tight-fitting tees. The pleated skirts she always wore were replaced by ripped jeans that hung low on her hips with the help of her trusty studded belt. And her virgin hair was highlighted to the roots ever since sophomore year picked up.

Maybe y/n changed.

It was after a long day of incessant chatter and a math teacher who couldn’t seem to stop talking about his ex-wife when the dismissal bell rang. y/n was then stopped in her tracks by the one and only, Richie Fucking Tozier.

“Hey, princess.” His eyes were hazy with smoke and she was sure the Marlboro in his mouth wasn’t his first of the day.

“What do you want, Tozier?” y/n was reluctant to actually stop walking so she could talk to the scum on earth also known as Derry’s resident Trashmouth. Her beat-up high tops scraped against the cement and the undone hot pink laces swung in every direction imaginable. How she hadn’t tripped over her own two feet yet was beyond Richie as he watched the girl in front of him with amused eyes.

Richie’s back slumped against the bricks that made up the walls of their high school. One foot was propped behind him on the bricks, the other planted firmly on the sidewalk. “Your shirt’s inside out.” His pink lips curled into a smirk as if he knew something she didn’t, and y/n’s frown turned into a scowl.

y/n looked down. He was right. Her favorite black shirt with neon red and yellow stitching of a guitar on the front was, indeed, inside out. But she wasn’t going to let Richie Fucking Tozier have the satisfaction of getting under her nails. Not like this, anyway. “Thanks.” She let out a breath, half to calm herself and half to let Richie know how annoying he was being.

But he knew.

“You’re wasting precious oxygen.” y/n’s glare flicked from his eyes to the cigarette caught between his teeth and Richie only smiled.

“What, from smokin’?” He took the, what Stan called, cancer stick out from his mouth with his index and middle finger.

“No, from breathing.” It was a lame comeback. y/n was never good at comebacks, but she felt her cheeks heat up and blood stir when a chuckle fell from his breath.

He hummed thoughtfully, “Hmm. Okay, sweetheart.” He stood up straight, now towering over an uptight and pissed off y/n even more. He took another puff from his Marlboro, waiting for her response. But she only plucked the cigarette from his mouth and stomped it out.

“Did you call me over to say something important or did you just wanna waste my time?” y/n should’ve just walked off before this conversation even started, but it was too late and she would curse herself forever for giving this boy the time of day.

She was met with a cloud of smoke in the face and she coughed furiously. His breath smelled like ashes and cinnamon Altoids. Richie Tozier had blown his stupid cigarette smoke in her face. And before she could tell him to fuck off or screw himself, his words rung in her ears.

“Your ‘rents contacted mine. Looks like I’m comin’ over for formalities an’ shit.” His features were still twisted in a sick grin that y/n wanted to slap right off him.

“Formalities doesn’t usually consist of the word shit,” y/n said and began to start on her way home. It was bad enough she was forced to spend an hour (or more) with him at dinner, she didn’t need to linger any longer.

Her feet dragged on the graffitied pavement harshly and her pissed-off-ness transferred from the front door to the dining room where her mom was already setting up. Her dad had yet to arrive home from work, which was at five o’clock on the dot. Their family ate at six.

“Are you still upset about this morning?” Mrs. y/l/n’s soft voice sounded condescending as she was too focused on polishing the fine china to see her daughter’s scrunched eyebrows and squinting eyes.

“Yes.”

y/n huffed and one of the highlighted pieces of her hair flew from her face when she did so. “This dinner is ruining my life. Richie Tozier is ruining my life. You’re ruining my life!” She cried. It might’ve been an exaggeration, but so be it. Her life was, essentially, ruined.

“Your life is ruined?” Her mother was in disbelief. “How so?” Even though she asked the question, y/n could tell she wasn’t interested.

“Because you’re inviting the Toziers over when I’ve explicitly told you how much I hate them.” A growl left her lips in a fairly animalistic way to which Mrs. y/l/n told y/n that hate was a strong word and to make sure she didn’t bring that attitude to the dinner table tonight.

“Why don’t you take a hot bath? You can blow off some steam.” She laughed, thinking about the absurdity of ‘cooling-off’ in a tub of hot water but y/n crossed her arms at her mom’s negligence. y/n’s mother finally looked up at her daughter, her eyes judging y/n’s outfit carefully. “I’d like you to change, too.” Mrs. y/l/n wasn’t really fond of her daughter’s recent style. She had always loved the soft cardigans and floral dresses she used to wear in her early years. Granted, she was the one who picked them out. But they were just so cute. Mrs. y/l/n didn’t understand the recent trend of choker necks and buying jeans pre-ripped and she knew she never would. She could only wish her daughter were the same cute, innocent little girl she knew from way back when.

y/n grunted, making it known that her mother was being unreasonable.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about my day? No, because you never do,” y/n mumbled only loud enough for her to hear.

It was after three hours of painfully solving logarithms (which was more like staring at the dreaded piece of paper until eventually expressing defeat), a long soak, and an outfit change when four faces arrived at y/n’s front door and Mrs. y/l/n called her down to greet the guests.

“Are you sure you want to wear that?” Her mother’s thin eyebrow rose skeptically at y/n when she saw—what she would call—the atrocity she was wearing.

y/n shot her mom the same look, unsure of what was so offensive about a black tank top and low-rise jeans. She could be so conservative. “I can change.” y/n didn’t feel like putting up a fight tonight, but her mother placed a hand on her shoulder before she could move.

“There’s no time, now.” y/n could tell she was about to break out in a scowl, but Mrs. y/l/n did a better job at containing herself than her. “Just…just get a jacket or something. I don’t know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation and y/n left before she could see Richie Tozier unabashedly walk in with his so-called ‘rents.

“Look who I found just as I was coming home, honey.” y/n overheard her dad kiss her mom on the cheek as she fished for her jean jacket in the coat closet. Gag me with a spoon.

“Maggie! Wentworth!” y/n watched her mom hug the two from the corner of her eye as she reentered the foyer wearing a jean jacket. “It’s been too long.”

“Indeed.” y/n found it hard to swallow her scoff and keep a neutral face.

“Yes. I’m so glad you invited us over tonight.”

Richie then appeared from behind his parents. His parents had also made him change, seeing as he wore a navy blue button-up (wrinkled, of course) and the only pair of jeans he owned that wasn’t ripped and reached his ankles. y/n suddenly felt embarrassed about wearing such casual clothes. It seemed as if everyone were dressed for the occasion.

“Oh my, Richie. You’ve gotten so tall,” A gasp left her mother’s red and overlined lips. She took a few moments to welcome the family, making her version of witty banter and repeating how it’s been too long. She then walked them to the dining room which was lit up by the chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Why her mother set up a candelabra in the center of the table still unknown to y/n.

“I see y/n’s still shy.” Wentworth chuckled as he took his seat and y/n could feel the blood rush to her neck and cheeks (is it getting hot in here or is it just me?) when she realized she hadn’t said anything since the Toziers arrived.

She took her seat across from RIchie and begun to pick at the green beans on her plate.

“Oh, Went, don’t be fooled. She’s not shy. It’s just her teen angst.” The words left y/n’s mother’s careless mouth and her daughter’s eyes widened at the statement.

“Mom!”

“Ah.” Maggie smiled at her friend knowingly before stabbing into the perfectly seared cut of stake that sat on her plate. “Wentworth and I know a thing or two about teen angst.” She tittered into her napkin and it was now Richie’s turn to shoot his mom the side-eye.

y/n tuned in an out of the Toziers’ conversation with her parents. The topics ranging from their jobs, newfound hobbies, and the best recipe for meatloaf. Surprisingly, y/n hadn’t heard a peep out of Richie throughout the whole meal.

“Wow, you have outdone yourself,” Wentworth said as he had just about cleared his plate.

“Oh, that’s not all. I baked a lemon meringue pie for dessert if you’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if Maggie and Wentworth were just going to leave after finishing their meal. That’d be too easy. They had both complied, exclaiming that they could already taste how delicious it was going to be. “y/n would you be a dear and go fetch it for us?” Her mother asked. “It should be in the kitchen. On the island.” y/n stood up from her seat, grateful to get away from the scene she felt trapped in.

“yeah, y/n. would you be a dear and go fetch?” Richie couldn’t help himself but take a jab at y/n as she was walking towards the kitchen’s entryway. She’d turn around to give him the finger if this were any other setting. Maggie turned to face her soon, silently scolding him and whispering that it might do him good to help her out.

Richie bit back a sigh while he got up and trudged his way to where y/n was.

His eyes roamed y/n’s delicate fingers that moved with grace and dexterity as she handled the sharp knife that sliced through the homemade pastry.

“Hey.” If y/n were any less skilled, she would’ve dropped the weapon, ruining her mother’s sugary creation.

“Jesus, Tozier.” She set down the knife. “Don’t startle me like that.” She made sure to keep her voice low, not wanting her mom to become suspicious.

“You’d hate me for knocking and you’d hate me for just standin’ around like a creep.” He shrugged and y/n brushed past him. She held the pie dish in one hand and a stack of plates in the other. “Lemme help.” His head tilted to the side and his doe eyes looked pathetic under the dim kitchen light.

“You are a creep.” But y/n complied, allowing him to take the plates so she could focus all her effort on the pie.

“I’m a creep?” Richie looked to her amusedly. y/n didn’t answer. Her lips were sewn shut as soon as she found herself back in the dining room with all eyes on her and Richie hot on her trail.

“Thank you so much, y/n.” Mrs. y/l/n awed at her own work and started to dish out the precut pieces onto the plates Richie set down. “Speaking of y/n—as if I don’t speak about her enough—did you know she recently won the Academic Excellence Award for both Math and English?” The enthusiasm in her mom’s voice was alien to y/n’s ears.

“That’s great, y/n.” Maggie looked to her with a sort of light in her eyes she never looked at Richie with. “Rich, you never told us about this.” Her fork started for the meringue on Jenny’s pie first; soon after it would make its way down to the actual pie part.

“I didn’t see the point in sayin’ anything.” His face was stuffed full of pie and he shrugged.

Both Wentworth and Maggie looked at their son with disappointment.

“We care.” Wentworth then looked at y/n reassuringly. “Don’t listen to him, y/n... Wow, Jenny, this is great stuff.”

Once more, y/n got up from her seat. She didn’t bother helping herself to a slice of her mom’s pie and if she had the option, she wouldn’t have bothered making an appearance downstairs. “Can I be excused?” She asked her dad in particular who nodded. A sympathetic look was plastered on his face which was also stuffed with her mom’s dessert.

“Hey!” This was the beginning of one of Wentworth’s many great ideas. “Why don’t you show Richie your awards? It seems our boy could use a new outlook on what an Academic Excellence Award actually means.” He gave Richie a firm pat on the back before he begrudgingly stood up and walked over to where y/n was already making her way up the staircase.

“I wouldn’t blame ya if you feel all hot an’ bothered,” Richie said once they reached the top of the stairs.

y/n’s nose wrinkled at his words and she could already feel herself frowning at his unwanted presence. “What?”

“Aw. Don’t be like that, princess.” He threw his arm around her shoulder and y/n felt an odd warmth heat her body that wasn’t from the doing of her flimsy jacket. “Everyone wants a chance at the Tozier.” He took his free hand, the hand that wasn’t resting on her covered skin, and pointed to himself with his thumb.

y/n was about to ask who everyone was, but she didn’t want to give Richie the chance to list off the names of the girls he’s done. “I don’t like you, Richie.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, babe.” The two were now in y/n’s room. y/n didn’t allow her eyes to meet his. Instead, found herself organizing her already tidy desk. The only thing on it was her homework from earlier and a slew of highlighters.

Richie, on the other hand, took it upon himself to take a tour. His long legs made their way across the perimeter of y/n’s room. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be found and if she had spent half the time she did cleaning to go to the attitude adjustment program his mom always talked about, maybe they’d get along better.

“Your room’s changed.” Richie was now admiring her trophy shelf. Above it hung multiple metals; all gold and he stood in amazement for a while. Richie had always been smart. His grades always surpassed his parents’ expectations, but he never tried. He never made a deal to push himself or shoot for the stars. He never got why awards were such a big deal. Hell, Derry didn’t even make a big deal out of them. But as his magnified eyes stared patiently through his coke bottle lenses at the shiny medallions and gold cups that were displayed proudly in y/n’s room, a part of him wished he had tried harder.

“Yeah.” y/n wished she weren’t so quick as she cleaned because that meant facing him sooner. “People change, I guess. The room’s just a part of the process.” She bit her lip and thought back to how things used to be. Richie and y/n were nowhere near close, but she hadn’t always hated him.

“y/n, I want you to meet someone,” Maggie Tozier said softly to a small girl who wore her hair in pigtails and a puppy dog face wherever she went.

y/n, who spent her days hiding behind her mom’s legs and was never the one to talk to people who weren’t her friends or parents, looked between Maggie and the boy standing next to her as she sat crouched in the grass in her backyard.

The y/l/n’s had invited the Toziers over for lunch and Maggie thought this would be the perfect day to introduce her son to their daughter.

“Hey!” Richie Tozier had always been a loudmouth. From when he was first able to speak, the Tozier household was filled with nothing but incessant chit-chat, whether or not it was worth listening to. Maggie and Wentworth loved him regardless. “I betcha can’t fit your whole fist in your mouth. I can-!” Richie unhinged his jaw and he was about to force his balled-up hand to the back of his throat until Maggie scolded him for being ungentlemanly. “Sorry, ma.” He looked down, discouraged until he caught a glimpse of y/n’s shy smile and the beginning of a laugh.

It would be the beginning of a beautiful friendship—maybe even more—both the Toziers and y/l/n’s had suspected.

How wrong they were.

Sure, Richie and y/n were ‘friends’, but they were the forced-acquaintance-like type. The only time Richie and y/n had any solid interactions with each other was when their parents had their lunch dates together and they served as the tag-a-longs.

At school, y/n found her own group of friends with Stacy Howards and Regina Carmichaels. Stacy was a pretty girl who found out about her love of cheerleading at an early age and even though the popularity got to her from time to time, she still knew where her loyalties lied. Regina was like y/n—quiet, reserved, and focused on her studies. But she didn’t wear anything that revealed above the knee, on account of, she wasn’t allowed. The three had been inseparable ever since the third grade.

Richie had seemed to find his own group, too. A young boy named Bill Denbrough who would grow into his looks and lead them through silly adventures, Stan Uris (one of the only Jews in Derry), and a hypochondriac whom Richie called ‘Eds’, short for Eddie Kaspbrack. But his group would only continue to grow while y/n’s would stay because while seven’s the lucky number, three’s company.

y/n exhaled sharply, recalling how things used to be. The simpler times. She looked over from her desk to see Richie, whose hands were tracing the raised words scrawled on the metal trophy.

Perfect Attendance Award (1989-1990)

“Don’t touch my stuff!” She shouted and a startled Richie pulled his hand away shakily but also clumsily, causing the golden cup to fall from its stand and the others to shift. They were now slightly askew from their original place. y/n cringed at the sound of the award hitting the hardwood floor; certain that would leave a mark.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbled insincerely while he bent down to pick it up. He recklessly put it back and it was definitely not in the position it sat in beforehand.

A scoff accidentally left its way from y/n’s mouth and an idea formed in Richie’s head.

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” y/n couldn’t see the smirk on his lips because he was turned away from her.

“Only the insufferable ones.” y/n’s eyes narrowed at the back of Richie’s head. “You can be a real asshole sometimes.”

“I hate to break it to ya, but you’re no walk in the park either.” Richie turned around. He was preparing himself for a smack to the head or jab in the gut. He didn’t expect for y/n’s searing stare to have some sort of newfound effect on him.

y/n had always been pretty. Whether it be when they were twelve and she wore white, collared shirts under her yellow, cable-knit sweaters. Or in freshman year when her hair grew longer and her shirts got shorter.

But the question, if Richie had ever thought about her or not, would remain a mystery to y/n. It would be weird to make out with the girl you knew since Velcro shoes and He-man, right? Right?

y/n’s eyes trailed from Richie’s to his lips, similarly to how she’d done earlier that day. But earlier that day a cigarette was nested between his perfect—chapped lips. Now, the only thing that stood between their lips was the space between them and tension.

“Whatever.” y/n was about to leave, not caring that Richie Tozier would be left to his own devices in her room. She just wanted to be in any room he wasn’t. But a hand, decorated in silver rings and chipped nail polish, stopped her from doing so. This was the second time someone had stopped her from leaving by laying their hand on her shoulder.

There was no time to ask for questions because Richie’s lips were attached to hers, kissing away her grimace. It was a total paradox: his lips were cracked, yet soft and even though they had just eaten dinner she could taste mint on his tongue.

The kiss was rough and full of want. Richie wanted to know what she tasted like. Richie wanted to know what she felt like. Richie wanted to know her.

y/n pulled apart from him. She stayed long enough to know what his kisses felt like but left fast enough to leave him wanting more.

“Why’d you do that?” She said in between gasps for air. They were both left breathless from the intensity of it all.

Richie shrugged and y/n hated how apathetic he could be. “Just felt like it.” His hands slipped into his back pockets. His eyes then started to travel from her neck to her body. He started to wonder what she looked like without that jean jacket on. Or any clothes on.

y/n knew what Richie wanted. It was just the question if she’d give it to him or not. She shrugged her shoulders in an equivalent fashion as to how Richie shrugged his so that the jacket slipped off, revealing the exposed skin her tank top allowed for.

A faint whistle echoed from Richie’s lips. The same lips that were just on hers a moment ago. He took the time to stare at—no—admire her sharp collarbones and the skin that her top left no imagination for. A sudden rush of goosebumps pricked y/n’s now exposed shoulders at the sound of him whistling and she had to tell herself to keep her composure.

“Is this the part where we have amazing sex and afterward I’m just suddenly supposed to forgive you?” y/n’s words were like a knife, stabbing into Richie’s unusually open state. Nonetheless, her arms were reaching to take off her shirt and her legs were already kicking off her loose jeans.

“Don’t try an’ break the fourth wall.” Richie mirrored her. His shirt flew across the room, it wasn’t like he cared where it landed. His only pair of good jeans marked where he once stood. He was now on her. His lips left sloppy, wet kisses that trailed from her heated cheeks to her neck.

The two were fast to make their way to y/n’s bed—Richie taking his rightful place on top of her and y/n wrapping her legs around him. Her hips bucked up to his as she tried to relieve the built-up stress and ache in her core, but it only caused the heat in her underwear to pool, even more, soaking it further.

“Christ, you’re dripping.” Richie felt the dampness from her panties transfer to his boxers. His index and middle finger reached down, swiping at her heat through the lacy fabric. y/n whimpered as she watched him lick the slick from his fingers afterward. “You have to be quiet, okay? If we get busted my dad’ll sock me.” Richie whispered in her ear, his lips barely ghosting the shell of it.

y/n’s eyes fluttered at the small sensation. Do it again, Richie. But she would never admit her longing for him. Her legs tightened around him (if that were even possible) and she only wished that Richie would get the hint without her having to say it.

“Needy, are we?” y/n’s eyes rolled under her shut eyelids at the sound of Richie’s voice. The boy was all talk, non-stop. If they didn’t hurry, y/n feared her mom would check up on the two. All she could do was pray the Toziers kept them busy with conversation.

Richie held himself up with his left arm while his right hand rubbed indecipherable shapes on her clit. y/n wanted to cry out, but she knew better than that and she would get more than just a handful from Richie if she did. His long, dexterous fingers knew their way around a girl and y/n couldn’t help but think to how many times he’s done this before.

He was fast when he slipped a finger into her, then one became two, and two became none just as the top of y/n’s head hit her headboard from throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Why’d you stop?” y/n whispered. Her hips ground against him again and she could feel how hard he had gotten. These few seconds of paused breaths were about as much fun for her as it was for him.

“I think I hear someone.” Richie blinked and sat up. His full attention had reverted to the sounds outside her room and he was sure those footsteps weren’t y/n’s imaginary friend.

y/n saw this as an opportunity to get Richie back for all the times he’s gotten at her. The accidental trips in the hallways. The snide comments. The times he’s hooked up with other girls that weren’t her. She pushed him so he laid flat on his back, all sprawled out for her. She pressed a kiss to his lips. She kissed him hard. All the pent-up anger and resentment she had towards him was released into that kiss. Her lips then trailed their way down his body. They were feather-light and tickled his freckled skin. She was careful not to make marks, but it was tempting. It was tempting not to leave a purple bruise on his hipbone only for his next hookup to ask who’s that from? And for him to reply actually, I don’t think we should do this.

y/n looked up at Richie with the same puppy dog eyes she used to wear when they were six and Richie just about had a heart attack. The girl relieved him of his confinements (and other things), only for his manhood to unveil itself. It was eager for her, the tip glazed with precum and y/n’s mouth couldn’t help but water at the thought of being the one to get him off. She took him in her dainty hands. The same hands he watched handle the knife with. The same hands that wound their way around his neck and played with his unruly hair when he was on top of her. She pumped him cautiously; tenderly, before taking him in her mouth. She first kissed the tip, remnants of precum glossing her lips, and then swallowed around him.

Richie moaned at the feeling and y/n giggled, the vibrations sending him into endless bliss. The girl below him took one of her hands and placed it over his mouth in the same way he had told her to be quiet earlier. She smiled, feeling his mouth on her hand and her mouth-

“Richie?” It was Wentworth Tozier and y/n had never been so glad to be behind closed doors.

y/n released the hand that was cupped over his trash mouth. “Yea-yeah, dad?” His eyes were wide and not because he was in awe of the night he had been waiting for since forever, was finally happening.

“Are you ready to go? We’ve just about finished up.”

Richie found it all of the sudden harder to contain his sounds and the sensation of y/n’s mouth taking his length multiplied by tenfold.

“Ye-yeah.” Richie cursed himself for turning into his stuttering friend. Except instead of a stuttering Bill, it would be a stuttering Richie.

“You’re not having any issues in there, are you?” Wentworth pressed further and Richie’s hands flew to y/n’s hair. Her head bobbed up and down at the command of him and the only thing Richie could do now was cross his fingers for a fast release.

“I just lost my ring,” he managed to get out.

“Aw. It’s not the nice one, is it?” Wentworth recalled how much that one had cost. The rings Richie wore were mostly costume jewelry, aside from the one plain band made of real silver.

“N-no.” Richie was frantic. “But it’s just one I like.” He stifled a grunt using his own ring-clad hand—where every ring resided just fine.

“Do you need any help?” I need you to go away.

“No!” He was suspiciously eager. “y/n’s helping me.”

“Okay, okay. Three’s a crowd.” Wentworth knew how to take a hint. “Your mom and I’ll be waiting in the car. Please be down shortly.”

It was only until Richie couldn’t hear his father’s footsteps anymore when he choked out a moan he’d been holding in for far too long.

y/n separated from him after swallowing the lst of his high. She left him with a thick stripe from her tongue pressed to the underside of his cock and breaths so heavy he could barely hear himself think.

“Christ.” Richie was still trying to find his breath and y/n only eyed him innocently. She got up from the bed to retrieve her clothes, he would have to get his own, giving him a full view of her backside.

“You talk too much,” y/n said nonchalantly. Her hands that were once on him were now searching through her drawers for a different pair of underwear. She’d have to shower again once the Toziers left but the pooling between her thighs felt too uncomfortable to tolerate for a second more.

Richie was sat upright on y/n’s four-poster bed. His glasses were fogged, an accurate representation of how his mind felt. A weird haze kept him from thinking straight. It was different from when you smoked green and he couldn’t help but think that this was the first time he’d gotten off in weeks.

“Richie?” y/n asked almost concerned. She appeared in front of him and she looked like she came straight from one of his dreams. Her cheeks were still flushed and hot from earlier when their skin collided and she hadn’t combed the sex out of her hair yet. Richie hated the Led Zeppelin t-shirt that covered her figure and he wordlessly pleaded to stay the night, the only indication coming from his big doe eyes that were blown with lust and sinful thoughts. “Richie!”

The shrill sound of her voice made him blink and he finally saw y/n for who she was.

“You have to leave.”

“Gee, sugar. You sure welcomed my stay.” His pupils were quick to contract when they made a trip to the back of his head.

y/n scoffed and before Richie could make a smart comment he was met with his clothes thrown at his chest and another order to leave.

“The princess gets what the princess wants,” were the last spoken words before y/n slammed the bedroom door behind him. But y/n wouldn’t confess that it was Richie she fantasized about that night while her left hand traveled beneath her fresh pair of underwear. She’d pretend her fingers were his, but it wasn’t the same when she couldn’t meet the same feeling of euphoria he gave her.

Unsurprisingly, it was Richie to address their rendezvous the next day. They were at school: y/n hung by a row of lockers with Stacy at her hip as she talked about her new cheer routine.

Richie immediately spotted y/n who was sporting dark wash skinny jeans and another band tee, but the hem reached just above her navel. He faintly recognized the blondie next to her, recalling if they had ever done it or not but he assumed if y/n was friends with her the answer was most likely no.

“Hey.” His voice was coarse and a shallow part of y/n wanted to know if he had found another girl to get off with when he left her place.

“Hi.” y/n’s eyes never left Stacy’s and she pretended not to be interested in what he had to say.

“y/n.” Her stomach felt hollow at the sound of him saying her name. She digressed, still giving her friend her full attention. “y/n.” His voice was firmer now. They had all the time in the world, seemingly because it was the end of the day, but Richie needed to talk to her now.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to someone?” y/n bit back harshly. She didn’t mean it.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to talk to you?” Richie grew agitated and y/n liked the sound of desperation from him. Desperate for her.

“It’s fine, y/n.” Stacy was understanding but she shot Richie an offhanded glance that left him speechless and self-conscious. “I have practice anyway.” After she kissed y/n’s cheek goodbye, she skipped off to what y/n presumed was the football field.

“Whew, where can I get some of that action?” Richie wiggled his eyebrows which earned him a slap to his shoulder.

“What do you want?” y/n still didn’t make eye contact with the boy in front of her—a pattern he was just now starting to pick up on.

“Last night…” Richie’s eyebrow raised suggestively, and y/n knew exactly what he was hinting at just from the tone of his voice because what else had happened last night?

“Last night was a mistake,” y/n lied. She had to keep her guard up around him or else she’d get hurt.

“You think so?” Richie’s back slumped against the lockers next to hers while y/n continued to shove books into her bag. “I kinda liked it,” he admitted.

y/n’s eyes widened, and she swore her ears were deceiving her.

They weren’t.

Richie and y/n had spent the past week switching between each other’s houses. On Tuesday it was Richie’s because the ‘rents would be AWOL and on Wednesday it was y/n’s because it was her house the yearbook club would be meeting on that day and she had to be there to set up.

“I don’t see why ya have to go to that stupid thing,” Richie grunted before pushing in. “Who buys yearbooks anyways?”

“A lot of people.” y/n said, partially annoyed that they had to be fast and also annoyed at how much Richie talked during sex.

Their sessions were usually quick and sloppy. Neither taking the time for foreplay, and neither caring. Hands gripped skin and teeth clashed. As long as the other got their release, it didn’t matter. It was a system. Richie would meet y/n at her place and y/n would meet Richie at his. They’d part with a goodbye and nothing more. Anything more would be crossing the line.

It was on a Monday when Richie Tozier found himself shakily opening the handle to y/n’s front door. It was out of character for him to be nervous about this stuff, but he was. They’d been hooking up after school for a few weeks now and although they hadn’t had a session planned for today. It was like an unspoken agreement.

He didn’t bother to see if the door was locked or not. He already knew the y/l/n’s kept a spare key under the welcome mat so he welcomed himself to use it.

Her house was eerily quiet. He bet he could hear a pin drop if he tried to find the one sitting at the bottom of his backpack. But he didn’t. For a second, it occurred to Richie that no one was home. He wanted to recheck if the cars were in the driveway until he remembered y/n didn’t drive. Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier was now Richie ‘The Snoop’ Tozier as he made his way up the stairs to her room. An uncomfortable stillness blanketed the air but Richie only continued his path.

He caught on quick once he saw the door to her room was open, giving Richie a full view of y/n leaning against the edge of the balcony that was connected to her bedroom.

“y/n!”

She looked peaceful as the wind lifted her hair—it would take her body too, just one push.

y/n didn’t notice her name from his lips as he called for her. The only cohesive thing that ran through her mind was the sound of her thoughts. Do it. Do it. Do it.

She was about to. Her grip on the railing tightened before letting go completely and her feet pushed off to meet the air’s welcoming breeze. But the exoneration y/n had ever so hoped for was replaced by the tight embrace of Richie Tozier as his arms wrapped around her torso. He held her tight even though her body fell limp at his touch.

“y/n.” She wanted to crawl in a hole at her name on his tongue. The high-spirited and playful little girl Richie Tozier once knew and held close was replaced with a sad—miserable—teenager and Richie had to take a step back because it became apparent to him that he didn’t know her at all.

A hot tear burned its way down her cheek which Richie wiped with the pad of his thumb.

“Why do you care?” y/n whispered. She was too weak to move so she sat with him. She sat with his arms strewn around her to keep her from doing anything stupid.

“What do you mean why?” Richie was calm under the weight of the situation. Honey dripped from his voice, soothing her open wound and y/n reluctantly felt her body relax with his.

“We hate each other.” The words stung because honesty hurts and Richie’s dry mouth swallowed, buying him time to think of a reply.

“Where did it all go wrong, sugar?” He asked. Richie genuinely wondered what had changed between them and y/n’s heartbeat picked up rapid-fire because she remembered the events, as well as she, remembered her eighth-grade valedictorian speech.

It was the summer of ‘89. School had just let out and y/n rushed home to change from her school clothes and call up the Toziers’ landline—a number she had memorized by heart.

She threw open her closet door, blood was rushing through her veins as she decided what to wear. It took her a moment and she wondered what Richie’s favorite color was. She finally decided on blue to match his eyes.

Mrs. y/l/n had scolded y/n for running in the house because she just swept the floor and she didn’t want tracks again, but y/n didn’t care as she dialed the home phone with the precision of a hunter. y/n sat patiently in her baby blue sundress with her legs crossed on the velvet armchair while the dial tone rang. A giggle couldn’t help but escape her lips from the thrill of it all.

She’d never been so bold to call up her crush and now she was finally doing it.

“Hello?” It was Maggie Tozier’s voice and y/n could tell she hurried to the phone before this.

“Is Richie there?” y/n asked timidly. She wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t get the chance to talk to him because she died from a heart attack right there, but she praised herself in her head for containing her loose giggles.

The other end was silent for a moment. “Richie can’t come to the phone right now.” Maggie sounded sad and y/n understood. “Maybe try again tomorrow?”

She did. She had tried again that whole week and she was met with the same answer each time.

Embarrassment finally took the form of a soon-to-be-highschooler as y/n couldn’t bring herself to call the line, or even look at the phone that next week.

Summer of ‘89 went by as fast as it came. y/n had grown a few inches only for Richie to shoot up like a tree.

She’d only seen him sparingly. Once at Mr. Keene’s pharmacy where he was hanging out with Eddie, Bill, Stan, and a few other familiar faces; faces she’d seen before but couldn’t place a name to. The other times she’d seen him were at the barrens, but she couldn’t bring herself say anything to the boy, let alone look at him.

Their final meeting was on the first day of school: freshman year. Richie stood a good head above her and y/n had finally found the courage to confront him after her fun-less summer.

The days were still hot even though school had started to pick up and it didn’t help that Derry High had neglected to get their AC unit fixed until snowflakes carried through later that year. To combat the scorching sun that beat down on the Derry residents’ backs, y/n wore a yellow, pinstriped sundress that jutted out at the hip and ended above the knee. Her mom insisted she wore the new Mary Janes she’d splurged on, just for her, and to go with them she paired white frilly socks and a silver necklace.

“Hi!” y/n was hopeful that the one and only Richie Tozier hadn’t forgotten who she was over the summer of not calling back and sparse interactions. She stood at his locker and looked at him with the same puppy dog eyes she did when they were six. The same puppy dog eyes she’d give him the night he would come over for dinner and over welcome his stay in her room.

Richie stood there frozen. His hand had a death grip on the new history book he had just received earlier that day and even if he wanted to move, his muscles wouldn’t allow for such a thing. He forced a smile on his pretty lips that had snuck a cigarette in the bathroom earlier—a habit he picked up from over the summer—but didn’t say anything.

“I called you…” y/n said, a sort of sadness hinting in her words. She could tell there was something different about him, but she didn’t know what it was. “Busy summer?”

He felt his breath hitched and found his fingers, along with the other muscles in his being, able to move. Richie swiftly and recklessly stuffed the textbook in his backpack while y/n was tracing the numbers engraved on the metal plating of the locker next to his. The thrill of finally being in high school hadn’t yet left her body when all Richie could think about was when they’d get the fuck outta there.

“You could say that.” Richie didn’t really know what happened that summer. All he knew was that there were a couple missed calls from y/n—according to his mom. And it’d be too embarrassing to try and rekindle what little they had now.

“Well, if you aren’t busy right now…” y/n’s words started to trail off, becoming a distant memory in Richie’s mind until they picked up again. “We could hang out after school?” There sparked a glimmer of hope in her big eyes and Richie felt his insides twist into a bow.

The loud, ear-piercing sound of metal hitting metal made y/n jump when Richie slammed his locker door shut. “We’re not friends.”

“What?” She was in disbelief at what the boy in front of her was saying even though he wore a straight face.

Richie sighed. “Look. I don’t know how many times I have to explain this to ya but listen good: just cos our parents are all chummy doesn’t mean we gotta be.” He hadn’t blinked since he started talking and his hard stare confirmed the awful feeling in y/n’s stomach.

“F-fine. If that’s how you feel.” y/n kept herself from bursting in front of the boy she harbored a crush for. She turned away from him and made quick to excuse herself from his presence.

y/n remembered never touching her Mary Janes after that day. They still sat in the back of her closet collecting dust—still shining as if they were new. She would spend the rest of her freshman year in t-shirts she’d cropped herself and figuring out how to get the most natural-looking tears in her jeans.

y/n remembered hating Richie Tozier ever since.

Silent tears streaked her cheek. Some fell on Richie’s sleeve and he felt guilty. “Oh, kid. I don’t hate you.” The sound of his heartbeat through his shirt soothed her, like how a lullaby calmed a child. Richie didn’t expect an answer from the girl in his arms. He just stroked her hair and hoped she’d stay as still as she was in his arms when it was time for him to go.

“Regina hates me.”

y/n gave Richie no further explanation as to why three became two in her already small group of friends. It was earlier that day when she had found out Regina Carmichaels had been talking to Ellie Wozniack behind her back—revealing y/n’s deepest secrets and embarrassing stories—since grade school. She only found out from Stacy who was in the handicapped stall during her lunch period. The cheerleader was doodling pink hearts on the wall that separated the two toilets in the girl’s bathroom next to the cafeteria when she heard a familiar voice groan in disgust about how much she couldn’t stand y/n. It was in study hall when y/n and Stacy finally shared a period when Stacy told her friend what she’d heard and seen through the crack of the door.

“My mom hates me.” y/n’s voice cracked, and Richie felt his grip tighten. She didn’t go into detail either. She didn’t have to.

“You have me,” Richie whispered in her ear. His thumb traced indistinguishable patterns against the sleeve of her shirt much like the night that started it all. One last sob escaped her dry throat and y/n felt herself turning in Richie’s arms.

Her eyes meticulously searched his, noting every fleck of color, every detail. His mirrored hers in expression and she felt her heartbeat slow.

The two didn’t have to say anything, they just knew.

It was Richie who pressed a kiss to her temple. The soft skin of his lips made their way down to her lips—they spent extra time on her cheekbone which was wet and salty from the tears that streamed down it.

The other times y/n and Richie kissed, it was rushed, neither of them taking the time to notice the other; only caring about getting off. But as Richie’s soft lips captured y/n’s, it was different from the times before. It was slow as each party took the time to explore each crevice of each other’s mouth and discover the natural feeling that stayed hidden in the pit of their stomachs in which only at this moment did it reveal itself.

The kiss they shared exuded a feeling y/n had never felt with him the previous times their bare skin found each other. It was nice. Richie was taking all the precious minutes he had with her and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time.

A certain feeling of loss washed over both of them when they had to pull apart for air. When her lips were bare, the only thing y/n wanted being to feel him on her again.

“I never meant to hurt you.” Richie took her hand in his. He knew he wasn’t the sole reason for all her problems, but he could be the one to relieve her of at least one.

y/n was quiet. Her hand squeezed his, letting him know she heard him. “Stay with me?”

“I’ll stay with you forever,” Richie said, his words only loud enough for her to hear, only meant for her to hear.

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier x reader fluff #richie tozier x reader angst #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and i don't wanna leave u guys in the dark #posting bc i hit 100 followers and im not done w my wips yet #if this is triggering to u just lmk and i'll take it down or we can work something out #maybe this does work out bc it's suicide prevention month..#maybe #tw: suicide mention

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

If you’re still doing summer prompts, could you do graduation for newmann?

15. Graduation

from (the very old) summer prompts meme here

enjoy some awkward pre-canon jaeger academy ~ROOMMATES~!! also I am pretty sure this message/prompt is from at least a year ago (if not TWO) but it was only today that I really thought about what I wanted to write for it and wrote in like a FRENZY. content warning for alcohol (no like intoxication tho)

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It was hardly to be expected that Newton would be mature over the whole thing, but Hermann finds himself in a perpetual state of agitation the final weeks of their enrollment at the Jaeger Academy anyway. Newton was very young, Hermann knows, when he graduated from university (at least he was young the first time he graduated), and he can only assume the man took it rather hard that he didn’t get to have the proper send-off he thought he deserved—all-night parties with kegerators and beer pong, one-dollar shots at dive bars, trips to the seaside with classmates. One wasn’t likely to invite someone who’d barely breached his teens and still had braces to those sorts of things, after all. It’s the only reason Hermann can think of as to why Newton has spent the month—the whole month—popping open champagne at all hours and organizing spin-the-bottle in the base rec room and generally being a great bloody nuisance to everyone they have the misfortune of sharing their graduating class with. Over-compensation is what it is.

Having Newton as his bunkmate adds a special level of unbearableness to it all. At least—and Hermann does thank the stars above for this—tomorrow marks the end of a very miserable month. A very miserable two years.

“Everyone is going to be there,” Newton says. He’s wearing an oversized pair of neon sunglasses over his regular glasses, for some reason, those abhorrently dated kind with the slatted lenses, and dangling from his left hand are two bottles of pink champagne. A bag of plastic cups dangles in the other. “Everyone. Not even just the k-scientists—the techs, the ranger trainees, the—”

“That all sounds very thrilling,” Hermann says, hefting a stack of button-ups into a cardboard box he’s labeled Clothing – Gottlieb. “You’re aware, I assume, that we’re meant to be moving out tomorrow, and you’ve not touched anything on your side of the room?”

“Dude, I have sooo much time,” Newton says. Hermann realizes now the seal on one of the champagne bottles is broken—which might explain some of Newton’s suspiciously carefree mood. “Besides, I barely even have that much shit here.”

This is patently untrue. Newton’s clothing is overflowing from his dresser; manga and monster action figures and vinyl records clutter up every inch of its top surface; there’s laundry under his bed, on his bed, his guitar picks on Hermann’s bedside table, dirty mugs on his own, half-finished reports and articles scattered over his desk… “Fine,” Hermann says. “But I haven’t finished, at any rate, so I won’t be joining you.”

Newton flops down next to him on his bed; the stopper on the opened champagne bottle wobbles dangerously, and Hermann moves quickly to push it in more firmly so he doesn’t have to add a load of bed linens to his To-Do list. “I think you need to unwind, roomie,” Newton says, grinning up at him. Both pairs of his glasses have slipped off his nose and onto Hermann’s bedspread. “We’ll have all day tomorrow after the dumb ceremony to pack, and you haven’t taken a break in, like, seven years. You’ve earned one.”

Hermann doesn’t want to take a break, or at least not in the way Newton is suggesting. Hermann wants to finish packing up his half of the room, then his designated workspace in the large k-science laboratory, and then take a shower to wash himself of the experience of being Newton Geiszler’s roommate and labmate for two years too many. Noticing his reticence, Newton adds, pleadingly, “Come for one hour? Just to do two shots with me? One shot?” He blinks, half-blind without his glasses, as if trying to discern whether or not Hermann looks likely to give in. “No shots? C’mon, Hermann, you owe me.”

“Owe you?” Hermann says, frowning.

Newton nudges him with the stack of plastic cups. “Y’know—for the sake of your ol’ penpal,” he says.

The reference to their letter-writing days jars Hermann, and despite his best efforts not to show it to Newton, his hand trembles as he deposits an unopened pack of white socks into his laundry box. He thinks it may be the first time either of them have brought it up in the entirety of their time at the Academy. It’s certainly the first time either of them have admitted to even the slightest notion of a shared history since—a week into their first year here, at an ice-breaking event for their kaiju-science peers—Newton had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly when someone attempted to introduce him to Hermann and said “Yeah, Dr. Gottlieb and I go wayyyy back.” Hermann did not admit so at the time, but the use of the honorific in place of his first name had been unexpectedly wounding—ridiculous of him, considering he made a point of referring to Newton in precisely the same way. Perhaps that little slip of the tongue had been why they were assigned as roommates scarcely a week later. An assumed friendship.

Hermann picks up Newton’s thick eyeglasses and carefully slips them back onto Newton’s upside-down face. Newton wrinkles his nose when Hermann’s thumb accidentally brushes against its tip. “I just don’t like parties very much, Newton,” he says. He’s not sure when Dr. Geiszler became Newton to him, or rather, became Newton to him again.

“Then we can do something together here,” Newton says.

He sits up and pushes the sealed champagne bottle at Hermann’s chest. “This is for you, anyway. Graduation present. Bury the hatchet, you know—odds are pretty fucking high we’re never gonna see each other again, so there’s no use hating each other forever.”

In spite of his better judgement, Hermann takes the champagne bottle. One drink won’t hurt him. And anyway, it might be a little relaxing—so long as it’s one drink only, because he still has an entire two years’ worth of research to pack away in his laboratory desk. “Do you know where you’re being assigned already, then?” he says. He was under the impression they wouldn’t find out until after the ceremony tomorrow—bit last minute, he supposes, but it’s not as if they’re making their own travel arrangements, and nearly all of their colleagues have already brought their families along with them to the Academy base.

“Nah,” Newton says, “but I wrote down a lot on my request form.” He motions for Hermann to hand him back the bottle, and he begins unscrewing the wire holding down the cork. “Tokyo—Peru—" He moves the bottle away from the bed as he pops it open with a grunt of effort, and a small bit of foam spills to the cement floor. Hermann grits his teeth and tries not to worry about cleaning it up later. “—Los Angeles. I worked on one of my PhDs in California, you know, a few weeks one July. Sea sponges. I learned how to scuba dive, I loved it—I think that’s one of the first things I’m gonna do if—once this is all over.”

He looks strangely maudlin as Hermann pours himself some champagne into one of the plastic cups and suffers through a sip. Too sweet. Hermann’s never liked sweet wines—bloody awful hangovers the next day, if one isn’t careful.

“Their entire ecosystem would be destroyed now, I guess,” Newton says. “Kaiju blue poisoning.”

“Whose?” Hermann says.

“The sea sponges’,” Newton says.

Hermann sips more of the champagne so he won’t have to respond. “I requested Anchorage,” he offers. Among plenty others, but he knows Newton will get a kick out of ribbing him for the dreary Alaskan climate. It seems to work—Newton lights up at once with a loud snort.

“Of course you did, ya weirdo,” he says. “Have fun freezing your ass off.” He takes a sip right from his bottle, then holds it out to Hermann. “Well, Hermann—you were an annoying lab partner, an even more annoying roommate, but a decent penpal, and I’m—well, I’m not gonna miss you, but I guess I can’t say I hate everything about you. Good luck with the jaegers. Good luck to whoever gets stuck with you next, actually, yikes, don’t envy them! Here’s to never seeing each other again.”

Hermann rolls his eyes, but knocks his plastic cup against Newton’s bottle. “Best of luck to you, as well,” he says. “And here’s to—well, surviving.”

“That’s cheerful,” Newton says.

They drink to their toast. Down the hall, someone puts on loud music to a chorus of equally loud cheers. Hermann reckons that’ll be Newton’s party. “You ought to head over there,” he says, turning briefly to glance at their door, which Newton has left cracked open. “Otherwise, they’ll miss—”

Newton kisses him.

Hermann doesn’t necessarily kiss back, but he doesn’t push Newton away, either. He’s more bewildered than anything. He might’ve expected this sort of thing to happen years ago—years, and years ago, before that dreadful first meeting in some dingy little Berlin coffee shop, back when a new letter from Dr. Geiszler slipped through his mail slot could make his heart thud like nothing else—but they’ve hardly been anything to each other but colleagues these past two years. Not even quite colleagues—that implies a civility they don’t possess. Professional academic rivals. He was under the impression that the man hated him, that the data when they underwent standard tests for drift compatibility was merely a fluke.

His empty cup falls from his hand and clatters to the floor. Newton slides a hand up Hermann’s jaw and keeps kissing him; he makes a small, needy noise into Hermann’s mouth.

“Newton,” Hermann finally mumbles. “What are you doing?”

Newton pulls back. A brilliant red flush is creeping steadily across his face, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before anything comes out. “Oh, shit,” he says. “I didn’t mean—”

He stumbles to his feet. “Shit, dude, I’m sorry, I like—”

“Newton?” Hermann repeats. He feels about as dazed as Newton looks; he’s not quite sure what he’s meant to say. His lips are tingling from the kiss. “I—?”

“I’m gonna go to the party,” Newton stammers. “Sorry, dude, I—misread signals? I guess? Um—” He steps on Hermann’s forgotten cup and skids slightly, catching and righting himself on one of Hermann’s bed posts. The movement knocks Hermann’s cane (hooked there) to the floor, and Newton must bend down twice before he succeeds in picking it up. “Just—um—okay, bye.”

Hermann stares at the door for a long time after Newton leaves. Tomorrow marks the end of their two years cohabitating and working together—as Newton said, odds are high their paths will never cross again. Hermann had been counting down the days to their graduation in a little calendar he keeps pinned neatly to his wall, daydreaming endlessly of the first thing he would do once he was free from the suffocating cloud of Newton Geiszler’s presence—daydreaming of the like-minded non-Geiszlerian colleagues he would meet at his Shatterdome assignment, of a neat and orderly laboratory devoid of kaiju residue over every communal surface, of his own living quarters. He should be excited. He should be ecstatic.

Hermann touches his mouth and feels nothing but strange sort of hollowness in his chest—a black hole enveloping all else.

---

He doesn’t see Newton until their graduation ceremony the next day, an affair made all the more awkward by the seating chart’s alphabetical arrangement ensuring Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb will be knocking elbows for the full two hours. Newton is late by nearly twenty minutes, and rushes in with badly unkempt hair and a backwards tie: Hermann has a feeling he’d been lurking outside their quarters and waiting for Hermann to leave before he dared dart in to get himself ready. He wonders where Newton spent the night. He wonders why he even cares. Likely passed out on the rec room floor after the party, judging from the confetti stuck to his left cheek—or perhaps he’d finally made a move on the fellow kaiju-biologist Hermann recalls him extolling the physicality of on more than one occasion, and spent the night with him—or perhaps he did neither, and merely wandered the base for hours, sleep evading him as it’d so entirely evaded Hermann. They don’t acknowledge each other for the whole of the ceremony.

Hermann is summoned to the office of the jaeger science program head (a severe woman with short hair) later that evening, shortly after he finishes taping up his very last box of papers in the vacant laboratory. He’s handed a small manila folder containing the details of his Shatterdome assignment: Hong Kong, as it turns out. One of his requests. “Since you and Dr. Newton Geiszler have displayed a strong work ethic when partnered together,” the woman begins, “as well as a very high level of drift compatibility—”

Hermann’s eyes snap up from his folder to her face.

“—we’ll be assigning him to Hong Kong’s kaiju science division along with you, under the assumption that together you will only continue to produce positive results.”

“Pardon?” Hermann says, weakly.

Newton has finished boxing up a majority of his belongings when Hermann drags himself through the door to their quarters an hour later. He glances at Hermann briefly, embarrassedly, and says, in a small voice, “Hey, Hermann.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

He walks over and sits down heavily atop the pile of sheets on his stripped bed. Something pokes at his thigh, and he sets aside his cane to fumble through the sheet bundle to discover what: Newton’s forgotten neon shuttered shades. The sight of them sends his stomach twisting up in knots. “Oh, hey,” Newton says, as he wraps a Godzilla action figure with bubble wrap. He nods at the manila envelope clenched between Hermann’s fingers. “Where are they shipping you off to? I’m going to Hong Kong—should be cool. I’ve never been before.” He places the little Godzilla in a carboard box. Newt - Junk! the side says in purple Sharpie. “My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon—you’re right, I definitely should’ve started packing earlier, I have no idea how I’m gonna get this all done by then.”

Hermann stares at Newton in poorly-concealed amazement as he continues to ramble on about how to pack up his instruments and whether or not they’ll let him bring his first-ever kaiju sample with him (he’s attached to it, even though he knows it’s technically the academy’s property, but maybe he can find a way to smuggle it out in his checked bags or something). Does he not know? Did they not tell him? How could they let this fall on Hermann? “Newton,” he says, slowly. “I’ve been assigned to Hong Kong, too.”

Newton freezes. “No fucking way,” he says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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